LOGIN“Have you tried it, Mr. Lamington? Genuine, unstructured creative play?”“No. I have a structured tutor and a language instructor who is dedicated.“Then how can you know it won't work? Creativity is the building block of innovation, which is the very thing your company stands on.”"Because I know my daughter." I'm about to answer, but he silences me with a flat palm gesture.He rises to his full height. He's looming over me now, and I try real hard not to think about the fact that I'm face to chest-a very broad, intimidating chest.I swallow hard, looking up at him."I think I've heard everything I need to hear," he says, his voice losing its professional smoothness and gaining a low rumbling resonance. "It has been a pleasure, Ms. Delgado." He extends his hand to me.I rise to my feet, but he still towers over me. I extend my hand in greeting. The second I does withdraw it, with a practiced motion, he buttons his blazer and walks out of the room without so much as looking back.(RAF
“That’s all good and fine, but there are practical considerations to worry about. My life is structured. My daughter’s learning is structured. What if you try to replace a language tutor with a messy finger-painting session and she has a total meltdown? Will you be able to handle that disruption?”“Of course, I understand the need for routine, Mr. Lamington. But I also have first aid training, as you can see from my certificate.” Actually, this is true. “And a large part of my conservation work involved the calm, methodical handling of fragile, volatile materials. I can apply that same measured temperament to a child's emotional volatility. It is about understanding root cause, not just about imposing silence.“All right… Can I ask why you left both of your previous families, and also why you recently resigned from the Uffizi conservation team?”“I left the families when they no longer needed my specialist creative focus. Their children moved into more traditional academic streams. As
BLURB- He owns the truth. She seeks the beauty.Rafael Lamington, the ruthless CEO of Lamington Global Media, is fighting a desperate battle for the soul of his empire against a cutthroat board ready to trade journalistic integrity for cheap, digital gossip. His life is a fortress of structure, control, and priceless culture—a hidden gallery protecting a legendary art collection and a soundproof study shielding his broken heart. All he needs is a governess capable of nurturing his sensitive, artistically withdrawn three-year-old daughter, Linda.Twenty-year-old Zeo Delgado is no governess. She is a disgraced art conservator driven by a singular, dangerous obsession: professional redemption. She cons her way into the Lamington Estate, not for the money, but for rumored access to the secret Lamington Collection, a trove of undocumented masterpieces she is determined to assess.When the two meet, their chemistry is a clash of opposites—her fiery, creative chaos against his cold, rigid co
“And you are mine,” she countered softly. “You allowed me to fight, you trusted my instincts, and you protected my father without question, even when you were facing the ruin of your company. You chose family first. That is everything.”The sun dipped lower, and Sophie ran up to them, clutching a handful of bright, fallen leaves.“Papa! Varisa! Look at my treasures!” Sophie held out the leaves, her face beaming.Alistair knelt, gently touching the leaves. “They are beautiful, sweetheart. Did you have fun?”“Yes! Can we get a puppy soon, Papa? You promised when things were quieter.” Sophie’s eyes were wide with hope.Alistair looked up at Varisa, a question in his eyes. They had deferred all thoughts of major family expansion during the last few chaotic months.Varisa knelt beside him, tucking Sophie’s hair behind her ear. “That’s a big question, sweet pea. Puppies are a lot of work.”“But we have a big house!” Sophie insisted, jumping up and down.Alistair pulled Sophie into a quick h
(POV: Alistair Whitlock)“Are you certain the District Attorney has everything they need? We can’t afford any bureaucratic slip-ups this time. No delays, no vanished witnesses, no more appeals.” Alistair stood over his desk at Whitlock Manor, holding a thick file of evidence—Celia Graham’s comprehensive portfolio—which was destined for the prosecutor’s office.Callum Ford, on the secure line, sounded unequivocally confident. “Sir, the case is airtight. Celia Graham’s documentation—the coded notes, the financial transfers to Cuis Papadakis, the explicit instructions to Clara Henshaw regarding the patent delay—it’s a road map of the entire conspiracy. Mariela Cruz’s recorded confession at Athena’s Table detailing the threat against Sophie, and Ricardo Molina’s voluntary testimony confirming Mateo’s coercion, are just the icing on the cake.”“And the tax audit against Mr. Romero?” Varisa asked, leaning into the speakerphone.“Completely dissolved, Mrs. Whitlock. Our team established that
(POV: Varisa Romero)“You need to sell this, Ricardo. You need to sound terrified, and you need to sound convincing,” Alistair instructed, his voice low and tight, hovering over Ricardo Molina in a secure communications room at the coastal villa near the Private Isle of Santa Luna.Molina, who was genuinely sweating under the pressure, nodded. “I understand, Mr. Whitlock. I tell Cuis Papadakis that Rowe pulled the plug, that the support is gone, and that I'm ready to flip back to Lily if they can get me out of Italy tonight. I tell them I have the affidavits detailing the Whitlock bribery and I’ll hand them over.”“Exactly,” Varisa confirmed, standing next to Alistair. “It’s the only way to get Cuis Papadakis and Mariela Cruz to surface. Cuis will want the affidavits for leverage, and Mariela will want to feel like a hero for securing the information. We lure them out of the shadows with the promise of victory.”“And what if they don't trust the location?” Molina asked nervously, clut







