جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 40

Arthur's POVThe phone vibrated on the mahogany desk. Vivienne's name glowed on the screen. I answered without hurry, leaning back in the chair."My love," she began, her voice sweet as honey, the mask perfectly in place. "I imagined you would call me. After traveling to the United States without a word. Without telling your wife.""Since when do I need to tell you?""Since my last name is still the same as yours, Arthur." The sweetness didn't disappear, but something sharper appeared beneath it. "Since your image is still tied to mine. Since what you do affects the family."The sound of a lighter. She lit a cigarette."You're going to cancel Nathalie Foster's termination. Immediately."The silence that followed was long. The smoke hissed."Nathalie who?" she asked, her voice full of contempt. "Arthur, do you have any idea how many models work for Sterling? Dozens. Hundreds. I'm not obligated to memorize the name of every single one.""Nathalie Foster. The model you fired yesterday."

Arthur's POV"What business is it of yours about my fiancée? About my life?"The question hung in the air. The silence between us was so dense you could hear the hum of the air conditioning.Marcus stared at me, his blue eyes glazed, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a marathon.He waited for an answer. Any answer."What I think or not about your ex-girlfriend is my problem," I said. My voice came out low, controlled, but each word was a knife. "If you've forgotten where your place is, I don't want to be the one to remind you. Someone would have to be born to talk to me like that.""She was never my ex." Marcus stepped forward. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot. "She's tied to me until the end. She'll only untie herself from me when I want her to. Which means never.""Have you lost your mind?""Have I lost my mind?" He laughed, a bitter laugh, humorless. "You're in the United States without telling anyone. Hiding a mistress. Lying to my mother. And I'm the one who

Emily's POV The air in the hallway was freezing, but I didn't even feel it. Arthur was there, in front of me, his black jacket unbuttoned, his white shirt open at the neck, his beard unshaven. His dark eyes slowly traced my body – the thin camisole, the short shorts, my bare feet. His chest rose and fell as if he had run a marathon. "Arthur," I said, my voice coming out lower than I wanted. "What are you doing here?" He didn't answer. He just walked in. The door closed behind him with a soft click. His smell invaded my senses — whiskey, leather, musk. The same smell from the night of the storm. The same smell that drove me crazy. "I need to tell you something," he said, his voice hoarse. "I received a threat today." I felt my heart race. My hands began to tremble. "What?" "Someone wants thirty percent of my shares in the company," he said, his voice rough and slurred. "The same person has photos of us. From almost every place we met. If I don't give in, they'll expose our sec

Emily's POVI was still sitting on the bed, my hands cold, my heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. My head was hammering that phrase that refused to make sense in my brain: Marcus may not be my son."You kept the paper for twenty-one years," I said. My voice came out lower than a whisper. "You never showed it to him? Never confronted her?"Arthur was also sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands dangling between his knees, his head lowered. The light from the bedside lamp cast deep shadows on his face."I was afraid," he answered. His voice broke in the middle. "Afraid of hearing the truth.""But you always treated him like a son.""Because he is my son." Arthur lifted his head. His eyes were tired, hollow, but there was a certainty in them that wasn't there before. "Blood doesn't make a father, Emily. Time does. The sleepless nights watching a crying baby. The wobbling first steps. The tantrums. The arguments. The word 'father' said in moments we

Nathalie's POVWhile Emily dealt with Marcus in the apartment, I was there, about to face my own demon.The hotel room smelled of expensive champagne and lies. It was a heavy smell, one that stuck to skin and hair. I heard the click of the lock behind me and knew the game had begun.There was no turning back.Peterson wasn't just in the room. He seemed electric. He had just landed, coming straight from Italy, and the air around him still vibrated with the rush of the trip. He tossed his designer jacket over an armchair and came toward me before I could even say a word. The lamplight hit his face, highlighting the sweaty shine on his forehead and the brown eyes that devoured me with a hunger that made my stomach knot."Finally," he said, his voice hoarse, laden with an urgency I knew all too well. "Ten hours of flying thinking about your skin. I was going crazy in Milan."He pressed me against the wall. His large hands found my waist and pulled my body against his with a force that s