LOGIN~Isla~The penthouse felt like a sanctuary after the chaos. The soft glow of the dining room chandelier cast warm light over the table as we sat down for dinner, just the four of us. No staff. No cameras. Just us… family.Owen and Oliver were still a little subdued from the park incident, but the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables slowly brought their usual energy back. They sat in their booster seats, forks in hand, chatting excitedly about their day.“Mommy, the tower we built was so tall!” Owen said, waving his fork. “Papa helped us make it reach the sky!”Andrew smiled across the table at me, his expression soft and warm. “They have your creativity. Every stick and leaf became something magical.”I laughed softly, reaching over to wipe sauce from Oliver’s cheek. “You two are my little artists. I’m so proud of you.”The meal was filled with light conversation, the twins telling us about the ducks they saw in the park, Andrew teasing them about who built the taller tower. For a
~Isla~Children’s laughter echoed around us as the afternoon sun bathed the Luxembourg Garden in a soft golden light. I sat on a bench, watching Owen and Oliver chase each other around the fountain. Their little legs moved with so much energy, their matching blue shirts fluttering in the breeze. Paris had never felt more peaceful or more fragile.My mind, however, was anything but calm.Andrew’s brother.The words Marcus had shouted at the Milan event still rang in my ears. I kept trying to push the thought away, but it crept back like shadows at dusk. Andrew had saved me. He had given me a new life, a new name, a future for my children. He could never lie to me. Not after everything we had been through.I glanced toward the playground. Andrew was kneeling beside the twins, helping them build a tower with fallen sticks and leaves. The boys were giggling, calling him “Papa” with pure joy. The sight warmed my heart and eased some of the tension in my chest.He’s their everything, I tho
Author's POV The living room of the Calloway mansion was usually a place of calculated elegance, crystal decanters, silk cushions, and the faint scent of expensive perfume. Tonight, it felt like a war room on the verge of collapse.Linda Calloway paced back and forth across the Persian rug, her silk robe fluttering behind her. Her face was flushed, eyes wide with disbelief and rising panic. Cara sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white.“I can’t believe it,” Linda hissed, her voice cracking. “Isla. That Isla. The same pathetic little whore we threw out five years ago like yesterday’s garbage. She’s Aurelia Cole? The designer we’ve been obsessing over? The one whose pieces we’ve been buying like addicts?”Cara let out a hysterical laugh that bordered on a sob. “Mom, did you see her tonight? That gown. That confidence. The way she looked at us like we were nothing. Like we were the frauds. How is this even possible? We destroyed
~Isla~The Milan showcase was alive with opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen stars, and the soft glow of golden lighting made every piece of jewelry in the room sparkle like it was alive. I stood near the center of the grand hall in a breathtaking midnight blue gown that hugged my curves and flowed beautifully. Around my neck rested a statement piece from my own collection, it was a delicate phoenix rising with twin diamonds at its heart, symbolizing everything I had become.Andrew stood beside me, devastatingly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. His hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a supportive touch that felt both comforting and strategic. The twins were safe back in Paris. Tonight was about power, not family.I felt unstoppable. Until I heard the commotion at the entrance.Security voices rose sharply. A woman’s shrill protest cut through the murmurs of the crowd.“You can’t do this to us! We are invited guests!”My lips curved into a
~Isla~Twelve days laterParis had returned to its usual rhythm, but something felt different now.I stood in the sunlit nursery, watching Owen and Oliver play with their building blocks. Their laughter filled the room, bright and innocent, but my mind kept drifting back to New York. To Marcus’s shocked face. To the way he had stared at the twins like they were ghosts from a past he couldn’t escape.“Mommy, look!” Owen called, holding up a tall tower he had built. “It’s as tall as the tall man from the party!”My heart stuttered. Oliver nodded excitedly. “He looked like us, right Mommy? Why did he look like us?”I knelt down beside them, forcing a gentle smile even as my chest tightened.“Sometimes people look similar, my loves. It doesn’t mean anything.”“But he stared at us a lot,” Oliver said softly, his little brows furrowed. “Like he was sad.”My kids can't stop thinking about him. The man who almost took them from me. I pulled both boys into my arms, hugging them tightly. Their
~Marcus~ The dining room was silent except for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner. Midnight had come and gone, and my plate of steak and roasted vegetables sat completely untouched in front of me. The food had gone cold hours ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. I kept seeing them. Those two little boys with my eyes. My lips. My jawline. Standing on that red carpet, holding hands, pointing at Isla when I asked who their mother was. They looked nothing like the gardener. That thought had been circling in my head like a vulture for days now. How had I not seen it before? The video. The testimonies. The way every single staff member had turned on her that night. I had been so blinded by rage and old trauma that I never stopped to question any of it. What if I had been wrong? The thought made my chest feel tight. I had kicked her out while she was pregnant. I had threatened her. I had blacklisted her from every decent job in the city. I had promised to d
~Isla~The morning light spilled through the tall studio windows of our Paris penthouse, casting golden patterns across my workbench. I sat on a high stool, my sketchpad open in front of me, charcoal pencil moving across the paper with ease. New designs for the upcoming collection were taking shap
~Isla~The ride back to the hotel suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside the tinted windows. New York lights blurred past like distant stars, beautiful yet cold, just like the man I had left standing on that red carpet.I leaned my head against the seat, closing my eyes for a mo
~Marcus~I couldn’t breathe. The grand ballroom was usually a place where I commanded respect, now felt like a cage closing in on me. I stood near the exit, my body rigid, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. The crystal award in Isla’s hands moments ago might as well have
~Isla~Marcus stood frozen on the red carpet, his deep blue eyes locked onto me with pure disbelief. The man who once threw me out like garbage now looked as if the ground had been ripped from beneath his feet.“Isla…?” he whispered again, his voice hoarse. “It’s really you.”I lifted my chin, keep







