Seven years ago, Emily Hart poured her heart out to Cole Grayson, the school’s golden boy. But instead of a kind rejection, Cole publicly humiliated her, leaving her heartbroken and vowing never to let anyone see her vulnerable again. She transformed herself, gone was the shy, sweet girl. In her place stood a confident, successful woman determined to chart her own destiny. Now, her father, a self-made billionaire, strikes a major business deal, sealing it with an arranged marriage for Emily. The groom? None other than Cole Grayson. The shock of facing the man who once shattered her lingers, but Emily refuses to let him dominate her life again. Cole isn’t happy either, he’s already engaged to his glamorous fiancée and despises the thought of marrying Emily. Forced into a loveless union, their hatred burns hotter than ever. Yet, as circumstances conspire to keep them together; living under one roof, attending public events as the perfect couple, they begin to see the cracks in each other's facades. Old wounds resurface, fiery clashes turn to unexpected sparks, and Emily wonders: is hate truly the opposite of love? In a wide range of betrayal, longing, and second chances, Emily and Cole must decide if they can rewrite their story.
View MoreEmily.
7 years ago. The roar of the crowd sounded around the field, but I barely heard it. All I could focus on was him…Cole Grayson. He stood in the center of the field, the late afternoon sun had a golden halo over his dark hair. His movements were without effort, calculated, as he dodged past opposing players. The ball seemed like an extension of him, and every time he scored, the crowd erupted in cheerslike a storm. From my spot on the bleachers, tucked away in the furthest corner, I watched through the safety of my thick-rimmed glasses. My cheeks burned, though I told myself it was just the sun. Who was I kidding? I was completely smitten. Damn. The cheerleaders screamed his name, waving banners with Cole scrawled in bold letters. Even the guys who pretended not to care shot him envious glances. Cole wasn’t just the star player; he was the star of the entire school. I sighed, hugging my knees. It had been four months since I joined Westbridge, and ever since that rainy day, he’d been on my mind. It wasn’t much…he’d just handed me an umbrella. I was stranded outside the library, soaking wet and fumbling with my books, when he walked up, calm and unreadable. He didn’t say much, just handed me his umbrella and walked away into the rain as if it were nothing. But to me? It was everything. I knew it was silly. Girls like me didn’t belong in the orbit of someone like Cole. He was untouchable, like a shooting star streaking across the sky while I sat on the ground wishing I could be closer. Still, I couldn’t stop staring. His smile when he scored, the way he high-fived his teammates…it was magnetic. A world I’d never belong to. “Emily, stop staring,” I muttered to myself, shifting uncomfortably on the bleachers. But my eyes betrayed me, glued to the field where he stood, shining brighter than anyone else. Did he even remember me? Probably not. To him, I was just some random girl with glasses and bad hair. The final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Cole’s team had won, of course. His teammates swarmed him, shouting and slapping his back. The cheerleaders screamed his name, waving their banners. Cole stood in the middle of it all, grinning that easy, heart-stopping grin of his. His hair was damp with sweat, his jersey clinging to him, and yet he looked like he’d stepped out of a glossy magazine. He waved at the crowd, soaking up their adoration like it was his birthright. As he left the field, girls swarmed him. Some held out water bottles, others just giggled and tried to catch his attention. He didn’t push them away; he leaned into it, laughing and tossing a few playful winks. My stomach twisted, but I couldn’t stop the ridiculous hope bubbling inside me. I adjusted my glasses, my heart hammering as I clutched the strap of my backpack. Cole had smiled at me before…not often, but enough to make my pulse race. I convinced myself it meant something. Maybe it was crazy, but I’d made up my mind. Today, I was going to tell him. What’s the worst that could happen? At least I’d know. I waited outside the locker room, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure anyone passing by could hear it. The hallway was quiet except for occasional laughter or footsteps, but my nerves made everything seem amplified. When the door finally opened, my breath hitched. Cole stepped out, still damp from his shower, his hair slightly tousled, droplets of water clinging to his neck. He wore a crisp white t-shirt and jeans, his