LOGINVincentSix months had passed since the headlines burned out, since the board members cleared their desks, and since the heavy oak doors of the Cole estate swung shut behind us for the last time.The public memory is notoriously short. Scandal, no matter how explosive, eventually yields to the next news cycle. The stock of Cole Industries had stabilized under interim leadership, the media moved on to fresh blood, and the world learned to exist without Vincent Cole at the helm of an empire.And for the first time in my forty-three years, I was actually living.I stood in the sunlit kitchen of our new home, taking a slow sip of black coffee as I looked out through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Perched high on a secluded ridge overlooking a sprawling, golden valley, the house was a masterpiece of warm timber, glass, and open air. There were no dark, soundproof studies here. No hidden drawers. No antique-laden halls heavy with suffocating history.It was a space built from scr
OliseThe iron gates of the Cole estate swung open with a slow, mournful groan.Returning to the mansion felt like walking into a mausoleum built for a life I no longer recognized. The manicured lawns were pristine, the stone fountains bubbled quietly, but the grand, towering house stood cold and dark against the late afternoon sky.I parked my rental car in the gravel driveway, my hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel as I tried to steady the wild, frantic pounding in my chest.Vincent had begged me not to come alone. He had offered to sit in the car, to stand by the door, to carry the blows alongside me. But as I looked at the grand double doors of the estate, I knew this was a debt I had to face on my own feet. He had surrendered his entire billion-dollar corporate empire to shield me from the world’s judgment; the absolute least I could do was stand brave for twenty minutes and face my mother.I stepped out of the car, smoothed down my black coat, and walked up the front
VincentThe media circus peaked at dawn.By seven in the morning, the street outside Olise’s downtown apartment building was swarming with news vans, telephoto lenses, and aggressive reporters. Miranda’s emergency court motion to freeze my assets had provided the press with the official legal paper trail they needed to blow the scandal wide open.They weren't just coming for me anymore. They were coming for Olise.I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment, watching a reporter shove a microphone toward a delivery driver simply for walking out of the front lobby. The headlines flashing across the cable news ticker were merciless: The Cole Betrayal. Forbidden Affair Torpedoes Wall Street Titan.They were painting Olise as a calculating, opportunistic interloper who had dragged down Cole Industries from the inside.My knuckles turned white against the glass. I could survive media viciousness. I had spent twenty years in the shark tank of global finance. But watching them dr
OliseThe rain hit the towering glass windows of my downtown apartment in relentless, grey sheets, echoing the hollow storm raging in my head.The apartment was modern, minimal, and completely devoid of soul—a furnished rental Vincent’s private secretary had secured for me within hours of our expulsion from the estate. It was safe, it was quiet, and it felt like a prison.Four days had passed since the explosion at the mansion. Four days since Miranda’s scream had echoed down the corridor. Four days since my entire world had been torn apart.I sat on the edge of the leather sofa, staring at my phone resting on the glass coffee table. The screen flickered every few minutes with notifications I was too terrified to read. The leak had started as a quiet ripple in elite high-society blind items, but by yesterday morning, it had mutated into an undeniable wildfire. Headlines were treading carefully around libel laws, but the subtle, malicious insinuation was everywhere: Cole Industries CEO
VincentThe door swung open.Miranda stood in the doorway, holding a sleek digital tablet displaying a Tuscan catering invoice, a bright, expectant smile on her face.The smile died instantly.The ambient light of the hallway spilled across the room, illuminating the scene in excruciating, unyielding detail. My hands were still cupping Olise’s face, my forehead pressed against his, our chests rising and falling in the same ragged rhythm. On the bed behind us lay two open, packed leather suitcases.There was no lie that could save us. No professional excuse could explain the way I held him, or the raw, undeniable intimacy filling the space between our bodies. It was not a stepfather comforting a troubled boy; it was a man hopelessly, recklessly devoted to his lover."Vincent?"Miranda’s voice was barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual melodic, high-society charm. Her sharp eyes darted from my hands buried in her son's hair, down to Olise’s swollen, flush lips, and finally t
OliseMy hands were shaking so violently I could barely pull the zipper around the edge of my second leather suitcase.The sound of the metallic teeth tearing through the silence of my bedroom felt like a physical tearing inside my chest. Every single item I packed—the dark suits I had worn to Cole Industries, the silk ties Vincent had adjusted with heavy, possessive hands, the soft sweaters that still carried the lingering, intoxicating scent of his black amber cologne—was a piece of a dream I was forced to abandon."Olise. Stop."Vincent’s voice sliced through the dim, amber lighting of the room. He didn't sound like the untouchable corporate titan who commanded boardrooms. He sounded ruined.I didn't stop. I shoved my boots into the side compartment and pulled the heavy leather handles together. "I'm leaving, Vincent. My flight to London leaves at seven in the morning. I've already booked a hotel near the airport."Before I could drag the suitcase off the bed, two massive hands cla







