LOGINRonan Blackthorne gets the same coffee every morning. Black, no sugar. From the same girl who doesn't even know he's worth billions. Annabelle thinks he's just another suit with good tips and a nice smile. She has no clue he owns half of Manhattan. Here's the thing though, Ronan's got a problem. His dead father just screwed him over big time. Turns out daddy had a secret daughter somewhere, and she owns 35% of everything Ronan thought was his. Now he's hunting this mystery girl down because his psychotic mother Victoria won't shut up about finding her and making the problem disappear. The barista he's falling for is the girl he's looking for.
View MoreANNABELLE POVThe morning sunlight feels wrong.Not the warm, gentle kind I’m used to. No, this light is sharp, unforgiving, like it’s been deliberately aimed at me. My phone buzzes before I can even open my eyes properly.I grab it, heart thudding.It’s not Ronan or Miranda neither is it Sophia. It’s the news alerts.And my stomach drops before I even read the headlines.“Blackthorne Scandal: Who is Annabelle Really?”“The Secret Daughter or a Gold Digger?”“Family Feud Erupts: Truth or Lies in Blackthorne Legacy?”I drop the phone on the bed, trembling. No, this is not happening again. I can’t deal with being blocked and ambushed at the front of my home. My fingers feel numb, my chest tightens, and I realize… this is exactly what Victoria wants. Her reach extends farther than I thought.She doesn’t need to touch me. She doesn’t need to strike physically. She can destroy me from a thousand miles away, from behind polished doors and perfectly crafted lies. Just like she wanted to bef
ANNABELLE POVFear has a sound.I never knew that before today.It’s not a scream. Not footsteps in the dark. Not even the slam of a door.It’s silence—the kind that presses against your skin and makes every nerve stand on edge.I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, fully dressed even though it’s past midnight, staring at the door like it might suddenly open on its own. Sofia is asleep on the couch or at least pretending to be. I can hear her shifting every few minutes, restless just like me.The house feels too big tonight.Too quiet.Ronan’s words replay in my head over and over.Victoria doesn’t retreat. She strikes.I hug my knees to my chest, forcing myself to breathe slowly. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. That’s what my therapist once told me years ago when anxiety from my mother’s illness tried to swallow me whole.But this fear is different.This isn’t imagined.This is earned.My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart pounds violen
RONAN POVThe air is thick. Not the humidity of summer, not the artificial warmth of the penthouse but something heavier, a presence that presses against my chest and refuses to leave.Victoria Blackthorne is here.I know it before I even see her. That cold precision, that predatory grace, the way she moves through a room as if she owns every shadow, every corner, every breath. That stupid power she thinks she has. I had warned Annabelle. I had told her that Victoria doesn’t retreat; she strikes. That fear is a weapon in her hands, and mercy is her lie.Yet here she is, standing in my living room like she owns it. Perfect heels, tailored jacket, hair immaculately swept back, eyes sharp and calculating. Every inch of her screams control. And I know that she is already planning the chaos she wants to leave in her wake.“What are you doing here?” I demand, keeping my voice low, steady, but edged with anger.She smiles faintly. A thin, dangerous line that does not reach her eyes. “Visiti
VICTORIA POVThe world had begun whispering against me again.Not loud enough to shatter my composure, not yet. But loud enough that I could feel it crawling under my skin, irritating every carefully curated layer of my power. The headlines, the social media chatter, the thinly veiled comments from people who once obeyed me without question and now they’ve become a current pulling at me, testing the walls I’d built.I stand by the window in my private suite, overlooking the city. The skyline glows in a thousand fractured lights. Each one feels like a spotlight on my failures. And yet, I don’t flinch. I never flinch.“Mrs Blackthorne,” a strong voice says behind me. Detective Walsh. Always alert. Always cautious. Always watching for cracks.I don’t turn. “What is it?” My tone is calm, but the words carry a weight that makes her hesitate.“Ronan called,” he says carefully, placing the tablet on the desk. “He’s… he’s been with her all day. The coverage is getting bigger. People are compa












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