LOGINEmily’s life was already planned—obedient daughter, perfect fiancée, quiet future. Then she crossed the wrong line. Adrian Carter is everything she shouldn’t want—her fiancé’s uncle, a ruthless billionaire, and a man who sees straight through her carefully built facade. One night changes everything. And Adrian has no intention of letting her go.
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“Why do you have to go through with this engagement? Don’t you love me anymore?” I paused. I was standing near the restroom, watching them, they couldn't even close the door properly, it simply showed how foolish they were The sound of Lily’s voice, pleading and soft, carried through the dim evening air. It was intimate, vulnerable. Nathan’s arm tightened around her shoulder. “It’s not like that, Lily,” he said gently. “You know this isn’t a choice I could make on my own. It’s… it’s been decided since we were children. I don't have a say.” Coward. Lily’s lips trembled, but she pressed closer to him. Her cheek brushed his, and I noticed the subtle tilt of her head, the way she inhaled sharply, eyes flashing toward me even as she clung to him, a smirk on her lips. I had expected this. I had known, long before tonight, that there was history here. That something had existed between them, something tender, something unspoken. But the sight of it now—Lily’s quiet defiance and Nathan’s careful patience—made the irritation bubble in me. Not because I cared about Nathan. Not because I was jealous. I was above that. It was the disrespect I felt, the audacity of their little display, right here at our engagement party. In public, where anyone could see them, the recklessness. Nathan leaned down, brushing his lips to Lily’s, soft at first, as if testing the waters, as if this kiss could smooth over the edges of their disagreement. Lily responded instantly, her hand moving to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, eyes dark and smug as they found mine across the crowd. That smirk. That deliberate, brazen look. She was claiming him. In front of me. And worse, she was daring me to care. Nathan’s lips moaned against hers, and I felt a small, uncomfortable twist in my stomach—not desire, but intrusion. The kiss deepened, unhurried, intimate, and for a moment I caught the faint scent of his cologne—the one Lily had always leaned into, the one I could never let myself forget. I turned away. The polite mask slid back into place as I returned to the party, my heels clicking against the polished stone, a smile painted carefully across my face. I raised a hand, nodded, and murmured the usual pleasantries to distant cousins, long-lost aunts, and family friends whose names I didn’t remember. My glass never left my hand. My voice never faltered. Inside, I was counting the minutes, measuring their audacity, remembering the way Nathan’s hand rested on her waist, the ease with which she leaned into him. Their little performance of love—so obvious, so calculated—made my skin crawl. Not because I wanted Nathan, but because I had spent years learning to control my own space, my own image, my own boundaries. And now they trampled over them as though they were entitled to it. I knew their story, their history. I had known before tonight. But witnessing it firsthand, seeing the deliberate glances and small, sharp gestures—Lily’s hand brushing against his chest, her eyes catching mine and holding it, a silent dare—it was audacious. And it made me… angry. Pissed. I sipped my drink, pretending to admire the floral arrangements. Nothing about this evening belonged to me, and yet, I had to navigate it. Smile, nod, participate. That was all anyone expected. That was all I had ever been allowed to expect. “Emily!” A warm, friendly voice broke through my thoughts. I turned to see Mrs. Carter, her hands clasped in delight, a bouquet of orchids spilling from her arms. “I’m so glad you’re here! Do come over, we haven’t had a proper chance to talk.” I nodded politely, adjusting the hem of my dress and letting a tight smile take over my features. The world did not need to know I had just witnessed a kiss that wasn’t mine to care about. The world needed me calm, composed, and presentable. I moved toward the Carters, keeping my head high. A few well-placed laughs, a small blush when someone commented on the engagement, polite appreciation when gifts were given. My mask was flawless, practiced. And all the while, I felt it: the weight of eyes on me. Not from Lily. Not from Nathan. Someone else. Somewhere across the garden, in the shadows beneath the marble terrace, someone was watching me. I turned back, scanning the crowd, my eyes met ones I'd never seen before, he kept his eyes on mine, and I looked away, something about the look in his yes unsettled me. When I looked back, he was engrossed in discussions with a group of men who kept bowing slightly as they shook his hands He seemed like someone important but I'd never seem him, I'd probably ask Nathan later when he's done with his 'rendezvous' I moved on, greeting more guests, chatting in carefully measured tones, pouring myself another drink to maintain appearances. Toasts. Polite laughter. Polished responses. Smooth nods. Observant eyes. Playing the perfect