My Teenage Sweetheart

{Vincent’s POV}I couldn’t get her out of my head. Every meeting, every contract, every glass of scotch reminded me of what I had destroyed.It had been one thing to leave her years ago. But to see her again, thriving, beautiful, unstoppable… it felt like punishment for every selfish decision I had ever made.I tried to reach her, again and again, but every attempt fell into silence. She shut me out completely. And Diane—my cousin, the only one who knew where she was—chose to keep her secret, afraid I’d only break her heart all over again.I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her the truth—that I had learned it was all a setup, that Lisa and my mother had orchestrated her downfall—but I was too scared. Too proud. Too ashamed.I watched her from afar, studying her every move on social media, in interviews, in the press. The girl I had loved was no longer a girl. She was a force of nature. And I feared that my presence would only shatter her once more.But before I could face her, I

{Vanessa’s POV}The first time I saw her, I almost dropped the grocery bag in my hands.A sleek black Mercedes purred to a stop in front of the mansion gates, its tinted windows flashing against the afternoon sun like polished obsidian. The driver—tall, crisp in a tailored suit—was out in a heartbeat, circling the car with trained precision. He moved with the quiet obedience of someone who had practiced this routine a hundred times before.Then the back door opened.And out she stepped—like she had walked straight off the glossy pages of a fashion magazine and into my world.Lisa.Her presence hit like a slap. Her heels struck the marble driveway in sharp, precise clicks, each one echoing power and privilege. She didn’t just walk—she owned the ground beneath her. Her black dress clung to her figure as though it had been molded around her body, every seam sculpting confidence and entitlement. Around her wrist, a diamond bracelet caught the sunlight in cruel flashes, scattering pieces o

{Vanessa’s POV}It happened on a night when the mansion was buzzing with guests. Lisa and Lady Sinclair were both in silk gowns, sipping wine, whispering in corners, their eyes flicking toward me more than once. I felt the weight of it, but ignored it, clinging to the fragile happiness Vincent and I had built.Later that night, Diana pulled me aside. “Be careful, Nessa,” she warned, her brows furrowed. “I don’t like the way they’re watching you.”I smiled faintly, brushing it off. “I’ll be fine. Vincent won’t let anything happen.”I was wrong.I never saw the powder slipped into my drink. Never felt the trap until it was too late. My eyelids grew heavy, the world blurring, my body weakening as I stumbled toward the maids’ quarters.When I woke, it was to the sound of a roar.“WHAT IS THIS?!”My vision cleared enough to see Vincent standing at the doorway, fury etched into every line of his face. I followed his gaze—only to see a man, half-dressed, scrambling off the bed beside me.“No

{Vanessa’s POV}The morning light spilled across the Sinclair mansion, warm and golden. Vincent’s arms had held me close, and even now, two weeks later, his words still echoed in my mind: “Don’t leave me again…This time, there was no hiding. No late-night sneaking through the hallways, no shadows to cover what we felt. When I stepped into the dining room, Vincent was already at the head of the long polished dining table. Lady Sinclair sat poised at his right, and across from him, Lisa’s eyes locked on me—sharp, cold, cutting through me like glass.The moment Vincent saw me, his lips curved in the kind of smile — the kind that made my heart trip over itself. He didn’t care who was watching. He pulled out the chair beside him.“Sit here,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine.I hesitated, feeling Lisa’s glare burn into me and catching the sharp inhale from Lady Sinclair. But I refused to shrink back this time. Lifting my chin, I walked forward and took the seat beside him. H

{ Vanessa’s POV}The silence that followed was deafening. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.Lady Sinclair’s hand trembled in the air before she lowered it slowly, her eyes narrowing at her son. “Unbelievable,” she muttered bitterly before sweeping out after Lisa, her gown whispering against the floor like a warning.The moment the door closed behind her, Vincent’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was firm, unyielding, urgent.“Come with me,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.He pulled me through the corridors, his stride long and sure. I stumbled to keep up, clutching my skirts, my pulse racing. My wrist tingled where his hand gripped me, and though his hold wasn’t cruel, it was charged with something I couldn’t name—anger, desperation, maybe even longing.To anyone watching, it might have looked like a knight whisking a maiden away. To me, it felt like being pulled into the heart of a storm. Servants glanced up as we passed,