KIAN'S POV The morning sun glared off the windshield of the old rust-touched truck as I turned the ignition. The engine grumbled before letting out a reluctant growl, just like Mr. Alcante every time I suggested we replace it. He sat beside me, leaning against the passenger door, sunglasses on, wearing a weathered fishing cap that had more stories than half the folks in Hudsonville."You ready for this?" I asked, glancing over as the engine finally settled into a steady rhythm.He cracked a grin. "Been ready since '74. Back when gas cost less than a loaf of bread."I chuckled and pulled onto the dirt road that led away from our cottage. The town receded behind us, slowly swallowed by the trees and long stretch of highway that coiled along the coast like a silver snake. The sea shimmered in the distance, but today wasn't about the water. Today was about breathing, and giving the man who once saved my life a reason to smile."This truck has character," I said as the window rattled with
After the race, we drove a short distance to a small roadside ice cream stand—the kind that never changes, with hand-painted signs and sticky counters. I parked the truck under a tree, and we both got out, our legs still buzzing from the race."Two vanilla cones," I said to the kid behind the stand.Mr. Alcante took his with both hands, as if it were the prize. He sat on a nearby bench and I joined him.We ate quietly at first, the cool sweetness cutting through the dry heat of the afternoon.Then he turned to me and said, "You're like the son I never had, Kian."The words landed softly, but heavily. I looked at him, seeing past the roughness to the warmth beneath."You sure about that? Because I'm pretty high-maintenance."He chuckled, but his eyes glistened. "Still worth it."I bumped his elbow with mine. "You're not getting all emotional on me now, are you?""No," he said, wiping his eye. "Just got ice cream in my eye. Happens."We laughed. We always laughed.That’s when the men ap
LENA'S POV The scent of roses and warm lighting greeted me the moment I stepped through the restaurant doors. I paused, stunned. The place looked like something out of a dream—glass chandeliers sparkled above us, the wine glasses caught the candlelight like tiny stars, and the air held the delicate hum of a violin playing somewhere out of sight. Kian stood by the entrance, a soft smile playing on his lips, his hair brushed back neatly, dressed in a navy-blue suit that hugged his frame like it had been stitched just for him. I blinked twice. This wasn’t the man I dropped off at a wooden shack days ago. This wasn’t the man who barely remembered who he was. This man was... composed, radiant. Familiar. "You did this?" I asked, stepping closer, still in disbelief. He offered his arm. "Thought you deserved a night without stress. Besides, I’ve been saving." My heart ached at his sincerity. He wasn’t a billionaire anymore. Not officially. But he still treated me like royalty. We sat in
LENA'S POV I stood by my window, my gaze drifting over the lush green of our family mansion. The late afternoon sun bathed the flowers in gold, casting long shadows that stretched toward the buildings. The magnolias swayed gently, their scent faint but familiar. It was peaceful, deceptively so, like the eye of a storm waiting to unravel.Then, I heard it. "Lena," my name carried through the walls, spoken in a tone that felt like an invocation rather than a call. I straightened, listening carefully. Voices followed—urgent, hushed, and insistent. My mother’s voice. My grandfather’s. They were talking about me. Every since dad’s death, this was my new normal. Everyone seemed to get on my nerves—worse off, seemed to look up to me in expectation , of me, being in my best behaviors at all times. But still, I remained a feminine boss, who wouldn’t take shit. I turned away from the window, my pulse quickening. Something about the way they spoke made my skin prickle. My name was m
LENA'S POV The cold air hit my face as I stepped out of the house, my anger still pulsing like a living thing inside me. My grandfather’s words rang in my ears—his smug certainty, his absolute belief that I would submit to his will. I wouldn’t. I would win this battle. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and walked briskly down the street, my mind replaying the conversation over and over. The thought of marrying Harlin Cartwright made my stomach turn. A business arrangement, a deal sealed without my consent, as if I were some asset to be traded. Not me. The streets of Hudsonville were mostly quiet, the occasional car passing by, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows. I had no particular destination, only a need to be anywhere but home. I needed to clear my head, drown my resentment in something stronger than rage. And I knew exactly where to go. The Black Rose sat on the edge of downtown, tucked between two aging brick buildings. A neon sign flicker
LENA'S POVThe Whitmore family name had long been synonymous with power, wealth, and influence in Hudsonville, and tonight was no exception. The gala at the Grand Sterling Hotel was as extravagant as ever—glistening chandeliers dripped with crystals, the scent of imported roses perfumed the air, and the clinking of champagne glasses echoed over the hum of polite conversation. The Whitmores were the sole sponsors of the event, meaning my presence wasn’t just expected—it was required..One of the few nights I have to pretend to be okay—okay in appearance, in the least.Dressed in a deep emerald silk gown that clung to my frame, I glided through the ballroom, flashing empty smiles at guests I barely knew and exchanging pleasantries with business moguls and socialites who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in my family’s empire.I had mastered the art of pretending. More of a lifestyle now.Pretending to be interested in shallow conversations.Pretending that I wasn’t suffocating und
