Emma’s POV The gala was over, but its echoes still hummed in the corners of our penthouse. Laughter, camera flashes, the clink of glasses, whispered compliments. It had all faded into memory now—just silk gowns draped over the back of a chair and heels abandoned by the door. I stood at the balcony in one of Xander’s oversized shirts, the wind brushing through my hair like it was trying to soothe me. Below, the city sparkled like it was dressed for another party. But up here, everything was still. Xander came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?” I shook my head. “Too much noise in my brain.” “Wanna talk about it?” I hesitated. Then: “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He stayed quiet, but his arms tightened just a little, grounding me. “I feel… happy. Really happy,” I continued. “And it scares me. Every time I’ve been this happy, something comes along to rip it away.” Xander turned me to
Emma’s POV The city skyline was a blur of golds and blues as Xander and I arrived at the rooftop gala hosted by one of his company’s oldest partners. The elevator doors slid open to reveal an explosion of chandeliers, laughter, and the clink of crystal glasses. The space smelled of champagne, power, and too much perfume. Still, the view? Stunning. “Stay close,” Xander murmured into my ear, his hand firm on my lower back. “They’re sharks in tuxedos.” I smiled. “You say that like I didn’t marry the biggest shark of them all.” His smirk was swift, sexy. “I’m a reformed shark. Mostly.” --- The evening unfolded like a scene from a dream: beautiful people in beautiful clothes, soft jazz humming beneath the conversations. And yet, even amid the glitter, I couldn’t shake the odd sense of being watched. A prickling at the back of my neck. A shift in the air. “Something wrong?” Xander asked, handing me a flute of ginger ale. Still avoiding alcohol, just in case. I hesitated. “No. Just…
Emma’s POV I didn’t expect to feel this peaceful. After everything—the betrayal, the rumors, the media frenzy—I thought I'd be constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next knife to come. But I wasn’t. Instead, I found myself sleeping better. Breathing deeper. Laughing more. The calm wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And I was learning to let it in. --- Xander had been extra attentive lately. Not in the suffocating way—but in the soft, subtle gestures that made me fall in love with him all over again. He never made a big show of it. But I noticed the way he always made sure my favorite snacks were in the fridge. How he gently placed a heating pad by the bed when he saw me wince from back pain. How he started taking meetings at home, just to stay close. Love didn’t have to shout. Sometimes, it just whispered in the quietest acts. --- I stood by the window of our penthouse, watching the city stretch into the horizon like a living, breathing dream. The nursery wa
Emma’s POV I didn’t sleep the night before the video dropped. I paced the living room. Checked the clock. Held my phone and kept refreshing, even though the video wasn’t scheduled to go live until 9 a.m. Xander watched me from the couch, patient and calm, like always. “You don’t have to watch it,” he said. “I do,” I replied. “I need to see it. I need to see myself choose my own story.” When the clock finally hit 9:00, Danielle sent me the link. I clicked it, heart pounding, and let the video play. The screen faded in from black. No dramatic music. No flashy graphics. Just me, seated in a warm, sunlit room. A soft gray backdrop. A quiet heartbeat of a piano playing faintly beneath my voice. “My name is Emma Davis-Blake,” I said to the camera. “And I’m not ashamed of my story.” The video was only seven minutes long. Short. Measured. But every word had been chosen with care. I didn’t speak about everything. Not yet. But I talked about my past — being used, being manipulated, s
Emma’s POV There are moments in life that feel too perfect. Too still. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane—everything around you calm, but only because something bigger is circling, waiting to strike. That was what this week felt like. Quiet. Too quiet. And I didn’t trust it. --- I stood by the nursery window, one hand resting on my belly as sunlight poured in through sheer white curtains. The room still smelled like fresh paint and new beginnings. Pale yellows, soft greens, stars on the ceiling. It was peaceful here. A lullaby of a life I’d built with my bare hands. And yet… Something felt off. Xander noticed it too. He didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel it in the way he hovered just a little longer before leaving for work. In the way his eyes lingered on my face like he was memorizing every expression. In the way he tightened his grip whenever we held hands, like he was anchoring me—and himself—to this moment. I wasn’t paranoid. I was paying attention. --
Diane’s POV The bar smelled like spilled beer and betrayal. Dim lights hung low from the cracked ceiling, flickering every few seconds like the electricity couldn’t decide whether to hold on or give up. It was the kind of place where forgotten men gathered, where whispered secrets clung to dusty tabletops and spilled into cheap wine. Perfect for people like us. I tugged my coat tighter around my body, more for privacy than warmth, and scanned the room for familiar faces. None. Just broken people with broken drinks in broken chairs. Then I spotted him—Robert—already seated in a far corner, nursing his second glass of scotch like he owned the world and was bored of it. I slid into the seat across from him and didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’re late,” he said without looking up. “You’re drunk,” I countered. He smirked and downed the rest of his glass. “Right on time, then.” I hated working with him. Hated the sound of his voice, the way he never took anything seriously un