로그인The tension in the dining hall broke with a sound that felt like a gunshot to Ethan’s heart—the mechanical click of the call connecting."Hello? Tim Dorian here... Chloe?"Ethan’s grip on his juice glass tightened until his knuckles went white. Hearing that voice—the same voice that had hummed low in its throat against his lips only hours ago—now addressing his sister with such casual, professional distance made Ethan’s blood simmer. He picked up for her. He hasn't even looked at my text, but he picked up for her.Chloe, despite her "Diva" exterior, looked like she wanted the marble floor to swallow her whole. The embarrassment was visible, a hot flush creeping up her neck, but Madison didn't flinch. She kept gesturing with her manicured hands, her eyes wide and demanding: Speak!"He... hello, Tim," Chloe stuttered, her voice dropping into a soft, uncharacteristic shyness. "How is it going?""Very well," Tim’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and courteous. "You called?""Oh, yes
The morning sun at the Wellman Estate didn't just rise; it performed, casting long, golden fingers across the manicured lawns and into the vaulted ceilings of the mansion.Inside her suite, Chloe Wellman stretched across her exotic queen-sized bed like a feline that had just caught the prize canary. A small, triumphant smile was plastered on her face as she replayed the highlight reel of the gala. Much hadn't happened—not as much as she’d hoped—but her skin still hummed where Tim’s hand had rested on the small of her back. She could still see the way he looked at her during the painting session, poised and intense.She giggled into her pillow, kicking her legs in a girlish, giddy frenzy that contradicted her "Ice Heiress" reputation. Standing gracefully, she glided toward the dresser where Tim’s painting sat. She picked it up, hugging the canvas dramatically to her chest."Good morning, sunshine," she whispered to the abstract bloom, giving the corner of the frame a soft, lingering ki
The atmosphere in the living area was suffocating. The only sounds were the artificial, rhythmic crackle of the modern electric fireplace and the low, heavy purr of Fester, who had abandoned his usual spot to coil himself onto Timothy’s lap. Even the cat seemed to sense the tectonic plates of the Dorian empire shifting.Olivia sat in her high-backed velvet wing chair, her posture perfect, though her eyes were weary. A few feet away, Harrison was a pathetic sight; he sat hunched over, pressing a bag of ice to his swelling jaw. Across from them both sat Timothy. He was terrifyingly still, his legs crossed, his fingers buried in Fester's black fur. He looked like a young king presiding over a trial where he was both judge and executioner."I want you to know," Olivia began, her voice a silken thread in the heavy silence, "that whatever I did, I did for a good cause. Aside from keeping Harrison’s involvement from you, Timothy... everything else I told you was the truth."She began to pull
The luxury sedan hummed into silence, the cooling engine the only sound in the predawn stillness of the Dorian estate. It was 4:00 AM. Timothy sat in the driver’s seat, his hands still gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were ghostly white.He should be ecstatic. The plan was working with terrifying precision. He had Ethan Wellman exactly where he wanted him—unravelling, desperate, and falling. In the world of high-stakes revenge, love was a luxury, but for a victim, it was a terminal weakness. One more strike, one more push, and the Wellman legacy would crumble into the Nashville dirt.But Timothy felt sick."Argh!" he groaned into the quiet cabin, slamming his head back against the headrest. "What is wrong with you, Timothy? Get a grip!"He closed his eyes, but the darkness only made the memory sharper. He could still feel the raw, frantic pressure of Ethan’s lips. I want to try, Ethan had said. The words weren't just a surrender; they were a plea. A plea for a life awa
FEW MINUTES EARLIERIt was a long, restless night. Sleep was a luxury Ethan couldn't afford, not with the taste of Timothy’s lips still haunting him and the crushing weight of his mother’s demands echoing in his mind. He needed a distraction—something to quiet the storm in his chest. He reached for his gardening shears, the only comfort he had known in years.Ethan hadn’t always been a fan of the dirt. In fact, he didn’t even know he had it in him until the day Madison had first brought him to the mansion as a boy. During one of his youthful, lonely strolls through the massive estate, he had stumbled across this specific spot. It was a hidden corner, carved out by nature and pulsing with a life the rest of the cold mansion lacked. Even as a child, Ethan knew this place had been loved. It had been cared for by someone who cherished every petal and leaf.Mesmerised by the view, Ethan had vowed right then to keep up the work of whoever had tended it before him. When Madison later suggest
The evening was a symphony of flashing lights, the scent of expensive lilies, and the hushed, reverent whispers that only occur in the presence of true masterpieces. If Chloe were to be asked, this wasn't just a date; it was a coronation.Tim Dorian was the architect of the perfect night. Every woman in the room—from the seasoned socialites to the young heiresses watched them with eyes like sharpened daggers. They saw Tim’s poise, his effortless command of the room, and the way his well-built frame seemed to anchor the very space around him. He was every woman’s dream: educated, talented, and possessed of a wealth that was as much about influence as it was about currency.Chloe felt the weight of those gazes, but she didn't shrink. Instead, she leaned into it. She had made up her mind: Tim Dorian would realise tonight that she wasn't just another girl in a pretty dress.As they wandered through the gallery, Tim would pause before a canvas—perhaps a moody, abstract piece of charcoal an







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