ログイン“I slept with my twin sister’s fiancé… and now I’m carrying his baby.” Aria Stone only wanted one thing: to escape her sister’s glamorous, toxic world. But one mistake—one night at a masquerade ball—shatters everything. Because the man she spent the night with? The cold, impossibly handsome billionaire CEO… is her twin sister’s fiancé. And when two lines appear on the pregnancy test, her nightmare becomes a scandal waiting to explode. Noah West, the untouchable gaming tycoon, refuses to let her disappear. He wants the baby. He wants her safe. He wants her close. But the more he protects her, the more dangerous everything becomes— jealous rivals, a furious sister, a secret online identity, and a forbidden love that grows too fast to control. He was supposed to marry her sister. So why does he act like Aria belongs to him? And when their secret goes public… the entire world will choose a side. A billionaire CEO. A forbidden pregnancy. Two twins. One explosive secret.
もっと見るIt was a Sunday in late summer, fifty years after Aria Stone had first walked into a ballroom wearing a mask of black feathers.The estate garden was quiet now, the raucous party of the funeral reception long over. The tables had been cleared, the chairs stacked.But on the back porch, the story was still being told.Emma West sat in the wicker chair her mother had favored. Her hair was white, cut in a soft bob. She held a book in her lap—a first edition copy of To the Girl in the Mask, the cover faded from decades of handling.Sitting on the floor around her was a circle of children.Great-grandchildren.There was Leo’s son, named Julian after his grandfather. There was Grace’s youngest, a girl with bright blue eyes named Sienna. There was a boy with paint under his fingernails who claimed he was going to be the next Theo."Read it again, Grandma," little Sienna begged. "The part about the fortress."Emma smiled. She opened the book. The pages crackled, a dry, comforting sound."This
The funeral of Aria Stone-West was not a private affair. It couldn't be.Emma West stood at the top of the cathedral steps, looking out at the crowd that filled Fifth Avenue. Police barricades held back the press, the mourners, the curious, and the grateful.There were thousands of them.Women holding copies of To the Girl in the Mask. Families who had been kept together by the Family Integrity Act. Young game designers who had been inspired by The Fortress."She would have hated this," Theo murmured, standing beside Emma. He adjusted his sunglasses. His hair was white now, but he still wore a blazer over a t-shirt, defying dress codes until the end."She would have pretended to hate it," Emma corrected. "But secretly? She would have loved the turnout. It proves the work mattered.""The work always mattered," Liam said. He was on Emma’s other side, his arm linked through hers. "But the people matter more."Emma looked at her siblings. Theo, the artist who had painted their trauma into
The bedroom windows were open, letting in the scent of late summer roses and the distant, rhythmic hum of the cicadas. It was a sound Aria had loved for forty years—the sound of the estate breathing.She lay against the pillows, her body light, almost weightless. The pain that had been her companion in the early years—the incision scars, the heartache—was gone. Even the arthritis that had plagued her writing hands had faded into a dull, distant buzz.The room was crowded, but it wasn't chaotic. It was a hushed, reverent gathering of the tribe.Emma sat by her right hand. Her hair was grey now, cut in a sharp, sensible bob that suited the retired judge she had become. She held Aria’s hand, her thumb rubbing the thin, papery skin.Theo stood by the window, sketching. He never stopped sketching. He was capturing the light on her face, preserving the moment before it vanished.Liam sat at the foot of the bed, reading aloud from a book of poetry. His voice was deep, soothing, the voice of
The penthouse had never been quieter than it was in the year after Noah died.It wasn't a mournful silence. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of the early days, when the grief was a physical weight on Aria’s chest. It was a settled silence. A silence that held space for the memories that lived in every corner of the room.Aria sat at her desk in the study. She was older now, her hair completely white, her hands stiff with arthritis on rainy days. But her mind was sharp.The laptop screen glowed in front of her.After the Mask.It was the title of her second book. The sequel to the memoir that had launched a movement. But this one wasn't about surviving trauma. It was about surviving love.It was about the thirty-five years she had spent building a fortress with a man who had once been a stranger in a mask.Grief is just love with nowhere to go, Aria typed. That's what they tell you. But they're wrong. Grief has somewhere to go. It goes into the work. It goes into the legacy.Sh
The grandfather clock in the hallway was loud.Tick. Tock.It was a antique piece Noah’s father had bought at auction in London. Usually, the sound blended into the background of the penthouse, a rhythmic heartbeat that signified stability. Now, it sounded like a countdown.Tick. Tock.Aria sat at
The printer in Aria's home office hummed, a rhythmic chug-chug-slide that sounded obscenely loud in the quiet house.Aria stood over it, catching the pages as they slid into the tray. They were still warm.Kenji hadn’t sent the file digitally. He’d sent a courier with a hard drive, encrypted with a
The invitation sat on the vanity, heavy cream cardstock embossed with gold leaf. It looked remarkably similar to the one that had sat on my desk at the old apartment six years ago—the one that had felt like a trap.The Arts Foundation Masquerade Gala. The Plaza Hotel.Six years.I stood in front of
Forgiveness, I discovered, wasn't a lightning bolt. It wasn't a singular moment of grace where the clouds parted and the anger evaporated.It was a slow, grinding excavation. It was digging through layers of resentment, hurt, and decades-old scar tissue to find the person I used to be underneath it
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