LOGINGwen's POV The house was too clean. Not clean in the organized sense. The house was always organized. I couldn't stand the idea of living in chaos. No, this was clean in a different way. Prepared. Staged. Like I'd tried to sweep away the things you can't actually sweep. The problems. The police station. The humiliation of hearing my name spoken by an officer like I was some kind of public nuisance. I'd chosen a discreet blouse, my hair pulled back, makeup light enough that it didn't look like I was hiding anything. At the same time, polished enough to hide what could be hidden. Nick was pretending to be calm. He wasn't. Bella, on the other hand, looked… normal. Too normal. "It's going to be fine," Nick said quietly, his hand resting on my waist in a way that was too protective not to also be anxious. I nodded. Smiled. I was very good at looking like everything was under control. My stomach didn't believe me. The doorbell rang with Italian punctuality, which irritated
Renee's POV That Monday, I parked two blocks from Bella's school and stayed in the car for a moment, studying my reflection in the window. The cut on my forehead was hidden under a discreet bandage. The bruises were covered by carefully chosen clothes. The rest was makeup and good lighting. The school secretary recognized me before I even said my name. Not warmly. Professionally. The look of someone who has seen wealthy fathers, angry mothers, and children stuck in between. I showed my ID, signed the form, and offered a simple explanation about a "medical appointment" and needing to pick her up two classes early. Mother. That word opens doors. No one asked if her father knew. No one wanted to step into that territory. Schools prefer not to buy into family wars. And I knew exactly how to use that cowardice in my favor. Bella appeared at the classroom door with her backpack on, surprise written all over her face. "Mom?" she said, and for a second that was all it was. A litt
Nick's POV Florentia traffic was its usual brand of cruel. Slow. Narrow streets. Pedestrians crossing like the world wasn't collapsing inside the driver's seat of my car. Gwen's voice kept replaying in my head. Police station. I couldn't make it fit. Gwen Kensington didn't "end up at a police station." Gwen handled things with contracts. With meetings. With one perfectly calibrated sentence. I needed someone cold for both of us. I hit the hands-free button and called the number I already had saved. "Mr. Cross." His voice came through crisp, far too alert for the hour. "It's me. Nick." A brief pause. I could almost hear him shifting into professional mode. "Mr. Valemont." "It's my wife." The word still felt new in my mouth, but I didn't have time to feel it. "Gwen. She's at a police station in Florentia." "I'm on my way," he replied without asking for dramatic details. "Which station?" I gave him the location Gwen had managed to tell me. "I'll get there first
Nick's POV I had made a promise. Not the kind with pretty words. Not the kind adults say to feel better about themselves. I had promised with presence. With time. With the rarest thing I'd learned to give after becoming a father. Staying. Bella was sprawled across the living room rug with a blanket over her head, turning herself into a dramatic "ghost" who shuffled slowly and deliberately bumped into furniture. "Uuuuuh…" she moaned, lightly crashing into the couch. "I'm the ghost that haunts dads who make babies." I laughed before I could stop myself, even with everything still tight in my chest. "Wow. That's very specific." "Ghosts know everything," she replied, throwing the blanket off. Her hair was a mess, her nose still pink from crying earlier. I crouched down in front of her. "Okay. Smart ghost. Want to talk to me without the blanket?" She hesitated, her eyes sliding away like talking might be a trap. But her hand reached for mine anyway. Small. Warm. That
Gwen's POV The air outside hit my face like a cold slap when I stepped out of the event building. It wasn't even a cold day, but I was burning from the inside out. Burning with anger. With adrenaline. With the shame of losing control. With a disbelief that made everything feel slightly off balance. I kept my spine straight. Chin up. The same expression I used in meetings with men who thought I should be grateful just to be sitting at the table. Except this time, it wasn't a table. It was a patrol car. "Ms. Kensington, please," the officer repeated. His tone wasn't rude, but it wasn't optional either. I glanced around the parking lot, as if logic might be hiding somewhere between the concrete lines. "This is… serious?" I asked, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. "There has been a report of assault," he replied, professional and detached. "The person who filed the report has visible injuries consistent with that claim. We need to bring you in for questioning."
Renee's POV The bathroom floor was cold enough to remind me I was human. The metallic taste in my mouth didn't help. I blinked slowly, trying to piece together the images that were still flashing behind my eyes. The crack of her hand. The force of her body coming at me. The fury in Gwen Kensington's eyes like she had spent her entire life training for that exact second. I hadn't anticipated that. I had imagined Gwen the way I always imagined women like her. Too polished to sweat. Too refined to bite. The kind who take a hit gracefully and then buy the world's silence with a check. But she had fight in her. And worse than that, it was the kind of fight that humiliates. It wasn't just the physical pain. It was the feeling of being put in my place. Made small. Made disposable. Made pathetic. I clenched my teeth. Pain pulsed up my temple, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and controlled, as if calm could erase what had just happened. No. I wouldn'
After we finished dinner, everyone gathered in the living room around the crackling fireplace. The setting was perfect—soft candlelight mixing with the warm glow of the flames, the quiet murmur of intimate conversations punctuated by occasional laughter, and the comforting smell of the hot chocolate
Nathaniel's POV The next hour passed in a haze of police procedures with statements, toxicology tests, and evidence collection. I stayed beside Annie the entire time, holding her hand while she told the detectives what had happened. Her voice was still slightly slurred from whatever had been slipp
Nathaniel's POV With hands that were slightly shaking, I turned my phone screen toward Tori, showing her the message I'd just received. A single word glowed in the chat with Annie, sent just seconds earlier. "Artichoke," I said flatly, watching my sister's confused expression. "What?" Tori bli
I was still trying to process the revelation about Nate's old blog when the golden retriever suddenly stood up from the corner where she'd been lying and began pacing in circles, clearly agitated. "Oliver," Richard said, watching the dog with concern. "I think your patient is trying to tell us som