obedient daughter-in-law and fiancee.Emily The exhibition opened on a Friday evening in October, the gallery walls washed in light that made Hope's sculptures glow with an inner luminescence I hadn't expected. She'd chosen marble for this series, the same Carrara I'd worked with for decades, but her treatment was different—rougher, more aggressive, the figures emerging from stone with a violence that suggested struggle rather than revelation. I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by my daughter's work, and felt the strange displacement of seeing my own artistic DNA expressed in a voice entirely foreign to me. The maternal hands I'd sculpted twenty years ago, cradling invisible possibility, had become something else in Hope's hands—hands that gripped, that fought, that tore at the stone that imprisoned them. Her "Emergence" was not gentle. It was a battle. A birth that cost blood. "Mom." Hope appeared at my elbow, twenty-six and fierce and still, in her way, the child who had asked if Leonard killed Serena. She
Emily “Mom?” Hope’s voice held that careful hesitation she used when she wasn’t sure she was supposed to find something. “I was looking for winter coats in the storage room, and this was in a box behind the trunks.” I wiped my hands on my apron, something tightening in my chest before I even turned. The album rested in her hands—old leather, cracked spine, edges yellowed with time. I knew what it held before I touched it. I had put it there myself, years ago, part of the careful structure of forgetting I’d built my life around. “Come here.” She climbed onto the kitchen bench beside me, all long limbs and lingering softness, her hair still tangled from sleep. I opened the album. The first photograph showed Leonard Vale at his height—standing on the steps of the original Vale Corporation building, silver hair immaculate, smile precise and practiced. He looked powerful. He looked kind. He looked exactly like the man I had loved. “Who is that?” Hope traced the image lightly, the
Adrian Mr. Carter, I am writing to inform you of my formal retirement. My health no longer permits the duties I have performed, and I wish to spend my remaining years in peace. I have arranged my departure to minimize disruption to your household. Mrs. Carter need not know the details; I have told her I am returning to family, as we discussed years ago. I request one final meeting, at your convenience, to conclude our business. I will be at the coastal property in Portugal from the first of next month. You know the address. Lin Wei I read it twice, then fed it to the fire in my study. The paper curled in on itself, blackening, the words I had already memorized dissolving into ash. I stood there longer than necessary, stirring what remained with a poker. Emily found me like that. She paused in the doorway, took in the fire, the silence, and said nothing about what I had burned. She had learned, over the years, the borders of my quiet—where questions would land and where they woul
Emily Lily’s letter arrived on a quiet Saturday morning. It stood out the moment I saw it resting on the counter—thin, pale, and out of place among grocery receipts and Leo’s crayon drawings. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent me a letter. Everything came through screens now. Messages, emails, quick calls. Things you could delete with one tap if they became too much. I picked it up slowly, turning it over in my hands. My name sat on the front in neat, careful handwriting. Too careful. Like each letter had been written with hesitation. Leo sat on the kitchen floor nearby, completely absorbed in his world. Bright plastic blocks scattered around him in uneven piles. He hummed softly, stacking and restacking, his tiny fingers working with full focus, unaware of anything beyond his small creation. Hope had already left earlier that morning. She’d slipped out with her usual quiet energy, a quick kiss to Leo’s hair, a vague wave in my direction. The studio had been calli
Emily The moment I stepped back into the ballroom, my mask slid seamlessly into place. Soft smile. Relaxed posture. Eyes warm but distant. I greeted the ladies gathered near the center of the room, accepting their compliments with practiced grace, responding to polite inquiries about my studie
EmilyI took Nathan’s arm as we stepped out of the car.The moment my heels touched the pavement, the air shifted.Cameras clicked rapidly, flashes bursting like tiny explosions around us, all of them desperate to capture the newest spectacle—the Carter heir and his fiancée. Nathan’s grip on my arm
EmilyThe rest of the week was brutal.There was no other word for it.After the night I spent at Adrian’s place, I didn’t see him again—not even once. No stolen glances. No quiet conversations. No unexpected appearances.That didn't mean I didn't here from him,My phone buzzed constantly.Did you
Emily I woke up slowly. Not the gentle kind of waking, but the kind where awareness seeps in through discomfort. My body ached—deeper than soreness, deeper than fatigue. It was the kind of ache that reminded me of everything I didn’t want to think about yet. I stared at the ceiling for a moment,












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