เข้าสู่ระบบEveryone believed Yilena Stone was in the “best" relationship to exist. She had a hot, rich and influential husband who showered her with gifts others could only dream to receive. But they didn't know it was all a facade to cover up her already strained marriage to the magnificent Mr. Stone. After experiencing heartbreak after heartbreak Yilena decided it was time to leave without looking back— Levi Reinhardt had completely given up on the idea of love as each attempt he made only led him back to the starting line. As he watched his cousin's" fiancee” get ridiculed at the family dinner he pondered what kind of person she was underneath the smiles she gave. Would this mess lead Yilena to the arms of the equally influential Levi Reinhardt? Or would they both break under the intense wrath of Mr. Carter Stone?
ดูเพิ่มเติมI watched as the ballroom doors of the Stone Family Estate slammed open with the kind of force that was never accidental.I felt the vibration travel through the icy marble under my heels before I even turned. Fiona stepped through like the room had been waiting for her. The imported gown she wore was pure theater—champagne silk poured over her body in liquid layers, crystal embroidery catching every chandelier and throwing the light back in sharp, deliberate flashes. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned with diamond combs that winked every time she tilted her head. She scanned the crowd once, found me, and let a slow, smug smile stretch across her face.The scent hit a second later. Peonies drowned in citrus. It was both artificial and stifling. It crawled into my throat and sat there.I kept my spine straight. Around us the usual estate noise continued—low laughter, the clink of crystal, the soft scrape of expensive shoes—but it all felt farther away now. Levi stood half a step be
Elegantly, the Reinhardt Estate rose out of the evening like a statement that had never needed updating. I stepped out of the car on Levi’s arm, the custom moonstone ring cool and certain on my finger. The gravel drive, the lit façade, the low murmur of a crowd that already knew their names—all of it announced old money with perfect restraint. Levi’s hand rested at the small of my back, steady. The grounding aroma of his Dior Eau Sauvage moved with him, clean and familiar against the cooler night air. Together we walked toward the open doors and became, instantly, the center of every quiet conversation on the terrace. Crystal champagne flutes clinked in crisp, deliberate notes as heads turned. Whispers traveled faster than greetings. Levi kept his shoulder aligned with mine. He did not perform ease. He simply refused to yield space. We had barely cleared the threshold when the matriarch found them. His Grandfather wasn't in sight. Levi’s aunt, Madame Helena Reinhardt, stood with
Before departing from Paris, Levi and I decided to have a decent talk about the letter. Nearby, the Eiffel Tower burned gold against the dark.I stood on the balcony of the hotel suite in a soft velvet robe, the night breeze cool against my skin, Levi’s hand wrapped firmly around mine. The thunderous applause of the Grand Palais already seemed distant. What remained was the weight of the summons and the man beside me who had not once let go of my hand since we returned.I felt the soft warmth of the velvet against my arms and the steady pressure of his fingers. For a long time neither of us spoke.Levi broke the silence first.His voice was low, stripped of every public register. “The letter spoke about the elders. I'm sure Alaric is leading it. They've been moving to challenge my position as CEO unless I publicly break all personal and financial ties with you. They want it ended. Cleanly. Before the next quarter.”My grip tightened, then held. The night breeze moved between us. I kep
My eyes were glued on the first model as she stepped into the brilliant white spotlights and the Grand Palais went still.She walked with clean precision, the opening look of the European capsule moving like a held note—organic silk, sharp architectural shoulders, the holographic thread catching the light in controlled flares. The music stayed low and measured. No one in the audience spoke. Cameras tracked her in silence. From the side of the runway I watched the first twelve steps and knew the room had already decided to pay attention.Look after look followed. The collection held its line: heritage technique rewritten into modern structure, every piece carrying the quiet proof of the authentication thread. Buyers leaned forward. Critics stopped typing and simply tracked the clothes. The energy in the glass-and-steel expanse of the Grand Palais tightened with each exit.Then the centerpiece appeared.The re-draped Raven Couture gown—the one that had been slashed twelve hours earlier
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