Cole’s POVIt was past 11 PM, and Emily still hadn’t returned.I wasn’t supposed to care.She had made it clear…so damn clear…that she wanted nothing to do with me. That she hated me. That whatever we were, whatever could have been, was impossible. She didn’t love me. She didn’t even like me.So, I did what she wanted. I started avoiding her.At first, it was torture. Every time I saw her, it was like something sharp lodged itself in my chest, making it hard to breathe. But I forced myself to look away, to act like I didn’t notice the way she hesitated whenever she saw me. Like I didn’t see the way she would part her lips like she had something to say, only to shut them and walk away instead.I told myself it was for the best.She had made her choice. I was just respecting it.And then there was tonight.She had been in the gym, standing by the weights, looking like she was ready to lose herself in another exhausting workout. But then she saw me.And she stopped.She just stood there,
The Desperate SearchCole's POV.My wife was missing.I grabbed my phone and started calling people, but I still got the same response, no one knew where she was.I even called a few high-end hotels, assuming she might have booked a suite under an alias. Still, nothing.“Are you sure? Check again,” I snapped at the receptionist on the other end of the line, my patience wearing dangerously thin.“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no booking under that name,” she repeated.I hung up, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.Emily wasn’t the kind of woman who got lost. She didn’t make mistakes. If she wasn’t here, it was because she didn’t want to be found.Or worse…because something had happened to her.By noon, I was sitting in the police station, gripping the edge of the counter as I glared at the officer in front of me.“She’s been missing for less than twenty-four hours,” the officer said, barely looking up from his computer. “She’s an adult, sir. Maybe she just needed some space.”I slammed my hand
Cole's POV.It didn’t take long before the media got hold of the story.By morning, Emily’s disappearance was everywhere.News channels ran the story on repeat, flashing photos of Emily across the screen…pictures from charity events, business galas, even candid shots from the rare occasions we’d been photographed together. Every outlet had their own spin on it, but the core message was the same.“Billionaire’s Wife Mysteriously Vanishes—Foul Play Suspected.”“Where is Emily Greyson? Heiress and Philanthropist Missing for Over 24 Hours.”“Cole Greyson’s Wife Reported Missing—Abduction or Voluntary Disappearance?”Talk show panels debated every possibility. Some believed Emily had run away. Others speculated it was a kidnapping for ransom. A few even suggested I had something to do with it…fueling their theories with clips of us in public, moments where we weren’t smiling, weren’t touching. As if that meant something.Social media erupted with wild theories. Hashtags trended worldwide.
Vanessa’s POVThe news was everywhere.Every channel. Every social media platform. Every gossip site.Emily Greyson was missing.I scrolled through my phone, my lips curling into a slow, satisfied smirk as I read the headlines.Billionaire Heiress Emily Greyson Kidnapped!Cole Greyson Desperate to Find His Wife!No Ransom Demand…Where Is She?My heart swelled with satisfaction.I had expected the kidnapping to cause a stir, but this? This was beyond my wildest dreams. The media had latched onto the story like vultures, dissecting every possible theory, speculating endlessly, analyzing every angle.They had camera crews stationed outside Cole’s mansion, desperate to catch a glimpse of his anguish. Reporters had their microphones shoved in the faces of security guards, family members, business associates…anyone who might have a clue about where poor, innocent Emily had disappeared to.And the best part?No one had a single idea.I locked my phone and tossed it onto the plush couch besid
Emily’s POVThe stench in the air was unbearable.It was a disgusting mix of sweat, rust, and something damp, like rotting wood and mold. The place was worse than the last. Smaller. Hotter. Dirtier. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the weight of unwashed bodies and old cigarette smoke.Rats scurried somewhere in the dark corners, their tiny claws scratching against the concrete floor. The only light came from a low, fluctuating bulb swinging overhead, showing strange, distorted shadows on the walls. It buzzed every few seconds, like it was on the verge of dying, struggling to stay alive in this miserable place.And me?I was still tied to this damn chair.Still in the same clothes I had been wearing when they grabbed me. The once-clean outfit now clung to me, sticky with sweat and grime. My hair was a tangled mess, strands plastered against my face and neck. My body ached in ways I had never felt before…every muscle sore, every bone screaming in protest.Two days.Two whole
Cole's POV.My head was pounding, my vision unfocused as I stared at the chaotic mess spread out in front of me. Newspapers, police reports, screenshots of online posts, blurry security footage…everything related to Emily’s disappearance was scattered across my desk, a maddening reminder that she was out there somewhere, suffering, and I hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it.Every second that passed without her felt like a slow descent into madness.Daniel stood across the room, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in hushed tones, his expression tight with frustration. He had been making endless calls, pulling every string possible to find a lead, but every road led to a dead end.I clenched my jaw, gripping the edges of my desk so hard my knuckles turned white. "This isn't working," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.Daniel looked up at me, hesitating before saying, "We're doing everything we can, sir.""Well, it’s not enough, is it?" I snapped, my voice rough, raw.
Vanessa’s POVI stormed into my penthouse, slamming the door so hard the glass walls rattled. My heels clicked against the marble floors as I yanked off my coat, throwing it onto the couch. My body burned with fury, my veins pulsing with rage. My fingers curled into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me for just a second before another wave of anger crashed over me.Cole had actually thrown me out.Me.The only woman who had ever truly belonged to him. The woman who had been by his side before Emily came along and wrecked everything. The woman who had given him everything, only to be tossed aside like I was nothing.My breathing came hard and fast as I paced across the room, my expensive heels clicking against the floor. The city skyline stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the night glowing with lights, but I barely saw it. All I saw was that moment in his office.His face.The way he looked at me…like I was a stranger.Like I was nothi
Emily's POV.My stomach felt like it was eating itself.The ache had started as a dull discomfort, but now it was something else…something sharp, something cruel. Hunger had turned into a gnawing pain that twisted deep inside me, making it hard to even breathe properly. My throat was dry, my lips cracked. Every muscle in my body ached from being tied up for days.I didn’t know how long I’d been here.Three days? Four?The days blurred together in the darkness of this hellhole. My wrists were raw from the tight ropes, my legs numb from being bound to this stupid chair. My head pounded, and my body felt so weak that even holding my head up was a struggle. But I hadn’t broken down.I wouldn’t.Across from me, one of them sat lazily, chewing on a piece of bread. The sound of him eating filled the room, each bite echoing like a taunt. I tried to ignore it, but my stomach betrayed me with a painful growl.He noticed.His gaze moved to mine, his chewing slowing. He was a big guy, broad shoul
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