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Chapter 4
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2025-05-13 19:12:43Isla’s POV
The problem with memories is that they don’t fade the way they should. They linger—sharp and bright—no matter how much time or distance you put between yourself and the past. That night after the confrontation in Lucien’s office, I lay awake in bed long after Leo had fallen asleep. I watched his little chest rise and fall, his fingers curled around his stuffed dinosaur like it was a shield. And I let the memory take me. Because I needed to remember why I left. Why I ran. Tuscany, Five Years Ago It was the kind of summer morning you never forget. Warm, golden light spilled across the vineyard. Bees hummed lazily in the lavender. Lucien—Luke, as I’d known him then—was barefoot in the kitchen, making coffee, shirtless, his hair a wild mess I’d made the night before. I remember watching him and thinking, God, this is dangerous. He looked up and grinned. “You’re staring.” I smiled into my tea. “Can you blame me?” He walked over, leaned down, and kissed the side of my neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I was thinking,” he said, “maybe we should extend our trip. A few more weeks. Just us.” “Some of us have jobs,” I teased. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard you talk about your job. What do you do, Isla Monroe?” I hesitated. “Paralegal. Or… was. I quit a month ago.” “You quit to come here?” “I quit because I needed to remember what it felt like to breathe.” I looked up at him. “And then I met you.” There was a flicker in his eyes. Something quiet. Hesitant. “What about you?” I asked. “What do you do, mystery man?” He hesitated too long. I should’ve seen it then. He stepped back with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing exciting. Family business. Corporate nonsense.” “So you’re a rich guy slumming it in the countryside?” He smirked. “Something like that.” I wanted to believe that was all it was. That he was just a man with secrets, like the rest of us. But that evening, as I folded one of his shirts to pack away in the dresser drawer, his phone buzzed. I didn’t mean to look. I swear I didn’t. But the name caught my eye: The Wall Street Journal. The preview message: Lucien Wolfe still missing. Family silent. The air left my lungs. Lucien Wolfe. I dropped the phone like it burned me. I remembered the name from the tabloids. From articles I’d skimmed at grocery store checkout counters. Billionaire heir. Ruthless businessman. Son of the infamous Charles Wolfe. And now… missing. He hadn’t been missing. He’d been here. With me. And I hadn’t even known who I was falling for. I left before sunrise. I didn’t take much. Just my passport, a dress, and a heart that no longer felt like mine. I left a note—three lines, scrawled in haste. Luke, Thank you for giving me a moment of peace. Don’t look for me. -Isla And then I was gone. Now – Present Day I sat on the couch, hugging my knees to my chest as the memory faded. The apartment was still and dark except for the hum of the refrigerator and Leo’s steady breathing down the hall. I’d told myself for years that I did the right thing. That walking away was the only choice I had. But now? Now Lucien Wolfe was back in my life, and he wasn’t just some chapter I could close. He was Leo’s father. And he knew. The next morning, I moved through the motions on autopilot. Packed Leo’s lunch. Dressed him for daycare. Smiled when I kissed his forehead even though I felt like I was walking a tightrope without a net. At my desk, I could barely focus. Every email blurred. Every phone call felt too loud. At 10:47 a.m., my phone buzzed with a text. Unknown Number: We’re not done. I stared at the screen. I didn’t have to ask who it was. Lucien wasn’t going away. He’d stormed into my world and ripped open a truth I’d buried for too long. And the terrifying part wasn’t just that he wanted to see Leo—it was how easily he’d gotten under my skin again. How quickly I’d unraveled in front of him. How part of me still remembered what it felt like to be wanted by him. Loved by him. But that was a fantasy. A dangerous one. I wasn’t that girl anymore. And I wasn’t going to let my son get pulled into the storm that followed Lucien Wolfe everywhere he went. But as I looked down at the message glowing on my screen, I realized something chilling: He wasn’t just back. He was going to fight. And the question wasn’t if he’d win. It was whether I had any fight left in me to stop him.
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His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 4
Isla’s POVThe problem with memories is that they don’t fade the way they should.They linger—sharp and bright—no matter how much time or distance you put between yourself and the past.That night after the confrontation in Lucien’s office, I lay awake in bed long after Leo had fallen asleep. I watched his little chest rise and fall, his fingers curled around his stuffed dinosaur like it was a shield. And I let the memory take me.Because I needed to remember why I left.Why I ran.Tuscany, Five Years AgoIt was the kind of summer morning you never forget. Warm, golden light spilled across the vineyard. Bees hummed lazily in the lavender. Lucien—Luke, as I’d known him then—was barefoot in the kitchen, making coffee, shirtless, his hair a wild mess I’d made the night before.I remember watching him and thinking, God, this is dangerous.He looked up and grinned. “You’re staring.”I smiled into my tea. “Can you blame me?”He walked over, leaned down, and kissed the side of my neck like i
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His Heir, Her Secret Chapter 1
Isla’s POVThey say ghosts don’t exist, but they’ve never been blindsided by one in a designer suit and Italian leather shoes. I was running late for the Monday morning meeting—half-asleep, clutching my lukewarm coffee, and praying no one noticed the stain on my blouse from Leo’s jelly toast attack. I slid into my chair just as our CEO, Mike, cleared his throat. “We have a new majority shareholder,” he began, eyes darting nervously around the boardroom. “He’ll be overseeing operations personally. Please give a warm welcome to—” The door opened. I looked up. And my heart stopped. He stepped into the room like he owned it—which, technically, he now did. Lucien Wolfe. Only I didn’t know him as that. Not five years ago. Back then, I only knew him as Luke—the man who kissed me under a Tuscan sunset, who made me laugh like I hadn’t in years, who vanished without warning and took my heart with him. The same man who had no idea he left me with something far more permanent than heartbre
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