LOGINSunday morning arrived wrapped in golden sunlight spilling through Giselle’s bedroom window. She stood barefoot in front of the digital scale, clutching the hem of her oversized T-shirt. It had been nearly two weeks since she last stepped on it. Braden had practically forbidden the daily check-ins. "The scale only measures your relationship with gravity," he had told her with that grounded, calm authority of his. "It doesn't measure your discipline, your strength, or your progress." Still, today curiosity won. Inhaling deeply, she stepped onto the glass platform. The digital numbers blinked, shifted, and finally settled. Giselle blinked, frowning in disbelief. She stepped off, took a breath, and climbed back on. The numbers remained exactly the same. A slow, radiant smile spread across her face, her hands flying to her mouth. "Three kilos..." she whispered the words under her breath, as if saying them too loudly might make the victory vanish. She had officially lost three
"I still can't believe I actually ate churros today," she murmured, looking out at the passing skyline. Braden kept his eyes focused on the road, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "You also walked exactly twelve thousand three hundred and eighteen steps." She turned toward him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You were counting?" "I always count.” Giselle let out a soft laugh. "Note to self: never play hide-and-seek with you." "You'd lose." "I probably would." The easy, unforced laughter between them filled the quiet cabin of the car, completely replacing the sharp awkwardness that used to define their interactions. Giselle unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face him. "Thank you, Braden." He shifted in his seat to look at her. "For what?" "For today. For teaching me that food isn't my inherent enemy." "I only reminded you of something you already deserved to know," he said faintly. Giselle lowered her gaze, tracing the seam of her hoodie. "You
Giselle stared down at the digital screen in disbelief. She stepped off, took a deep breath, and climbed back on, but the screen flashed the exact same result. A whole week of effort, and not a single pound lost. After everything she had done—every early morning, every grueling workout, and every carefully weighed meal—nothing had changed. She sighed heavily and sat on the edge of her bed, wrapping her arms around her knees. Maybe Darel had been right all along. Maybe this body simply wasn't meant to change. Her phone vibrated on the mattress, breaking her downward spiral. Braden: I'm outside. *** Fifteen minutes later, Giselle climbed into Braden's car. Usually, she greeted him with a bright smile or a sarcastic quip, but today, she immediately turned her head to stare out the window. Braden noticed the shift before he even pulled out of the driveway. "Tough morning?" "I'm fine," she forced a rigid smile. "Hmm," Braden started the engine. "You've been spending t
At exactly seven o'clock the next morning, Giselle's phone buzzed on her nightstand. BiBraden: Wear comfortable clothes. I'll pick you up in thirty minutes.She smiled faintly before typing her reply.Giselle: Where are we going?Braden: Trust me.***Thirty-five minutes later, Giselle climbed into Braden's black Maybach wearing simple black leggings, a loose hoodie, and white sneakers. Her hair was tied into a messy ponytail, and she carried nothing except a bottle of water. She fully expected him to drive toward one of Manhattan's elite luxury fitness centers.Giselle blinked in confusion, turning to look at him as he unbuckled his seat belt. "A grocery store?""Yes," Braden replied."I thought today was the first day of my program.""It is," he said, turning to look at her. "But you can't build a healthy body with an empty refrigerator."Giselle couldn't argue with that logic. She quietly followed him inside.Braden grabbed a shopping cart and pushed it with practiced ease while G
Chapter 6: A Better Reason The divorce papers had barely dried before Giselle Davis declared war. Not against Darel, but against the woman she had become while loving him. Every morning before sunrise, she forced herself out of bed, and every evening, she collapsed onto the oversized couch in her apartment with muscles that screamed in protest. The tears had stopped, replaced entirely by sweat. She refused to cry over Darel King ever again. If changing her body meant burying the insecure woman he had destroyed, then she would do it—no matter the cost.*** Three weeks later, the fitness center overlooking Central Park was already crowded despite the early hour. The rhythmic pounding of running shoes echoed across rows of treadmills while upbeat music blasted from hidden speakers. Giselle tightened her ponytail before stepping onto an empty machine. "Thirty minutes," she whispered to herself. Her body protested immediately. She had already spent nearly two hours lifting weights be
One month had passed since the disastrous night of the Vanguard Gala, a month of complete, echoing silence inside the penthouse. Darel had kept his word; he never returned, leaving Giselle like a ghost in a gilded cage. But the sudden, frantic phone call from the King family lawyer had broken the isolation, shattering her quiet routine. Giselle walked quickly through the sterile, brightly lit corridors of New York Presbyterian Hospital. The heavy scent of antiseptic replaced the smell of lilies she had grown to despise, and the squeak of her flats against the linoleum floor echoed her racing heartbeat. Grandpa Arthur King, had suffered a massive, sudden stroke. He was the only member of that cold family who had ever shown Giselle a shred of genuine warmth, treating her like a beloved granddaughter rather than a corporate transaction. As she rounded the corner toward the Intensive Care Unit, she spotted a familiar, rigid silhouette standing near the vending machines. Darel. He