LENA'S POV Coincidence. That was what any rational person would call this. But I wasn’t naive enough to believe in coincidences. Not when it came to my family. Not when it came to the life I had been forced into, the expectations that had been placed upon me like a noose around my neck. Kian Davenport had been missing for five years. He had been presumed dead. And yet, here he was, standing among Hudsonville’s elite, pretending not to know me. My fingers curled into a tight fist at my side, nails digging into my palm. This wasn’t just chance. It wasn’t fate. It was deliberate. And I was going to find out why. The weight of the gala felt suffocating now. The chandeliers, the laughter, the constant murmur of business deals and empty pleasantries—it all blurred into a meaningless backdrop. My mind was elsewhere, tangled in a mess of unanswered questions, uncertainty, and something that felt a lot like betrayal. I needed to leave. I needed fresh air. I needed— A co
LENA'S POV The orchestra swelled, strings weaving through champagne flutes and murmured deals. Adrian’s hand settled at the small of my back, his grip firm—a remnant of our waltz rehearsals a lifetime ago. His cologne, crisp and citrus-sharp, clashed with the memory of Kian’s cedar-and-salt scent. “Still leading with your chin, I see,” Adrian murmured, twirling me effortlessly. His smile was all polished edges now, suited for boardrooms instead of ballrooms. I laughed, too bright, arching into the spin. “And you’re still counting beats under your breath.” The lie fizzed between us. Every step was precision, every dip calibrated to catch emerald cufflinks glinting across the room. Kian hadn’t so much as flickered a glance toward the dancefloor. He leaned into some silver-haired titan’s anecdote, fingers loose around his untouched Scotch. Adrian’s thumb brushed my hip. “He’s watching. “He’s not.” “Check again.” Another rotation. My garnet silk gown hissed against his tail
LENA'S POV The scent of roses and warm lighting greeted me the moment I stepped through the restaurant doors. I paused, stunned. The place looked like something out of a dream—glass chandeliers sparkled above us, the wine glasses caught the candlelight like tiny stars, and the air held the delicate hum of a violin playing somewhere out of sight. Kian stood by the entrance, a soft smile playing on his lips, his hair brushed back neatly, dressed in a navy-blue suit that hugged his frame like it had been stitched just for him. I blinked twice. This wasn’t the man I dropped off at a wooden shack days ago. This wasn’t the man who barely remembered who he was. This man was... composed, radiant. Familiar. "You did this?" I asked, stepping closer, still in disbelief. He offered his arm. "Thought you deserved a night without stress. Besides, I’ve been saving." My heart ached at his sincerity. He wasn’t a billionaire anymore. Not officially. But he still treated me like royalty. We sat in
After the race, we drove a short distance to a small roadside ice cream stand—the kind that never changes, with hand-painted signs and sticky counters. I parked the truck under a tree, and we both got out, our legs still buzzing from the race."Two vanilla cones," I said to the kid behind the stand.Mr. Alcante took his with both hands, as if it were the prize. He sat on a nearby bench and I joined him.We ate quietly at first, the cool sweetness cutting through the dry heat of the afternoon.Then he turned to me and said, "You're like the son I never had, Kian."The words landed softly, but heavily. I looked at him, seeing past the roughness to the warmth beneath."You sure about that? Because I'm pretty high-maintenance."He chuckled, but his eyes glistened. "Still worth it."I bumped his elbow with mine. "You're not getting all emotional on me now, are you?""No," he said, wiping his eye. "Just got ice cream in my eye. Happens."We laughed. We always laughed.That’s when the men ap
KIAN'S POV The morning sun glared off the windshield of the old rust-touched truck as I turned the ignition. The engine grumbled before letting out a reluctant growl, just like Mr. Alcante every time I suggested we replace it. He sat beside me, leaning against the passenger door, sunglasses on, wearing a weathered fishing cap that had more stories than half the folks in Hudsonville."You ready for this?" I asked, glancing over as the engine finally settled into a steady rhythm.He cracked a grin. "Been ready since '74. Back when gas cost less than a loaf of bread."I chuckled and pulled onto the dirt road that led away from our cottage. The town receded behind us, slowly swallowed by the trees and long stretch of highway that coiled along the coast like a silver snake. The sea shimmered in the distance, but today wasn't about the water. Today was about breathing, and giving the man who once saved my life a reason to smile."This truck has character," I said as the window rattled with
The morning sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of Whitmore Enterprises, casting streaks of golden light across the boardroom table. Kian stood beside Lena, a file in his hand and a fire in his eyes that hadn’t dulled since they entered the office. Across the table, a legal representative from a competing firm sat with a tight-lipped expression and a stack of documents nearly as thick as the tension in the room.The legal battle had been brewing for weeks. A competitor had filed a lawsuit claiming that a recent design prototype launched under Lena’s firm bore similarities to one of their unreleased concepts. Lena had kept her cool in front of the press, but inside, she was burning."We both know this is fabricated," Kian said, his voice low but strong."You’ll need more than intuition in court, Mr. Davenport," the rep responded with a smug smile.Lena tapped her pen against the notepad in front of her. "And you’ll need more than recycled arguments and coincidence to win.
