MasukTo all my amazing readers, Thank you—from the depth of my heart—for walking through this journey with me. Your support, your patience, your comments, and your love kept me going every step of the way. I am truly grateful to everyone who stayed with this story until the very end. If at any point th
“Okay, Daddy,” Dimitri agreed. “I’ll go tell Mrs. Gloria to get me ready!” Denovon set him down carefully, and Dimitri dashed off to find Mrs. Gloria—who wasn’t just their cook but also Dimitri’s nanny. “Slow down, Dimitri!” Emily called with a tired sigh. “Why does he like running every time?”
“I promise you will never be at a disadvantage.” The words suddenly crossed Emily’s mind one warm summer afternoon as she was tidying her son’s room. She paused, walked quickly to the shelf, and pulled out a book that had been untouched for a long time. She opened a page—and there it was. Her
Emily lay on the hospital bed, her eyes fixed on her tiny son sleeping in the crib beside her. It had been four days since she gave birth, yet everything still felt unreal. She kept staring at him, afraid that if she blinked too long, he might disappear. They were still in the hospital and would re
(The Next Day) Emily’s eyelashes fluttered slowly, like they were too heavy to lift. Her lips parted, and she released a faint, shaky breath before her eyes finally opened—tired, hazy, but alive. “You’re awake,” Denovon said in relief, quickly leaning forward. He had been watching her for hours, w
Denovon had never felt so helpless in his life. He paced back and forth in front of the labour room door, his hands clenched tightly, his heart beating so fast it felt like it was punching his chest. Every soft cry and every faint sound coming from inside the room made his whole body stiffen in fea
"Who are you people?!" the man’s voice rang out in the dimly lit room, echoing off the bare concrete walls. His voice was rough, laced with confusion and outrage. He was about fifty years old, dressed in a wrinkled shirt and dark trousers, his hair messy from the struggle of being dragged here. "Wh
Mrs. Carter sat on the cushioned armchair in the living room, her posture stiff, her lips pressed in a thin line. Her sharp eyes swept over the walls, the furniture, the polished floors all of it pristine, yet all of it offensive to her. She still hadn’t gotten used to this place. Every corner rem
Amelia dropped into the chair like her bones had turned to water, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “So tired,” she mumbled, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Even her breathing sounded worn out. Being a Rowland, she wasn’t used to this kind of work. Not at all. The last few days had been
Emily winded down the glass window of the car and let the fresh breeze touch her face. She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, as if trying to let out the leftover anger burning inside her. She had just left Carter Industry, and her chest still felt heavy. She leaned back against the seat, her eye







