All Chapters of A Love Once Lost: Chapter 61 - Chapter 69

**WARNING****AGE MATURE CONTENT AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK (18+ AND ABOVE)**Alexander Finnegan Robertson The interiors of the penthouse, predictably, left Sarah utterly enchanted. And why not? Uncle had designed it himself. She emerged from the shower with damp hair, a towel slung over one shoulder as she dabbed at the ends.“This place is magnificent!” she exclaimed, looking around as though she had stumbled upon a palace. “I could stay here the next time I visit New York, don’t you think?”“That depends on my uncle,” I replied cautiously. Her excitement dimmed almost instantly. “Can’t you persuade him?” I bit back a sigh. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? Why would my uncle allow a stranger to move into his penthouse? This isn’t a hotel.“I—I’ll see what I can do,” I muttered, offering the vaguest answer possible.“Thanks.” Her smile returned, accompanied by a flirtatious glance. “So, about meeting Mr. Thomas—”“Tomorrow, Sarah.” I cut her off before she coul

Anastasia Greene Johnson“And then he actually dropped to one knee and proposed!” Brynn practically sparkled with excitement as we sat in Nick’s car on the way to the restaurant. Nick, apparently incapable of letting her have the spotlight for more than thirty seconds, chimed in with an exaggeratedly shrill imitation.“Aren’t you going to tell her about how you nearly gave me a heart attack with, ‘Oh, my gosh! This is not happening!’?” I laughed.“I was caught off guard,” Brynn protested, pulling a playful face.“You certainly caught me off guard,” Nick replied. “For a second, I thought you were about to run.”“Why on earth would I run? I love you, Nick.”“Well, now I’m convinced,” he nodded solemnly. “Better late than never, I suppose.” Brynn swatted his arm. “You mean you actually doubted me? I hate you!”“Bit late for that now.” Grinning, Nick lifted her hand and kissed the finger bearing her engagement ring.“You’re stuck with me, baby.”“Right, that’s quite enough of th

Alexander Finnegan Robertson[Six Months Ago] Paris was incandescent with Fashion Week. The grand finale belonged to René Moreau, one of the industry’s most celebrated designers, and his afterparty was the stuff of whispered legend—a gilded playground where models, actors and industry heavyweights disappeared behind closed doors. Invitations were coveted. Discretion was practically part of the dress code. For me, none of it was particularly new. As the newest face of prestigious luxury brands, I’d been circling this glittering world since I was young enough to mistake it for normal. Still, I kept my guard firmly in place. The last thing I needed was another reminder that, to half the industry, I was simply a nepo kid wearing a famous surname like an expensive watch. My gaze wandered across the room until it landed on someone familiar. Sarah Popkins. I’d noticed her at the beginning of Fashion Week—a young London model with something raw about her. She wasn’t polished yet

**WARNING****THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF SELF-HARM AND MAY BE UPSETTING TO SOME READERS, SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**Anastasia Greene Johnson The cab jolted violently before grinding to a halt somewhere in the Lower East Side. I frowned, looking out through the window. Of all the places to break down. I’d been on my way back to Brooklyn after spending the afternoon in Manhattan, visiting my mother’s and brother’s graves and leaving flowers there. I wished I could do the same for my father more often. His grave was in Canada, and years had passed since I’d last stood beside it. But with work, bills and Ruslan’s school fees constantly eating into my time and money, travelling to Canada simply wasn’t realistic. Right now, though, the dead weren’t my immediate concern. The cab was. The driver swore under his breath and climbed out to inspect the damage. A moment later, his head appeared through the open door.“Shit. Looks like we’ve got a puncture.”“Do you have a

Anastasia Greene Johnson“Hate you? What for?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh—you mean for the date? No, I’ve got nothing against you for that. I forgave you ages ago. Looking back, it was rather immature of you. Embarrassing, certainly. But hardly unforgivable.” He gave a humourless laugh, the sound seeming to seep from somewhere cracked deep inside him.“So. . . you believe me?” he asked. “Would you believe me if I didn’t do anything wrong?”“Well. . .” I shrugged. “If you’d like to explain what actually happened, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” I was only humouring a drunk man to pass the time. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the story that followed. His words came out in broken fragments, wandering from one thought to another like a puzzle with half its pieces missing. From what I could decipher, there had been some scandal involving a woman named Sarah and a collection of suggestive photographs she had released online. According to Alexander, she had deliberately twisted t