Emily's POV. For the next few days, it was just sex. Nothing else. Nothing more. Cole tried to bring up his feelings once or twice, but I shut that down immediately. Every time he so much as hinted at wanting something deeper, I’d tilt my head, flash a smirk, and remind him what this was. “No strings attached, Cole,” I’d say, voice smooth and final. “Just sex. That’s what you agreed to.” And he never argued. Not really. He’d clench his jaw, exhale like he wanted to say something, but then I’d kiss him, drag him into another round, and just like that, the conversation would be over before it even started. The man was strong, powerful, respected by everyone around him. But with me? He was mine to ruin, mine to take, mine to use whenever I wanted. And I took full advantage of that. We couldn’t go a day without fucking. My room, his room, the dining table, the kitchen counter, the hallway, the stairs—everywhere, as long as the servants weren’t around. It was reckless. Addictive
Cole’s POVThe sex was perfect. Too perfect.Emily lay beside me, her body barely covered by the sheets, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just rocked my entire existence. I watched her, my chest rising and falling, still trying to catch my breath. My skin was slick with sweat, my muscles aching in that good way, but none of it mattered. Because she was already somewhere else…mentally gone, detached, as if the last hour had been nothing more than a casual workout session.I reached out, running my fingers down her bare spine, feeling the goosebumps rise under my touch. “Stay.” My voice was low, rough, almost desperate, though I’d rather die than admit that.Emily sighed, tossing her phone onto the nightstand before turning her head to look at me. Her dark eyes were unreadable, her lips slightly swollen from my kisses. “I have things to do,” she said, stretching like a satisfied cat before sitting up.I clenched my jaw, watching as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed
Cole's POV.The email arrived on a Monday morning.I barely glanced at it before moving on to things that actually mattered…deals to close, calls to make, meetings to attend. It wasn’t until later that night, when Emily was curled up on the couch beside me, scrolling through her phone, that I reopened it.Class of 2014 – 10-Year Reunion Join us for an unforgettable evening of nostalgia, laughter, and reconnecting! Bring your spouse or significant other.I scoffed. Nostalgia? That was one way to put it.For most of them, high school had been the best years of their lives. For me, it had been a war zone. I was the quiet kid, the easy target. The one they could push around just because they could. The one who kept his head down and endured the sneers, the pranks, the shoves in the hallway.But they wouldn’t recognize that version of me now.After graduation, I disappeared for a year. Spent those months in the gym, learning how to fight, how to carry myself differently. When I entered un
Emily’s POVThe silence at the table stretched. Dylan was still gripping his glass, jaw tight, his face frozen in an expression that screamed wounded pride. His wife, clearly uncomfortable, sat stiffly beside him, eyes darting between us.I took another sip of my wine, unbothered. If he wanted to dish it out, he should’ve been prepared to take it.One of the guys…Trevor, I think…laughed under his breath. "Damn, Dylan, you gonna let her talk to you like that?"Dylan didn’t respond. His fingers flexed around his glass like he wanted to crush it.I tilted my head, watching him. "What’s wrong?" I asked, voice smooth. "Not as fun when you're the one on the receiving end?"The others chuckled, some exchanging looks, some shifting uncomfortably. No one stepped in. No one defended him. Not even his wife.Cole sat beside me, silent but sharp, like a knife ready to be unsheathed. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything, but his presence alone made Dylan uneasy."Careful," Dylan finally said, voic
Cole’s POVDaniel drove in silence. The only sound was the engine and the occasional flick of the turn signal as we moved through the city streets. I sat back, one hand resting against my thigh, the other still curled into a fist, my knuckles throbbing from the fight. The scent of wine and expensive perfume clung to the air around us, mixing with the faintest trace of blood on my skin.Emily sat beside me, legs crossed, one arm spread lazily over the seat. She hadn’t said a word since we left, hadn’t turned to look at me, hadn’t even acknowledged what had just happened back there. It was like she had already moved on, like the whole damn thing had been nothing more than a mildly entertaining event to her.And that was what got to me.Most women would’ve been screaming, yanking at my arm, begging me to stop. Hell, some would’ve stormed off, called me reckless, called me insane. But Emily? She had sat there, sipping her wine, watching me beat the hell out of Dylan like she was enjoying
Vanessa’s POVI had never felt this kind of rage before.Riding my bicycle down the street like some normal person when I was in fact one of the top fashion icons in the city.I was keeping a careful distance from their car, I had seen everything. Every. Single. Thing.And I had never wanted to rip someone apart as much as I wanted to tear Emily out of Cole’s life.She sat there in that restaurant, drinking wine while Cole beat Dylan to a pulp, as if the entire thing was entertainment for her. And Cole…this powerful, untouchable man…had done it. For her. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just pure, blind rage.The way he looked at her afterward. Like she was the center of his world. Like nothing else mattered. He never looked at me like that, during the time we dated and when I was his fiancée.I pedaled harder, breath coming fast, my legs burning from the effort of keeping up with their car. The tinted windows didn’t stop me from seeing them.And then it happened.Emily reached out.
