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:What Comes After

Penulis: Keodiniah
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-04-20 03:25:00

Emma’s POV

The university grounds buzzed with the kind of excitement only the end of a semester could bring. Students posed in graduation robes near the ivy-covered arches, champagne bottles popped in the quad, and seniors wandered around in dazed nostalgia, already mourning the end of an era.

But for me, it didn’t feel like an ending. Not really. It felt like a cliff I was being pushed toward one I didn’t know how to leap from.

I stood at the window of the student union building, watching a group of girls giggle as they snapped pictures in their gowns. My gown was still in its box. I hadn’t even taken it out.

Behind me, the room was quiet, except for the rustle of pages.

Killian sat on the floor with his back against the wall, reviewing final notes for our last economics paper. His hair was messy from his fingers constantly running through it, and he had that familiar furrow between his brows
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  • Ruthless Temptation   Dealing With In-Laws

    Emma The Hamptons glow still lingered on my skin. I could still feel Killian’s lips on my collarbone from the night before, the warmth of his arms around me while Alina slept soundly in the portable crib by our bed. That vacation had reminded me what we were fighting for. But peace is always temporary when it comes to my father. I barely had one hand on my morning coffee when my assistant walked in with her usual clipped tone. “Your father’s office scheduled a breakfast meeting with you today. Ten sharp. He insisted.” I groaned, muttering a curse under my breath. “Of course he did.” Killian glanced up from where he was feeding Alina mashed banana. “What does the king want now?” I smirked at the nickname. “Probably to tell me I’m still doing everything wrong.” “Want me to come?” I looked at him—the man who had gone from my rival to my lover to the father of my child

  • Ruthless Temptation   First Family Vacation

    Emma I wasn’t sure what possessed me to suggest a beach trip with a one-year-old. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the lingering fantasy of sipping cocktails in a bikini while Killian rubbed sunscreen on my back like the old days. Maybe I was just desperate to feel like me again—not just Emma Scott-Thomas the wife, the mother, the executive. Just… Emma. But two hours into the drive with a wailing baby in the backseat and Killian giving me side-eyes every ten minutes like whose idea was this again?—I knew we were in for a ride. “We’re not even out of the city yet,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the seat as Alina screamed bloody murder over her pacifier falling for the third time. Killian reached for it blindly with one hand on the wheel, but I was already unbuckling. “I’ve got it,” I sighed. “Remind me why we thought this was a g

  • Ruthless Temptation   Rekindling Romance Amidst Diapers & Meetings

    Killian’s POV I’d closed billion-dollar deals with less stress than trying to get a baby to nap. My arms were starting to go numb as I gently bounced our six-week-old daughter, Ava, against my chest. Her tiny cheek pressed into my shoulder, warm breath puffing against my skin, her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of my t-shirt like letting go meant she might fall into the abyss of baby nightmares again. Emma was in the living room, giving a pitch via Zoom to the Paris-based luxury brand her team had been courting for the past six months. Her voice came through the baby monitor loud and crisp—confident, articulate, the kind of commanding presence that made boardrooms go silent. And here I was, pacing in footie pajamas, humming a lullaby I barely remembered the lyrics to. But I wouldn’t trade it. This was my new battlefield. This was our new life.

  • Ruthless Temptation   Postpartum Insecurities & Honest Conversations

    Emma’s POV I stood in front of the mirror the next morning, towel wrapped tightly around my chest, staring at the woman I was still trying to recognize. Stretch marks stretched faintly along my hips and lower stomach. My breasts were fuller, heavier, more sensitive than they’d ever been. My waist, which had once been trim and defined, was softer now. And there were the dark circles under my eyes—faint, but persistent, even with last night’s sleep. But it wasn’t just my body that felt different. It was me. Emma Scott—the confident, ruthless, untouchable heiress—had been replaced by someone… uncertain. Last night had been amazing. Needed. But in the morning light, a quiet fear settled in my chest. Would Killian still want me when the haze of last night wore off? Was he just going along with things because he felt obligated? Because we had a baby now? The bathroom door cr

  • Ruthless Temptation   First Night Out (Without the Baby)

    Emma’s POV I stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing myself. Not because I looked bad—but because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t look exhausted. My makeup was flawless, the silky black dress hugged my curves, and I was actually wearing heels again. My hair had been curled, my perfume carefully dabbed at all the right points. But it wasn’t the mascara or lipstick that made my heart pound. It was the guilt. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, reaching for my earrings. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a few hours.” Still, my fingers trembled as I slid the studs into place. Killian stepped into the room, already dressed in a dark tailored suit that made him look like sin on legs. He adjusted his tie and caught my gaze in the mirror. “You okay?” I nodded, forcing a smile. “Just nerves.” “She’s in g

  • Ruthless Temptation   Late Night Feedings & Sweet Exhaustion

    Killian’s POV Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for the wreckage a baby leaves behind. I mean that in the most beautiful and soul-obliterating way possible. Gone were the neat routines, the late-night work calls, and the quickie office rendezvous that had defined so much of my life with Emma. In their place: a tiny tyrant with lungs like a siren and a poop schedule more erratic than the stock market. I hadn’t slept more than three consecutive hours in weeks. My shirts always had some kind of stain—milk, spit-up, God knew what else. And yet… I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when I got to see Emma like this—hair messy, dark circles under her eyes, but with a softness in her gaze every time she looked at our daughter. That woman… she was made to be a mother. And yet, I could still see it—the wildness in her. The same fire that had tormented me in lect

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