LOGINEmery Sinclair had spent years perfecting the art of being the perfect wife. The devoted, loyal, and elegant Mrs. Sinclair. Even when whispers of her husband's infidelity trailed after her like a ghost, she held her head high, convinced that love—her love—was enough to fix the cracks in her marriage. But the moment she walks into that hotel suite and finds her husband entangled with another woman, something inside her shatters. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. Instead, she walks away, her heart numb, her mind spinning. The life she built is over. The man she sacrificed everything for never deserved her. Then comes Killian Wolfe. Cold, calculating, and ruthlessly powerful, Killian is everything her husband is not. And he is done watching from the sidelines. For years, he’s kept his distance, biting his tongue as his foolish stepbrother squandered the one good thing in his life. But now? Now, Killian doesn’t hold back. He steps in—offering her a way out, a place to stay, and, most dangerously, a deal she never saw coming. "Let me take care of you," he tells her, his voice a low, commanding whisper. She should say no. She should run. Because nothing about Killian Wolfe comes without a cost. But the way he looks at her—like she’s something precious, something worth ruining kingdoms for—makes her wonder if, just this once, she should let herself be wanted. The game changes in a single night. A kiss turns into something more, and before she knows it, she’s tangled in his sheets, in his world, and in his control. But Killian doesn't just want her in his bed. He wants everything—her body, her mind, her soul. And most terrifying of all? He wants her heart.
View MoreThe ballroom has been transformed into a fairy tale, and Grace is the princess of everything.I stand in the doorway watching our daughter toddle between decorations that probably cost more than most people's annual income. Crystal chandeliers hang at toddler-safe heights, flower arrangements spell out “GRACE” in letters three feet tall, and every surface sparkles with the kind of elegant magic that only unlimited budgets can create.“She likes the butterflies,” Killian observes, pointing to where Grace has discovered the mechanical butterflies that flutter around the room on nearly invisible wires.“She likes anything that moves.”“She has excellent taste in kinetic art installations.”“She's one year old. Everything is art to her.”Grace stops beneath a cluster of butterflies, reaching up with both hands while babbling commentary that sounds surprisingly sophisticated.“She's explaining the installation to herself,” Killian says proudly.“She's making one-year-old sounds at pretty t
Grace takes her first wobbly step toward Killian, and time stops completely.The boardroom goes silent. Twelve executives freeze mid-conversation as our eleven-month-old daughter lets go of her play mat and lurches forward on unsteady legs, arms stretched toward her father with pure determination.“Did she just—” Tom starts.“Shh,” Killian whispers, not taking his eyes off Grace as she takes another wobbling step.One step. Two. Three steps before she topples forward into Killian's waiting arms.“She walked!” he announces to the room, his voice cracking with emotion. “Did everyone see that? Grace just walked!”“We saw,” Loretta says, grinning. “That was beautiful.”“First steps during quarterly review,” another board member observes. “Should we put that in the meeting minutes?”“We're putting that in the family history,” Killian says, kissing Grace's head while she babbles proudly in his arms. “She chose to walk to Daddy during an important business meeting.”“She chose to walk becaus
The UN Secretary-General wants Emery's input on global women's initiatives, and Grace comes along for the ride.“Mrs. Wolfe, the Secretary-General will see you now,” the aide says, glancing nervously at the stroller Killian is maneuvering through the UN security checkpoint.“Is the baby accompanying you to the meeting?” she asks carefully.“The baby goes where we go,” Killian replies with the tone that signals non-negotiable family policy.“Of course. Right this way.”I watch our ten-month-old daughter take in the marble corridors and international flags with the serious attention she brings to all new environments. Grace has been traveling with us since she was old enough to leave the apartment, accumulating passport stamps like other babies collect toys.“She's very alert,” the aide observes as Grace studies the passing diplomats and security personnel.“She's very curious about everything,” I say. “Especially new faces and voices.”“How does she handle diplomatic meetings?”“Better
The trust fund documents are thicker than most novels, and Grace can't even walk yet.I stare at the stack of legal papers spread across our dining room table while Killian reviews each page with the same intensity he brings to major acquisitions. Grace sits in her high chair nearby, methodically destroying a piece of toast while her parents plan her financial future.“Education trust is fully funded through doctoral level at any accredited institution worldwide,” our attorney says, pointing to specific clauses. “Medical trust covers any health needs, including experimental treatments not covered by standard insurance.”“What about security provisions?” Killian asks.“Comprehensive personal protection funding, residential security allowances, transportation safety requirements. Everything you specified.”“Housing trust?”“Properties in New York, London, and any additional locations she chooses as an adult. Plus maintenance, taxes, and staff as needed.”Grace drops her toast and claps
It had been one year, and our love story had become legend.I stood on the deck of our lake house watching Killian chop firewood with unnecessary enthusiasm, his shirt discarded despite the October chill. The man who commanded billion-dollar deals in Manhattan boardrooms attacked split logs like th
The lake house was just bad ,Killian had promised,.I was out of the world, on a secluded island—it was peaceful, private, just the two of us. I stood on the wooden deck overlooking water that stretched like glass toward distant mountains, breathing air that didn't carry the weight of corporate bat
The wedding planner looked terrified, but I couldn't blame her, how could I? Even I would look terrified if I were in her shoes.Margaret sat across from us at the botanical garden's planning office, her hands shaking slightly as she spread venue layouts across the table. Three different flower arr
Eleanor Sinclair didn't give up easily.I discovered this truth the next morning when she appeared at our penthouse door like a perfectly dressed storm cloud. The doorman had called to announce her arrival, but I had expected her to wait for permission. Instead, she stood in our entryway holding a
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