MasukI married Leander Ivanov for love – even if our life together was more steady than passionate. After two years of building a quiet life side by side, I thought we were finally ready to start a family. I planned to tell him I was pregnant on his 30th birthday, surrounded by his favorite meal and the custom watch I’d spent months creating just for him. But when I turn on the news, I see him with Wren Harris – his first love, back in town after five years abroad. They look like the perfect couple, and the way he looks at her makes my heart shatter into pieces. When he comes home, he claims it was just a coincidence – but then Wren shows up at our door, wearing my watch and revealing the flowers he gave me were meant for her. As Wren and her mysterious business partner Leon Rossi weave their way into our lives, I start to suspect there’s more to their return than meets the eye. The rumors about a hostile takeover of Ivanov Industries aren’t just gossip – they’re part of a dangerous plan to destroy everything Leander’s family built. Now I have to fight for my marriage, my unborn child, and the company that means everything to the man I love. But can I trust Leander to choose us over the woman he once thought was his soulmate? And will the truth be enough to save us when lies threaten to tear our world apart?
Lihat lebih banyakLeander's POVI’ve been standing in the alley behind the old market for twenty minutes, watching the crowd move like water through the narrow streets. The air smells like fried fish, fresh bread, and the sharp scent of spices from the stall at the corner—Quinn used to love coming here with me, back when we thought every day could be this simple. We’d spend hours walking from stall to stall, her hands full of fabric swatches and sketches, mine carrying bags of food she’d insist on buying for the workers at the factory. “They make everything we sell,” she’d say, handing me a bag of warm samosas. “The least we can do is make sure they eat well.”I came here today because Wren said Quinn might be stopping by the weaver’s stall—“She’s looking for new fabric for the collection,” she’d told me yesterday. “Maybe you could talk to her, just say hello.” But now that I’m here, hidden in the shadows, watching her laugh at something the man next to her says, I can’t move. My feet feel like they’re
Wren's POVThe bell above the door of my family’s old fabric shop jingles as I push my way inside, and the familiar smell hits me dust, wool, and the faint sweetness of dried lavender my great-grandma used to keep in jars on every shelf. The shop has been closed for fifteen years, but I still come here at least once a week. It’s the only place where I can think straight, where the weight of what I’m doing doesn’t feel quite so heavy.I run my hand over a bolt of dark green wool my great-grandpa William bought this the year before Elias Ivanov pushed him out of the company. “Good fabric lasts forever, Wren,” he used to tell me when I was little, letting me sit on his lap while he cut cloth for customers. “Just like good work you have to put your whole heart into it if you want it to mean something.” I wonder what he’d think if he knew what I’m doing now using the same care he taught me to weave a web of half-truths and good intentions, all to get what I want.I pull out a small wooden
Lincoln's POV The alarm on my phone goes off at five thirty, but I was already awake. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper—not since I was a kid, when my grandma would wake me up before dawn to help her bake bread for the shop she ran. She’d say, “The best work gets done when the world is still quiet, Lincoln. That’s when your mind is clear.” I’ve lived by that ever since.I swung my legs out of bed and pull on jeans and a gray hoodie, my go-to for early mornings. I pad down the hall to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of dark roast, and look out the window at the garden. In a few minutes, I’ll head over to the villa to check on Quinn—she moved in yesterday, and I want to make sure she slept well.I’ve been thinking about her a lot since the day I almost hit her by the river. Not just as a designer I want to work with, but as a person. There’s something about the way she carries herself, quiet strength, like she’s been through hell but refuses to let it break her. It reminds me of my gran
The morning sun streams through the hospital window, it feels warm on my face. I woke up early, took a bath and prepared my staffs I have not been able to sleep much because of a little bit of excitement. I hold the photo of my mom for a minute, running my thumb over her smile. “We’re leaving today, Mom,” I whispered. “We’re starting over.”A knock comes at the door, Lincoln is already here. He walks in with a coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. He is wearing jeans and a soft blue shirt – he looks more like a friend than a company owner.“Good morning, Quinn,” he brightly said, handing me the coffee. “I brought you your favorite, black with just a little honey.”"How did you know it's my favorite coffee?" My eyebrows frowned. As what I have remembered, I didn't mention the flavor of the coffee I want."Connections?" He said unsurely and it makes me laugh a little bit. "Thank you." He helps me pack the last few things, then picks up my bag and holds out his arm fo


















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