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Chapter 68

Author: Mary Anthony
last update Last Updated: 2026-03-02 17:21:47

We spend the next three days together. Not living together, not rushing. Just talking. Rebuilding trust brick by brick.

Lucien takes me to breakfast every morning. We walk through Central Park despite my ungainly waddle. We talk about everything—his childhood, mine, our fears, our hopes, what we want for our daughter.

He tells me about building Cross Luxury Group from nothing after his father's bankruptcy. About the pressure to succeed, to prove he wasn't his father's failure. About the mistake
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    Ten days into Victor's assault on my business, I'm barely functioning.I've lost half my team. Orders are being canceled. The hostile takeover vote is in two weeks. Fashion blogs are still questioning my sustainability claims despite verified statements from all my suppliers.I'm working twenty-hour days. Living on coffee and anxiety. Snapping at Charlotte. Avoiding Lucien's calls.I'm drowning and I'm too proud to grab the life preserver.Clara confronts me on day eleven. "You're going to collapse. You need to sleep. Eat. Take care of yourself.""I'm fine.""You're not fine. You're destroying yourself.""I'm fighting. There's a difference.""Is there? Because from here it looks the same."I ignore her. Keep working. Keep fighting. Keep pretending I have everything under control.On day twelve, my lawyer calls. "The shareholders vote is leaning toward accepting Zhang's offer. Seventy-thirty in favor. Unless something changes, Ashford House's parent company will be acquired.""How long

  • My Ex's Boss is My Baby's Father   Chapter 81

    I spend the weekend agonizing over Victor Zhang's offer. £150 million stares at me from the folder on my desk. I run numbers, weigh options, talk to my lawyer.Monday morning, I make my decision.I call David Chen. "I'm declining the offer. I appreciate the opportunity, but I'm not interested in selling my brand or signing exclusivity agreements.""Ms. Thorne, I'd encourage you to reconsider. Mr. Zhang rarely makes offers of this magnitude.""I've considered. My answer is no.""Very well. Mr. Zhang will be disappointed. Good luck with your ventures."The call ends. I feel relieved. Vindicated. I chose Lucien. Chose us. Chose independence over money.I call Lucien immediately. "I refused.""You did?" Relief floods his voice. "Are you sure?""I'm sure. I don't want to work for someone who's trying to use me as a weapon against you. And I don't want to sign away my freedom.""I'm proud of you. I know that wasn't easy.""It wasn't. But it was right."We have dinner that night to celebrate

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    Milan Fashion Week becomes a blur of shows, meetings, and stolen moments with Lucien.We have breakfast together the next morning. A quiet café away from the fashion crowd. We talk about our childhoods—his growing up wealthy but emotionally neglected, mine growing up poor but loved before our mother left."I never knew you were close with your mother," he says."Until I was twelve. Then she left. Blair and I raised ourselves after that.""That explains a lot.""What do you mean?""Why you're so independent. So determined to prove you can do everything alone. You had to."It's a simple observation but it hits deep. "I never thought of it that way.""Maybe that's why you ran. Not because you don't trust me. But because you've never been able to depend on anyone.""Maybe."We have lunch between shows. Dinner after events. Late-night walks through Milan's illuminated streets.We talk about everything. Our favorite books—he loves historical fiction, I love contemporary literary. Our music

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    The next morning, I wake to sunlight streaming through the hotel windows and a text from Lucien."Good morning. Coffee?"I smile despite my nerves. "Yes. Where?""Meet me at the café across from your hotel in thirty minutes?"I shower quickly, dress in casual clothes—jeans and one of my own designs, a soft cashmere sweater. No armor today. Just me.He's already there when I arrive, sitting at an outdoor table with two cappuccinos. He stands when he sees me, kisses my cheek. The gesture is natural, easy. Like we do this every morning."You look rested," he says."I slept well. First time in months.""Me too."We sit. Sip our coffee. Watch Milan wake up around us."So," I say finally. "We're doing this. Trying.""We are. How do you feel about that in the light of day?""Terrified. Hopeful. Both.""Same.""We should probably talk logistics. How this actually works.""We should. But first, I think we need to finish the conversation we started last night."My stomach tightens. "What conver

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