effortless style making him look like he belonged in a fashion ad. A group of his friends followed, their laughter carefree as they shoved each other playfully. I clutched the strap of my backpack tighter and took a shaky step forward. My knees felt like jelly, and my palms were sweating, but I had to do this. “Hey… Cole,” I said, my voice trembling. He stopped mid-laugh and turned to look at me, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. “Hey,” he replied casually, his voice smooth, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone. One of his friends nudged him, smirking. Cole exchanged a quick glance with them before turning his full attention to me, his brows slightly raised. “I—uh—I need to… talk to you. About something.” “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. He tilted his head, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Go ahead.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I stared up at him. He was so tall, so… magnetic. Everything about him screamed confidence, and it was overwhelming. My words jumbled in my head, my tongue suddenly refusing to cooperate. “It’s…it’s kind of private,” I stammered, glancing nervously at his friends, who were still standing nearby, clearly interested in the unfolding scene. Cole raised an eyebrow, the smirk growing a little. “Relax,” he said, his voice almost teasing. “Just say it.” His gaze was steady, and it felt like I was standing under a spotlight. My heart raced, and my throat felt dry. But this was it… my moment. I had to say it. I sucked in a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I had. “I—I like you,” I blurted out, my words rushing out in a panicked jumble. I winced as soon as I said it, wishing I could disappear. “I mean, I’ve had feelings for you… for a while now. Ever since…” I trailed off, my voice faltering as I glanced down, too scared to meet his eyes. My hands twisted together in front of me as I kept going, my words tumbling out awkwardly. “I know it’s probably silly, but… you’re amazing, Cole. You’re kind, and talented, and—” I paused, finally glancing up. His expression made me falter. At first, he seemed stunned, his brows furrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. For one fleeting moment, I thought I saw something softer in his eyes. But then, his lips curled into a slow smirk, and the warmth in his gaze vanished. “Wait… what?” his tone was laced with utter disbelief when he asked. “I—I said I like you,” I repeated, with a trembling voice. And that was when it happened. His face twisted into pure amusement, and before I could brace myself, he threw his head back and laughed…a big, boisterous laugh that echoed through the hallway. It wasn’t just a chuckle or a polite laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made his friends snicker and glance at each other, and it felt like a sledgehammer against my chest. I froze, my breath hitching as I watched him. He clutched his sides, shaking his head like what I’d said was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “You… you have feelings for me?” he repeated the question between laughs, his voice already filled with complete incredulity. My face burned as humiliation sank in, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. His laughter still continued, loud and cruel, and it felt like the world had stopped spinning, leaving me stranded and exposed.Stevie-lou's POV.It started with a warning. A heads-up. A whisper over wine and dim lighting."He has two meetings tomorrow. One at nine, one at twelve. Big shots. Foreign investors," I told Jeremy, keeping my voice low even though we were alone in the rooftop bar. My nails tapped the glass of my mimosa. "If they pull out, Hart bleeds. Bad."Jeremy didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his chair, that slow, dangerous smirk pulling at his lips. Dressed in all black, like always. He looked like sin and sex and danger, and he was mine. Still mine."You got the names?"I nodded, passed him the folded napkin I wrote them on.He took it, barely glancing, before tucking it into his jacket. "Say less."That was the first time. The first chaos. Jeremy made some calls. Hired a guy who hired a guy who knew a guy. Something about an anonymous protest happening downtown. Just enough noise to block traffic, delay cars, reroute important men with no time to waste.The investors didn’t make it to Ha
