로그인Five years ago, Sasha Rivera left Rafael Moretti on the night that should have changed their lives forever. She had just found out she was pregnant and planned to tell her husband after dinner with the Moretti family. Instead, his family accused her of cheating with evidence that had been cut, twisted, and arranged to destroy her. But Rafael chose to believe his family, called her a gold digger, and let her walk away without chasing her. So Sasha left. Without Moretti money. Without telling Rafael she was carrying his child. Now, she is no longer the wife looked down on by an old Milan family. She is a successful architecture and interior design firm in Los Angeles, and the single mother of a four-year-old boy with someone’s blue eyes and unmistakable face. Her life is finally under control, until the biggest project of her career pulls her back into the past. Her client, Noelle Jamesson, is a wealthy heiress who wants Sasha to design her family’s Malibu mansion. And Noelle’s boyfriend is Rafael Moretti.... Colder. More powerful. As Noelle’s boyfriend, Rafael is suddenly everywhere Sasha has to be. In meetings. At dinners. On the Malibu site. Standing too close, watching too carefully, saying her name like he still knows exactly where to cut. Sasha can handle his coldness. She can handle his new woman. She can even handle the way her body still remembers him before her pride can stop it. What she cannot handle is Maxime. Her whole world. Because if Rafael ever learns the truth, he will not simply ask for a place in Max’s life. Rafael takes what he believes belongs to him. And Sasha is terrified that ....he will come for the only thing she cannot survive losing.
더 보기“This isn’t a mansion,” I muttered as the car turned past a tall stone gate with a J carved into a bronze plaque. “This is psychological compensation.”Maya immediately leaned toward my window. “Oh, wow.”The Jamesson estate stood on the hill like someone had once seen a European castle, felt personally offended about being born in California, then decided to take revenge with glass, limestone, and building permits that had definitely made a city planner cry in a bathroom.The driveway was too long.It curved past old olive trees lit from below, their trunks beautifully twisted, their leaves gleaming silver in the dark. In the middle of the courtyard, a large fountain sent water upward with a soft and deeply self-assured sound. Valets in dark uniforms stood in a neat line near the entrance stairs, their expressions identical: polite, expensive, and already familiar with far too many drunk rich men calling themselves “collectors.”The house itself…Damn it.I hated when something exces
After lunch, I moved my laptop and iPad into the living room. I cracked the glass door open so the sea breeze could slip in. I sat on the sofa with my MacBook on my lap, my iPad on the table, Apple Pencil in hand, my hair twisted messily on top of my head. On the screen, the Malibu floor plan stared back at me with all its lines begging to be fixed.Max sat on the rug not far from me, surrounded by Legos like a tiny king who had just conquered a plastic kingdom. Gabriella was half-reclined in the armchair by the window, reading something on her tablet with one eye still on Max.“This is a tower,” Max said.I didn’t look up from the iPad. “Nice.”“This is not a normal tower.”“Of course it isn’t.”“This is a tower for the Batman car.”I redrew the circulation line on the plan. “Your architectural ambition is very specific.”He added a red block on top of a black one. The structure leaned slightly. He tilted his head, assessing it.“Mami.”“Hm?”“If a tower falls, is that design or probl
By ten twelve, I had already left Aster House with my laptop still warm in my bag, one unfinished contractor call in my ear, and Nina’s last text message sitting on my screen:[If the tile vendor calls again, I’m faking my own death.]I replied with one hand at a red light.[Do it after lunch. We have invoices.]Los Angeles moved around me the way it always did, too bright, too confident, too expensive for a city that still had potholes. I parked the SUV in front of Max’s preschool with sunglasses on my face and the expression of a woman with three deadlines, one child, and zero tolerance for mothers who stood by the school gate discussing gluten as if it were their ex-husband.Gabriella was already waiting near the entrance with a tote bag on her shoulder, round sunglasses perched on her nose, and Maxime standing beside her while hugging one large sheet of paper to his chest.The moment he saw me, Max lifted the drawing high.“MAMI!”Several heads turned.I lowered the car window a li
We went downstairs together. The house was still full of clean morning light, the large glass windows in the living room catching the color of the ocean in the distance. In the kitchen, Max’s breakfast was almost gone: small pieces of pancake, strawberries, scrambled eggs he had eaten while complaining that the texture was “too serious,” and milk reduced to a white line at the bottom of his glass. On the island, there was still one small spoon that was, for reasons unknown, completely wet.I decided not to ask.Some things were better off dying as mysteries.In the foyer, Max stopped abruptly.I nearly ran into him. “What now?”He stared at the front door like a tiny actor before stepping onto a stage. Then he took a breath, lifted one hand into the air, and began to sing.“Preschool, I am coming, don’t be scared, I bring snacks and fast car.”I closed my eyes.Gabriella turned to me. “Do you want me to stop him, or should we let art live?”“If art wakes the neighbors, art can be sued.
Today, Maxime Rivera decided that uniform shorts were a form of oppression.I knew this before he said it, because he was already lying flat on his back on the bedroom rug with one leg in the air, his black hair sticking out in every direction, his bangs covering almost half his forehead, and his wh
Max pressed his lips together, then slowly pulled out the chair. He tried to climb up by himself, his chubby knee pushing into the seat cushion, one hand gripping the edge of the table. His face was so serious, as if he were scaling the Pottery Barn version of Everest. Once he managed to sit, he im
My house sat inside a gated community far too expensive for people who still had real-life problems, but Los Angeles had always possessed a slightly cruel sense of humor.At the front gate, the security guard gave a small nod when he saw my car. I lowered the window and offered the minimum required
Five years later.Los Angeles felt like a city built out of glass, sunlight, and people far too confident to ever admit they were confused.I stood in the twenty-third-floor boardroom at Jamesson Holdings, facing a presentation screen the size of a mortal sin, while Noelle Jamesson stared at the ho












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