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Far From Chaos
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2025-09-14 00:01:00Isla Hart’s POV
The villa was too quiet, maybe...a tad bit too safe. Every polished surface, every subtle hum of the air conditioning reminded me that I was somewhere far removed from the chaos I had known. Sophie slept soundly in a bed softer than any mattress she’d ever had, clutching the stuffed rabbit Alexander had silently handed her last night. She hadn’t let go of it once.I should have been relieved. Grateful, even. He had stepped in when I was powerless, when Sophie was in danger, when my own body had frozen with fear I thought I had long buried. Without him, last night would have ended differently...broken, unthinkable.And yet… gratitude sat uneasily beside something sharper. Pride. Six years under the Blakes had taught me how to survive without expecting rescue. Survival meant swallowing humiliation, keeping my head down, enduring cruelty while pretending it did not matter. Now, here I was, under another man’s roof. Safe, yes. But not
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Unworthy No More Reflections & Realizations
Isla Hart’s POVAlexander patted my shoulder and retreated into his study. I let myself linger in the quiet. Sophie was still asleep, curled into her blankets like a tiny, perfect star. The house was calm, the kind of calm that felt like a luxury after years of storms.And yet… my mind drifted back. Three and a half years ago, the day I delivered Sophie. The sharp, relentless pain of labor, the sterile scent of the hospital, the unfamiliar weight of my tiny, wailing daughter in my arms. And the Blakes. Nathaniel and his mother, standing at the door, their faces a mix of expectation and entitlement.They had seen her. A baby girl. Nathaniel’s lips had pressed into a thin, tight line. Mrs. Blake’s eyes had narrowed, cold and calculating. And then, as if it were some trivial inconvenience, they walked out. Unabashed, unapologetic. “In the Blakes family,” Mrs. Blake had said over her shoulder, “daughters carry their mother’s last name.”
Unworthy No More Morning Revelations
Isla Hart’s POVThe morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows, warm and almost mischievous, as if conspiring with my mood. My phone buzzed in my hand. Lia. I swiped to answer. “Morning, Isla! You have to check the latest on that…well, the usual suspects,” Lia chirped, voice brimming with amusement. “You’ll want to see this.”I frowned, tilting the phone so I could see the screen while carefully balancing my steps down the stairs. The gossip blog Lia forwarded was updated with the latest hospital news. Viola. The mistress. The one Nathaniel had paraded like a prize. And the headline…oh, the headline. “Viola Blake Delivers: Identical Twin Daughters Join the Blake Lineage!”I blinked once, twice, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching my phone to my chest. I laughed so hard I did not notice my foot sliding on the polished stair. My arms flailed for balance, and in the next heartbeat, Alexander’s firm hands closed around my w
Unworthy No More Envy, Schemes And Unexpected Heirs
Author's POV Nathaniel Blake sat in the back of his sleek black car, eyes narrowing as he replayed the scene over and over in his mind. Isla Hart had walked into Sophie’s daycare that morning, her presence radiant, composed, unafraid. And Sophie, three years old but already clever beyond her age, had rushed into Alexander’s arms, calling him “Daddy.”The words cut Nathaniel deeper than he expected. He clenched the leather armrest, jaw tight. Daddy. A man with more wealth, more power, more everything than him, being named by his own daughter. The pang of jealousy was not rational, but it burned hotter than any anger he’d felt before.Viola, waddling slightly in her designer maternity dress, tried to catch his gaze. “Nathaniel, we can still...” He snapped, his voice sharper than intended. “Still what, Viola? Watch them? Watch Isla play house with him while we sit here?” His hand slammed the armrest again. “She looks…beautiful. Glowing. And that ch
Unworthy No More Shadows at the Gate
Isla Hart’s POVThe sun had barely touched the city when I felt that familiar tightness in my chest. I shook it off, chalking it up to nerves. Sophie’s daycare pickup was usually a quiet affair, and I had planned to linger a little longer at Horizon Outreach today. But Sophie, as usual, had other ideas. “Mommy, Daddy’s coming?” she asked, tugging at my hand as we stepped onto the sidewalk.I froze mid-step, realizing what she meant. Alexander had told me last night that he would drop by to see how she had settled into her activities. My chest warmed. Sophie’s little mind had already painted Alexander as a safe harbor, a father, and I could see her small, eager face light up at the thought of his presence.We arrived at the daycare, Sophie practically bouncing in excitement, holding my hand. The gates swung open, and the familiar caretaker waved. I let out a quiet sigh, thinking today would be ordinary.But ordinary ended as soon as
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Isla Hart’s POVI had begun to notice a pattern with Sophie. She was not just a precocious three-year-old. Instead, she was a strategist in miniature, and Alexander had become her favorite ally. I was not sure if I was more amused or alarmed.It started that morning in the kitchen. Sophie had neatly lined up her breakfast, insisting that Alexander be the one to hand her the orange slices. “Mommy, Daddy does it better,” she announced, her eyes sparkling. I blinked. “Better?” I echoed, curious.“Yes,” she said with the certainty only a toddler could muster. “He doesn’t spill. He listens. You’re busy.” Alexander merely raised an eyebrow at me, smiling softly. “Busy,” he repeated, his voice low and amused. “I see.” Sophie beamed. “I’m helping! I’m making sure Mommy isn’t tired today.”And just like that, she had inserted him into our lives as the supportive presence I had resisted. Alexander did not force himself in. He did not demand a
Unworthy No More Little Hands, Big Heart
Isla Hart’s POVSophie had an uncanny way of keeping me on my toes. I should have known, given her intelligence, quick wit, and the sharp little glint in her hazel eyes. But today, she had surpassed anything I had imagined.I stepped into the kitchen, expecting the usual chaos of cereal boxes and juice stains, but instead found Sophie perched on a stool at the counter, a stack of notes and colored pencils before her. Alexander was beside her, leaning lightly against the counter, his hands folded behind his back, watching patiently.“What are you two up to?” I asked, curiosity piqued, though a part of me feared the answer. Sophie did not look up. “Planning our day,” she said simply, voice full of the certainty only a three-year-old could have. “You’re busy, Mommy, so I need Daddy to help me.” Alexander’s lips twitched, a small, amused smile. “I’m listening,” he said, crouching to her level. “What do you need me to do?”Sophie handed
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