Jennifer POV The taste of gin burned as it slid down my throat, bitter and biting, nothing like the expensive liqueurs I used to sip while signing fashion deals and flashing teeth at fake friends. My hand trembled as I poured another glass, ignoring the way my silk robe clung to my skin with a sheen of sweat. The penthouse was a wreck, curtains drawn tight, the once-gleaming marble floor now littered with crumpled papers, overturned glasses, and half-eaten takeout boxes. My world, once manicured to glossy perfection, now stank of desperation and spilled alcohol. “Sasha!” I screamed hoarsely. “Where the hell is my phone charger?” No answer. I kicked aside an empty bottle and stormed into the hallway, nearly tripping over my own bare feet. Marcyt’s room was empty. Her closet—open. Her suitcase? Gone. A note lay on the dresser. Jennifer, I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. I’ve stuck by you through everything, but I won’t be part of this implosion. I hope you get the help you need.
Lucian POV The elevator hummed as it descended to the private parking lot. My reflection stared back at me in the mirrored walls,sharp, cold, and detached. I had perfected the look over years of boardroom battles, the tailored suits, the impassive face, the aura of someone who never faltered. But inside, something else boiled, a slow-burning rage that refused to simmer. I hadn’t slept. Not properly. Not since the meeting with Mike. His words haunted me more than I cared to admit. Eloise. The message. The kidney. All the truths that Jennifer had buried beneath herbsaccharine smiles. I should have known. I should have seen it. The moment the elevator pinged open, Eva, my personal assistant, stood waiting like clockwork. But one look at her and I paused. Her face was pale. She held out her phone. “Sir… there’s something you need to see. It came in anonymously this morning.” I took it. An email. The subject line read: “Your Fiancée’s Real Lover.” Attached were photos. Blurry at
Eloise’s POV Ever since I returned from the hospital, Max hadn’t left my side. At first, I thought it was a phase. A child clinging to a mother who he missed for too long. But it wasn’t a phase, it was him quietly keeping watch. His tiny hands always finding mine, his nose buried in my hair whenever I held still long enough. He didn’t speak much about it. Just stayed close, as if that alone could stop the world from spinning out of control again. That morning, I woke to the weight of him sprawled across my stomach like a stubborn cat. My arms ached from being pinned beneath him, but I didn’t move. His breath was steady, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed with sleep. The way he looked in that moment, the soft curve of his lashes, the peace in his expression, made my chest ache in a different way. A quieter ache. Not of pain, but of fierce, protective love. He stirred when I brushed a hand over his curls. “Mommy?” he mumbled, voice scratchy with sleep. “I’m here, baby,” I whispe
Lucian’s POV I didn’t sleep. Not even for a second. The night bled into the morning slowly. I sat in the dark with my elbows on the dining table, the cold marble pressing into my forearms. The city lights blinked outside the window like distant warnings. But all I could see was her face. Eloise. And Max. My son. My phone had sat beside me all night, its screen lighting up now and then with meaningless notifications, news, stocks, reminders. Not a single thing that mattered. Nothing that could rewind time. By six a.m., I had already found Mike’s number. I didn’t save it under his name. Just digits I memorized long ago when I thought I’d never need them again. I pressed call. One ring. Two. Then his voice answered, low and clipped. “Yeah?” “It’s Lucian.” My throat was tight, like the words barely made it out. Silence stretched so long I thought he’d hung up. Then, flatly, “Why the hell are you calling me?” “I want to talk,” I said, standing from the table and pacing toward th
Lucian’s POV The world had never felt this quiet. The remote villa’s silence had wrapped around me like a weighted blanket since the day I drove here and tossed my phone onto the couch without so much as a glance back. I’d told myself I needed time, time to think, time to breathe, time to escape the noise. But I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t breathing. I was hiding. Every sunrise filtered through the glass doors like an accusation. Every meal I made in the open-plan kitchen tasted like guilt. Every night I laid my head on the pillow and stared at the wooden ceiling beams, wondering how things spiraled this far, this fast. Jennifer had become a storm I couldn’t hold back. I should’ve stopped her. It had taken everything in me to resist checking the outside world. But today… I broke. Sitting at the dining table with cold coffee in front of me, I turned my phone back on. It hummed to life like a warning, screen lighting up with a flurry of notifications. Dozens of texts, missed
Mike POV The white linoleum floors reflected the early afternoon sunlight that crept in through the window slats. It had been nearly two weeks since Eloise’s surgery, and the air in her hospital room had changed, less sterile, more lived-in. A small bouquet of artificial tulips sat in a glass vase on her bedside table, their edges slightly frayed. The discharge papers were due tomorrow. The doctors had done their part. Now it was my turn. Eloise shifted beneath the thin hospital sheets, propping herself up with a soft grunt. Her hair was gathered in a lazy braid, the kind she did when she didn’t want to try too hard but still wanted to feel like herself. I watched her fingers, always so delicate and artistic, now fidgeting with the corner of the sheet. “Mike,” she said softly, her voice still hoarse in that way that made my chest ache. “You never told me what they found. After the surgery.” I froze. I had hoped she’d forget. That the flurry of pain and painkillers, Max’s video ca