Stevie-lou's POV.The honeymoon ended faster than it started.Smith had to get back to work, back to his throne at Hart Enterprise, where a single misstep meant losing billions and every shark in the water smelled blood. And me? I got a front-row seat to the life I’d only ever seen in dreams. Luxury. Power. Diamonds for breakfast, pearls for lunch. All wrapped in Smith’s smile like I was the luckiest woman alive."I have a surprise for you," he said one evening, stepping into the penthouse still in his tailored navy suit, tie loosened, phone glued to his hand.I looked up from the couch, brushing popcorn crumbs off my robe. "Another one?"He gave a crooked grin. "You're going to want to put on shoes for this."Ten minutes later, we were downstairs, and the valet drove up something that looked like it belonged in a superhero movie. A Bugatti La Voiture Noire. Black. Gleaming. Worth about $19 million."Holy sh*t," I gasped, my mouth hanging open.Smith just chuckled, handed me the keys,
Smith's POV.My head was pounding.Not the kind of pounding that comes from a few glasses of wine or a late night, but the kind that makes your whole skull feel like it's cracking open from the inside. It throbbed with each breath I took, like a drum beating in my ears. I groaned, forcing my eyes open even though my lids felt like sandpaper. Everything was too damn bright. The curtains weren’t even drawn. Just a wide-open window to the Miami skyline, pouring sunlight into the suite like it had no mercy.I sat up slowly, every muscle protesting. My suit was still on me...wrinkled, sweaty, uncomfortable. Jacket half-off my shoulders. Tie loosened, hanging around my neck like a noose. My shirt was half unbuttoned and sticking to my chest. My mouth tasted like cotton. My tongue felt thick. I looked around, trying to focus through the haze."Petunia?" I croaked.And then I saw her.She was sleeping like a dream beside me. Her hair was sprawled out on the pillow like silk threads, her mouth
Stevie-lou’s POV.The presidential suite smelled like roses and expensive linen. The suite was bathed in low, warm lighting, gold accents reflecting off glass. Smith had his hand on my waist the moment the door shut behind us."God, Petunia…" he whispered against my neck, his voice thick with emotion and desire. "I’ve waited so long for this night. I’m losing my damn mind."I forced a laugh, soft and shy, the way I knew he liked. “We’re married now,” I said, tilting my head, brushing my fingers through his thick hair. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”His lips crushed against mine, hungry and possessive. He backed me up against the wall, kissing like a man who had been starving for years. His hands fumbled with the zipper of my dress, but I gently stopped him, brushing my fingers over his.“Not so fast,” I murmured. “Let me get us something to drink. You look like you need to relax first.”He grinned, flushed and breathless, hair slightly tousled. “Fine. But hurry.”I turned away, gli
Stevie-Lou's POVThe thing about revenge is that it tastes better slow. You let it simmer. You add sugar, lies, soft kisses. You let the man believe he’s safe, loved, maybe even saved. And then you pull the rug.Smith Hart thought he found the one. He really did. And I played that part with the kind of grace that would make Oscar winners cry.I watched him now, standing at the altar. Tall, powerful, in his black tux that probably cost more than what my dad needed for his surgery. A fucking heart transplant. One point three million dollars. Just that. And Smith had it. Sitting in one of his fat accounts, probably bored. But when my father needed him, he refused to help."Not my problem," he said.My father died a week later. Gasping for air in a hospital room that smelled like antiseptic and poverty.So here I was. Petunia Monroe. Orphan. Some perfect ballet dancer that Smith Hart fell in love with. Sweet. Charming. Smart. Mysterious.His fiancée.I had already let my real mother fly
Smith's POV.Emily poured herself another glass of red wine, the deep crimson liquid swirling in the glass as she tilted it to her lips. Her reading glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, and her keen eyes skimmed over the pages of a thick manuscript...some up-and-coming author her publishing house had just signed. She looked so at ease in her cozy Hamptons home, legs tucked beneath her on the wide cream armchair, elegant in a charcoal turtleneck and worn jeans. The streaks of silver in her shoulder-length brown hair shone under the golden afternoon light that filtered through the tall windows. Outside, the trees swayed gently, leaves rustling in the wind, and inside, the fireplace crackled, throwing warm, flickering shadows across the Persian rug and soft cream walls."You’ve been awfully quiet," she said, her voice was calm but laced with suspicion, still not looking up. "Either you're hiding something, or you’re about to fire someone again."I leaned back on the opposite couch,
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