LOGINOn the night of her highly anticipated jewel launch, Eloise's world shatters when her husband Lucian publicly divorces her on national TV, rekindling his relationship with his ex-lover Jennifer, who is also Eloise's step-sister. As Eloise picks up the pieces, she meets a new man, who happns to be her boss, and sparks fly. Just as she begins to find success and happiness again, Lucian comes crawling back, desperate to reclaim what he lost.
View MoreI know some of you have been impatient, waiting, hoping, and silently rooting for Eloise from the very beginning. You saw her broken, you saw her fight, you saw her lose, and yet you stayed, turning each page, holding your breath, waiting for her to finally get her moment. This story wasn’t meant to be rushed. Eloise’s journey was never about instant happiness, but about clawing her way through betrayal, heartbreak, revenge, and resilience. Every tear, every scream, every whispered “I can’t anymore” was building toward this ending. To those who loved Eloise fiercely, thank you. To those who hated her at times but couldn’t stop reading — thank you. To those who sent me messages like “When will she finally win?!” I heard you, I felt your impatience, but I promise it made this ending sweeter. This isn’t just a love story. It’s survival. It’s revenge. It’s healing. It’s proof that broken doesn’t mean defeated. And now, Eloise finally has her victory. She has her freedom. She has her lov
Eloise I leaned back in my office chair, staring at the glowing computer screen but not truly seeing it. Numbers blurred into meaningless shapes, emails stacked in neat, demanding rows. The quiet tick of the clock on the wall was the only rhythm in the room, and still I couldn’t shake the restless thrum in my chest. It had been a month since everything, since the final confrontation, since Lucian had been cut clean out of my life, since the venom of betrayal stopped coursing through every breath I took. A month since Damon’s last failed attempt to claw his way into control. A month of rediscovering silence. A month of relearning who I was without constantly looking over my shoulder. But grief had a way of leaving footprints on your soul. Some mornings I woke up light, unshackled, free. Other mornings, I carried the old ghosts. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips against my temple. Just five minutes of peace, I told myself. Five minutes before diving back into quarterly repo
Eloise It had been days since Mike came to me with his apology, days of me tossing on my bed, clutching my pillow, wondering if forgiveness was too generous a word to give a man who had once gambled with my trust. The air in my house had grown stale from replaying the same memories: the sting of Damon’s words, the confusion that crawled into my heart, and Mike’s face when he admitted what happened years ago. I couldn’t carry it alone anymore. My pride was starting to feel heavier than my heart. So I picked up my phone and dialed the one person who never sugarcoated anything. “Ava,” I breathed when she answered. “You sound like a storm about to break,” she said, her tone already bracing for confession. “Can you come over? I…I need you.” She didn’t ask why. “Give me twenty minutes.” By the time she arrived, I had already made tea, though neither of us touched it once we sat at the kitchen table. Ava leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, her expression the mix of friend and
Eloise – First Person POV The steam from my shower still clung to my skin, wrapping me in its lingering warmth as I padded barefoot across the hardwood floor of my apartment. Droplets slipped down my collarbone and disappeared into the neckline of my silk robe. My hair, damp and heavy, clung to my shoulders. For weeks, my mornings had begun like this, quiet, steady, predictable. Peaceful, people would call it. They didn’t know how silence could sometimes be the loudest noise in the room. Peace had returned, yes. The atelier glimmered again, its glass walls spotless, its display cases brimming with new designs that bore only my name. My funds were back in my hands, and contracts that had once been ripped from me were signed anew under Eloise Laurent, my rebranded name. Every magazine headline called me a survivor, a fighter, the woman who rebuilt herself from the ashes. And yet, not one of those glittering titles filled the void Mike had carved into me. Every time I let my thoughts






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