ANMELDENNo one understands the pain of losing everything you have in the twinkle of an eye. Ayala goes from having millions in her account due to her multi-millionaire father to being content with just a few thousand, her standards drop and so do her friends. In a bid to make money, she decides to work for the Igor’s. She meets Alexie and gets into a relationship with him with a promise that he would restore her father’s company to status quo, she’s not in love with him but she endures his lack of emotions, constant sexual urge, and poor treatment to accomplish this. While working for Vladimir, her boss, she develops feelings for him but tries to keep it under the radar because of her relationship with his cousin and she doubts he, Vladimir would ever feel the same. She also faces constant teases from his ex-girlfriend, Irina but tries to look past it. When she and Vladimir eventually confess their feelings to each other, they get into a relationship, but would the relationship last if she discovers that Vladimir was the one that led to the bankruptcy of her father’s company?
Mehr anzeigenAyala's POVThe paper felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than a destination. Like it carried a choice she wasn’t ready to make.Greece. Athens.Two days from now.Return: open.It wasn’t just a trip. Matteo was offering her air. Distance. A world without Vladimir’s shadow stretching over every step she took. She had always wanted to visit Greece, but why was she reluctant? Why did it feel like she owed it another person to turn down the offer, why was she choosing another over herself again.She set the ticket down on the counter as though it might burn her fingers if she held it any longer. The quiet of her apartment wrapped around her, but it wasn’t comforting. It was the kind of quiet that made her hear the blood in her ears, the echo of her own breathing. She looked at the wildflowers Matteo had given her, now beginning to droop at the edges. They smelled faintly of sun and earth, so different from the cold, calculated perfection of roses Vladimir once sent her
Ayala POVThe envelope sat on her desk like it had a life of its own.Unassuming. Cream-colored. Embossed with the familiar monogram—V.I. It was unmistakably from Vladimir.Ayala had stared at it for a full twenty minutes before daring to touch it. And even now, with it opened and the neatly folded letter inside laying before her, she couldn’t bring herself to read the words again.Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, then recoiled as if the paper had burned her.Everything about Vladimir had always been intense—his eyes, his presence, his control. Even his handwriting bled with precision and restraint. No mess. No emotion unless calculated.So why did this letter feel… different?She had read it once. Only once. But the words refused to leave her mind.“Ayala,I never learned how to say sorry without sounding like a man who’s used to being forgiven.So this isn’t an apology. It’s a confession.I watched you that morning. At the studio. You didn’t see me — at least, I don’t thi
VLADIMIR POVThere was something insulting about sunlight when your soul was dragging behind you like a war-torn flag.The sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows had bled into a weak gold — the kind that looked like hope from a distance but felt more like judgment up close. Vladimir Lancaster stood barefoot on the cold marble, a scotch glass in one hand and silence coiled in the other.His shirt was wrinkled. Hair unkempt. The man reflected in the window was barely the version of himself he liked to parade around boardrooms and balconies. He looked tired. Human. Possibly a little haunted.He would’ve called himself a fool if there were anyone left around to argue with him.Andrei had dropped the letter off yesterday. No fanfare. No tracking number. Just a sealed envelope, cream paper, black ink, his handwriting — careful, brutal honesty in cursive. It had taken him three false starts, two crumpled drafts, and one very loud curse in Russian that had startled a maid before he’d manage
VLADIMIR POVFLASHBACKVladimir’s Private Library – After MidnightThe city had gone quiet by then. New York’s usual hum had settled into something softer — like the moment between breaths. In his penthouse library, the only sound came from the low crackling of the fireplace and the gentle rustle of pages turning. Ayala sat curled on the corner of the leather chaise, her legs tucked beneath her, barefoot, wearing one of his oversized shirts that swallowed her frame in the best way.Vladimir had watched her for over five minutes without saying a word.He didn’t know why this particular night felt heavier — maybe because the world outside had paused, and for once, so had they. No meetings. No rivals. No Irina. No Alexei. Just her. Her and that damn book she barely seemed to read because her mind kept wandering.“Are you bored?” he asked finally, his voice low.She didn’t look up. “No.”“You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”She smiled, the kind of smile that tugged more at his
AYALAIt was finally the day of my interview and I was drop-dead nervous, I tried to beat my reputation of always being late and make it before the time scheduled for the interview, which was 8:30 and it was so hard doing this. I managed to be there by 7:45 to see 14 people already waiting, making
AYALAAfter the worldwide announcement of Papa’s company declaring bankruptcy, I decided to stay off social media. I wasn’t the type of rich of Lily-Rose Deep, Blue Ivy Carter, Blake Lively, etc whose parents’ influence had a kick start in their wealth and influence giving them the “no baby“ title.
VLADIMIR “Izbav'tes' ot tela, ono mne zdes' bol'she ne nuzhno( get this body out of here, I don't want to have it here any longer”, I said as I spat at the corpse, turning to clean my hand with the towel that had just been handed to me.My phone rings and the caller is my dad, I hate two things; B
We have the rich and we have the wealthy, and Manhattan isn't referred to as the playground of billionaires for nothing. From frivolous shopping sprees to overpriced boarding houses, exclusive country clubs, and bratty kids acting up to be on the tabloids, Manhattan had them all…“Excuse me miss,












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