Emily’s POVThe conference room was packed with Hart Enterprise and Greyson Corps executives, all seated around the long table, eyes fixed on the massive screen at the front. Discussions bounced off the walls, voices rising and falling as strategies were laid out, numbers dissected, and counterarguments made.It was the kind of meeting that separated leaders from followers.I sat at the center of Hart Enterprise’s side, my hands resting on the documents in front of me, posture straight, gaze sharp. Across from me, on Greyson’s side, sat Cole Greyson…the man who had become an unshakable force in my life, both personally and professionally.Even in a room full of powerful men, he stood out.But something felt off.For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t looking at me.The screen flashed with financial reports, logistical challenges, and market projections. A man from the supply chain department stood, adjusting his tie before speaking.“The delays in shipments have pushed back the
Emily’s POVIt was late.The office was nearly empty, the once-busy hallways now silent, save for the occasional footsteps of a lingering employee or the hum of the city outside. The golden glow of the skyscrapers had long stretches of light against the windows of my office, but I wasn’t paying attention to any of it.I was going through the final reports from today’s meeting, checking figures, running calculations in my head. Anything to keep myself occupied. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to him.Cole.I could still hear his voice from the meeting, deep and smooth, but something had been missing. The way he usually looked at me, like I was the only person in the room…that was gone. He had avoided my eyes, shut me out.And I hated it.I wasn’t sure why.The soft click of my office door opening pulled me out of my thoughts.I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.Cole stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His movements were slow, deliberate. The tension betwe
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,
Stevie-lou's POV.He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear again, like he always did when we were out together. A signature move. A gentle caress that screamed affection to anyone watching. And I smiled up at him, letting my eyes soften just the way he liked. My lashes lowered, lips parting slightly, the faintest curve playing at the corners of my mouth. I’d perfected it.I hated the way my skin tingled under his touch...not because I wanted him, hell no...but because I was so damn good at pretending, I could fool even my own body. It betrayed me every time, responding to his closeness like a lover’s would. It made my stomach turn."You look beautiful tonight, Petunia," Smith said, his voice low and deliberate, fingers brushing the small of my back like he owned me."You always say that," I teased, brushing my fingers lightly along his wrist, my nails just grazing his skin."Because it’s always true."His eyes held mine a second too long, just enough to tell me what was coming. His ga
Smith’s POV.It had been days.And I couldn’t get her out of my damn head.Petunia Monroe.That name had stuck in my brain like a thorn I couldn’t pull out. Everywhere I turned, she was there. Not physically. But in my head. In meetings. In the boardroom while numbers were being thrown around, projections, investments, power plays…I saw her face. The way she tilted her head. The way her eyes held mine when we spoke.I had tried to fuck her out of my system. Tried it with a blonde influencer who kept giggling every time I so much as looked her way. Then with a brunette who knew how to moan on cue and say all the right things. Nothing. It all felt like cardboard. Cold. Pointless.She was still there. Her black feathered leotard, the way it hugged her body like it was made for her. That ballet performance wasn’t just art…it was a goddamn message. I didn’t know what it said, but I felt it like a slap to the chest.And I couldn’t stop playing it in my head.During dinner, seated alone at m
Stevie-lou’s POV.My heart was still racing as I wiped the sweat off my forehead. That performance had eaten me raw. Every muscle in my body was still vibrating. The black feathered leotard I wore...designed with precision and attitude...hugged my skin like a second layer, still warm from the heat of the spotlight. I felt it in my bones. The music. The rhythm. The eyes. Especially his.I had seen the way Smith Hart looked at me.He was far back in the dark hall but there was no missing the way he leaned forward during the dance. The others might’ve been sipping their drinks, whispering among themselves or pretending to care, but not him. Smith Hart had been watching like I was the only thing moving in that whole damn room. His stare cut through the air, bold and direct, as if he had seen something in me nobody else had. It shook me a little. Not because I cared. But because I knew exactly who he was...and I despised everything he stood for.The man was ruthless. Sharp-suited, sharp-to