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 MoreRonan’s POVThe cold air hits my face the moment I step out of the boardroom.It feels like the whole world just stopped spinning. Every employee I pass looks away quickly, pretending to be busy, whispering behind their hands. Traitors. Suspended.That word echoes through my skull like a gunshot.Marcus follows me down the hall, his voice low. “Ronan, wait !”I don’t. I keep walking until we reach my office, he slams the door shut behind us, and I lean against it, breathing hard. My hands are shaking, my chest tight with rage and disbelief.“I told you,” Marcus says, pacing the room. “I’m sure Victoria has been planning this for weeks. I tried warning you but you wouldn’t listen!”I run my hand through my hair, frustrated. “She forged my signature, Marcus! How the hell did she even get access to my biometrics? Those files were locked with my fingerprints!”Marcus stops pacing and looks at me grimly. “You underestimate and trust your mother too much. She’s been in this company long be
Ronan’s POVThe door swings open before I knock again. Standing there is Sofia, Annabelle’s ever-feisty friend. Her expression twisted in disgust like she’s staring at something she wants to throw out. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest, her foot tapping impatiently.Perfect. Exactly the kind of welcome I expected.“What are you doing here, you annoying pest?” she spits before I can even open my mouth.“Good morning to you too, Sofie,” I reply with a forced smile, trying to keep my temper in check.Her nostrils flare. “It’s Sofia, you imbecile!”God, she’s insufferable. But I can’t blame her entirely — not after the chaos my mother unleashed. I run a hand through my hair, trying to appear calm even though inside I’m boiling. Between the press releases, the inheritance scandal, and Annabelle refusing to see me or take my calls, I’ve barely slept in days.“Sofia, please,” I say through gritted teeth, “I’m not here for problems neither am I here to fight. I just need to talk t
SOFIA’S POVI’ve been giddy all morning, which is ridiculous considering how much chaos I am in right now. I should’ve been angry. I should’ve been terrified. But I’m not and I can’t get Marcus’s promise off my head. His words have been replaying non stop. his voice low, certain, sinful and my chest has been fluttering. I floated down the street, smiling at nothing, ignoring the way people stared.Oh, I knew exactly why they were staring. The trending photo of Marcus and me is still spreading. The handwriting of that vicious snake Victoria, very visible. That woman’s hobby was ruining lives and she’d picked the wrong day to try mine.“Let them talk,” I muttered to myself, clutching my purse tighter. “At least I look good in that photo.”Still, I know I need to see Annabelle. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was her. She’d been through hell thanks to Victoria’s venom, and I wasn’t about to add betrayal to it. Maybe flowers and chocolate would help soften the blow. Who could s
Marcus PovMy head has been pounding since last night a sharp, steady beat behind my temples that refuses to let up. I’ve taken two painkillers already, but even they can’t dull the ache that last night’s madness left behind.My visit to Sofia’s place was supposed to be relaxing. Romantic, even. I had plans wine, laughter, her curls tangled in my hands while I ran into her from behind but instead, I spent the whole night trying to pacify her rage ball of emotions because of that damn feud between Annabelle and Victoria.Victoria… that woman never knows when to stop.She keeps going lower, dragging everyone through her twisted need for control. I should have expected it. Still, it doesn’t make the bitterness in my throat any easier to swallow.This past week has been hell.Four punctured tires. A drained fuel tank. Subtle threats in the mail. And all of it screams Walsh.I know his kind of games. Quiet destruction, always hiding behind “accidents” and “coincidences.” But I’ve been too
Annabelle PovI’m losing it…”Since I lost my job, everything has been spiraling. The few bills on my counter have multiplied like weeds. My fridge hums softly, its contents dwindling. Three bottles of water, an apple, and a jar of peanut butter that’s long past its prime. Survival is now a daily calculation.“I need to get another job,” I tell myself, forcing the words out as if saying them will make it happen.Dragging myself into the shower, I let the lukewarm water run over me until the heaviness in my chest eases just a little. Then I pull on a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweater. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make me look like I’m still trying.As I grab my bag and step out of the apartment, determination flickers faintly inside me until the second I push open the main door of the building.Flash.Flash.Flash.Cameras. Microphones. Voices overlapping in a storm of questions that slice through the morning air.“Oh, for God’s sake,” I groan, shielding my face with m
Victoria’s PovHow dare that rat speak to me like that. Only the powerless trembled in fear and I was the opposite of powerless. I was the storm that swallowed tremors whole.I slid into the back of the car with the practiced calm of someone who never allowed exterior tremors to seep in. The driver eased away from the curb; through the smudged glass I looked at Annabelle’s dilapidated building, a pathetic scrap of defiance shrink into the traffic. I let a slow smile spread. The smile softened my face without softening my mind.“If Annabelle thinks she can waltz into the Blackthorne inheritance,” I murmured into my phone as Walsh picked up, “then she doesn’t know who she’s poking.”“I’ve sent her the files, ma’am,” Walsh said, voice stumbling slightly, the kind of nervousness that always amused me. “But she’s…she’s not backing off. Miranda Chen’s involved now. It’s making things a lot complicated.”“You sent the files?” I repeated, as if verifying the premise of the conversation. I lo
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