LOGINSix Secrets. One Devastating Truth. Zero Escape. One heartbroken night. One reckless stranger. One decision that changed everything. Three years ago, Sloane Carter walked into a Chicago bar to forget the man who destroyed her. She walked out carrying a secret that would define the rest of her life — six of them, actually. Because the devastatingly handsome stranger she gave herself to that night didn't just break through her walls. He left her with sextuplets she's been raising alone, loving fiercely, and hiding from the world ever since. She never got his name. She never needed to. Until now. When a desperate job search lands Sloane inside PIERCE Tower — Chicago's most powerful corporation — she comes face to face with the one man she never thought she'd see again. Declan Pierce. Billionaire. CEO. Ruthless. Magnetic. And the father of her six children, who have his jaw, his eyes, and absolutely no idea he exists. Now Sloane is trapped — forty-two floors up, steps from his office, dodging his questions, outrunning his memory, and fighting a pull between them that three years and six babies haven't dulled one single degree. Declan Pierce didn't build an empire by missing details. And the more time she spends in his orbit, the more she can feel him circling the truth — patient, dangerous, inevitable. She has one rule: he cannot find out. He has one certainty: he's seen her before. And somewhere between the boardroom power plays, the jealous relatives, and six toddlers who look exactly like their father — the clock is running out on the biggest secret in Chicago. Because Declan Pierce never loses. And he's already decided that Sloane Carter is something he's not willing to let go. The only question is what happens when he finds out why.
View MoreSloane sat on the kitchen floor with her back against the cabinet and her heels finally — finally — off her feet, and stared at nothing.Secretarial department. Executive floor. His floor.She turned the formula scoop over in her hand. The kitchen smelled like warm milk and the lavender wipes she used to clean sticky fingerprints off absolutely every surface of her life.Just resign. The thought circled her brain for the hundredth time. Walk in tomorrow, say thank you, no thank you, and walk back out.Except Kai Torres's voice kept cutting through: Making Declan Pierce reconsider a decision he's already made? Not very good for your health.She'd googled Declan Pierce tonight. Deeply. Thoroughly. The kind of research she probably should have done before she walked into his building and accepted a job. Three pages of results — magazine profiles, Forbes features, a Chicago Tribune
Marcus Holt's face went the color of a stop sign."Excuse me?" The word came out strangled, like she'd physically reached into his chest and squeezed.Sloane held her ground. Chin up. Heart hammering. Every survival instinct she owned was screaming at her to backpedal, apologize, smooth it over — and she ignored every single one."You heard me," she said quietly.Then someone laughed.Not a polite, muffled laugh. A real one — short, sharp, involuntary. Like it had escaped before the owner could stop it.Marcus spun toward the sound, fury already reshaping his face into something ugly. "Who the—"He stopped.The color drained out of him so fast Sloane could actually watch it happen.She turned.Declan Pierce stood at the far end of the corridor.He hadn't made a sound. Hadn't announced himself. He was simply there — tall and dark and devastatingly still, one hand loo
Sloane didn't know him. But Stella did — she could tell by the way her coworker's whole posture shifted, spine snapping straight, smile jumping three sizes."Mr. Holt." Stella's voice went full professional. "Good afternoon."The man was mid-forties, broad in the way that used to be muscle and was now just presence, wearing a suit that cost more than Sloane's monthly rent. His eyes moved to Sloane slowly. Deliberately. The kind of look that takes inventory."New face," he said. Not a question."Yes, sir. First week." Sloane kept her voice even and her smile exactly professional enough. "Sloane Carter."He repeated her name like he was tasting it. "Sloane Carter." A slow smile spread across his face. "That sounds like a little girl's name."Sloane's smile didn't move a single millimeter."Dinner tonight." He said it the way men like him said everything — like the word no had simply never been invented. "You're coming."Then he turned and walked away.Sloane stared at the space he'd lef
Nobody warned Sloane that the front desk job would slowly murder her feet.Six hours in. Heels on. Smile locked. Spine straight. Stella — the bright-eyed receptionist who'd been stationed beside her all morning — had rattled through the unofficial orientation with the cheerful efficiency of someone who had long ago made peace with standing eight hours a day.Answer before the third ring. Mr. Pierce's calls go straight up, no screening. If someone doesn't have an appointment and looks like trouble, they probably are.Sloane had nodded through all of it, cataloguing every detail, because this job was temporary and that was fine and everything was absolutely fine and she was not going to think about the fact that somewhere above her, forty-two floors up, the father of her children was probably sitting behind a desk the size of a small country.She was doing great.At 11:47, the energy in the lobby changed.It was subtle at first — a sharpening in the air, like the pressure drop before a






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