Todos los capítulos de Yours to Keep, Daddy: MM Taboo collection : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

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

VincentSix 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

The weekend was an interminable, waking nightmare. Matthew spent forty-eight hours staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, his phone sitting face-down on the nightstand like a ticking explosive. Every time his eyes drifted shut, visions of human resources meetings, security guards stripping him of his keycard, and Saint’s cold, judgment-filled eyes tormented his mind. He didn't eat. He barely drank water. By Sunday night, he had drafted seven different versions of a formal apology letter, each one sounding more desperate and career-ruining than the last.When Monday morning finally arrived, Manhattan was bathed in the dull, gray light of a humid August dawn. Matthew dressed with meticulous care, selecting his crispest white dress shirt, his sharpest charcoal suit, and a dark navy tie. If today was the day his career died, he was going to face the firing squad looking like the professional he had spent two years pretending to be.He arrived at the executive floor of Vance & Sterling Med

By Thursday, the air on the eighty-fifth floor of Vance & Sterling Media was thick with an electric, suffocating static. What had started as a terrifying accident had rapidly devolved into a cruel, systematic game of psychological endurance. For forty-eight hours, Saint had pushed the limits of their agreement, using the digital leash to keep Matthew in a perpetual state of quiet, agonizing ruin. Every notification chime made Matthew’s stomach drop; every vibration of his phone against his desk blotter was a fresh wave of heat straight to his veins. Saint didn't stop during high-level conference calls, nor did he cease while Matthew was standing two feet away from him, handing him fresh coffee. The texts had grown increasingly raw, detailed, and mercilessly explicit—detailing precisely what Saint planned to do to Matthew behind closed doors, describing the sound of Matthew’s voice when he finally broke, and demanding constant, immediate verification that Matthew was reading every sin

In the weeks that followed, the delicate wall separating the professional from the deeply personal crumbled into absolute dust. On the eighty-fifth floor of Vance & Sterling Media, they remained a masterpiece of executive efficiency. To the corporate board, the legal teams, and the junior staff, Saint Vance was still the formidable, icy Director of Operations whose sharp tongue could dismantle a vice president's quarterly projections in three sentences. Matthew Miller remained his indispensable right hand—flawless, composed, and effortlessly anticipating every scheduling conflict before it materialized.To anyone watching from the outside, nothing had changed.But beneath the surface of pristine glass offices and polished mahogany desks, an intoxicating subversion was taking root. The boundary between boss and assistant hadn't just blurred; it had been rewritten entirely. The digital game they played had shifted from a risky distraction into an all-consuming addiction. The texts came