The rain had stopped by the time Harlin pulled up in front of the Clementine estate. The sprawling mansion sat beneath the gray clouds like a lion at rest—imposing even in its silence. He stepped out of his car, adjusted the collar of his coat, and made his way past the iron gate that groaned open with the memory of old secrets.Mr. Clementine was waiting.He always was.The old man sat by the fireplace in the study, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand, the flames casting flickering shadows across the lines of his aged face. His cane rested against the leather armchair, but his posture was sharp, alert. He looked up as Harlin entered, his blue eyes unreadable."I assume this isn't a courtesy call," Clementine said.Harlin remained standing. "It's about Kian Davenport."The old man's eyes narrowed. He said nothing."He’s alive. Walking around like he didn’t vanish five years ago. Getting close to Lena again. Too close."Clementine raised the glass to his lips but didn’t drink. "You
Harlin's POV The warehouse was dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows made promises and secrets were born in the silence between breaths. Harlin stood at the center, surrounded by six men in dark jackets, each of them brimming with energy, barely able to keep still. A single bulb swung above their heads, casting long, wavering silhouettes on the cracked cement floor.Maps, photos, and documents were spread out on a rusted metal table. At the center of it all—Kian's face. A clean shot from the last gala, sharp suit, unaware eyes. Harlin’s lips curled as he stared at it."He's too comfortable," Harlin muttered, tapping the photo with a gloved finger. "Back in the spotlight, surrounded by people who think he’s harmless. He’s not. He’s the problem."One of the goons, a burly guy named Torque, stepped forward. "We’re ready. Just give the word, and we’ll clean it up. Silent and clean. No trails."The others nodded, pumped with adrenaline, knuckles cracked, minds already running through
KIAN'S POV The next morning, I woke with a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. The previous night’s conversation with Mr. Alcante still echoed in my head, but it no longer weighed me down. It gave me purpose. A reason to act. He was still sleeping when I left the house. I scribbled a note, placed it on the kitchen counter, and tucked the blanket around him one last time before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The coastal breeze was stronger than usual, whipping through my shirt as I climbed into the truck. The roads were quiet this early, the world still shaking off the last traces of night. When I pulled into the small-town pharmacy, the bell above the door jingled as I walked in. The shelves were lined with everything from painkillers to vitamins, old carpet underfoot muffling my steps. And there she was. Behind the counter, the same woman who had helped me a few weeks ago when Mr. Alcante was in a bad medical state. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, gla
KIAN'S POV The air was thick with the scent of salt and worn wood. Dusk had wrapped the coastline in a shade of burnt gold, the last fingers of sunlight trailing across the edge of the porch. Mr. Alcante sat where he always did around this hour—a chair that looked like it had been built before I was born, his back hunched slightly, a half-carved piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood in the doorway, watching him. For weeks, maybe months now, questions had twisted inside me like old ropes, frayed and knotted. But tonight, they felt like they might finally come undone. "Can I sit?" I asked. He didn’t look up, just nodded toward the empty chair beside him. I crossed the wooden floor slowly, the boards creaking beneath my steps. When I sat, I could feel the silence between us pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just heavy. "Where did you find me, Mr. Alcante?" He paused, the small knife in his hand freezing mid-whittle. "You know where," he said without looking at me. "I
LENA'S POVThe tension in my chest didn’t fade after Kian walked off with Tara for their little discussion. If anything, it deepened, settling in the pit of my stomach like a stone I couldn’t digest. I returned to my office and dropped into my chair, mentally composing a hundred different messages I wouldn’t send.Then, without knocking, Clara entered.She was carrying two coffees and wearing that amused expression that said she was about to ruin me with honesty and caffeine."I saw your face from the elevators," she said, placing one of the cups in front of me and sliding into the chair across the desk. "Something’s up. And if I had to guess, it’s tall, charming, and temporarily memory-wiped."I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Tara.""The one with the kid and the silky voice?""That’s her."Clara took a slow sip. "What did she do?""Nothing technically," I muttered. "Kian bumped into her last week. Helped her son cross the road. Today, she’s talking about real estate partnerships and wa