Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 1 - Chapitre 10

The ride from the bar was a blur of neon city lights and the heavy, intoxicating silence between them. Charlotte didn't ask where they were going. When a sleek, black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside the lounge and a chauffeur immediately opened the door, a brief flash of realization pierced through her whiskey-soaked haze: “This man is incredibly wealthy.” But tonight, she didn't care about his bank account. She only cared about the heat radiating from him as he sat beside her in the spacious backseat, his gaze fixed intensely on her. They arrived at an exclusive, ultra-luxury high-rise in the heart of the financial district. A private elevator took them straight to the penthouse. The moment the steel doors slid closed, locking them inside his quiet, opulent world, the tension holding Charlotte together finally snapped.She didn't wait for him to offer her a tour or pour another drink. Driven by a desperate need to overwrite the horrifying image of Andrew and Sienna, Charlotte

For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the VIP viewing room was the blood rushing in Charlotte’s ears. She stared at the man standing casually in front of a million-dollar abstract canvas. The charcoal suit. The sharp jawline. The dark, consuming eyes that had memorized every inch of her body just hours ago. "You," Charlotte whispered, the professional mask completely falling from her face. Edward took a slow, deliberate step toward her. The sheer presence of the man seemed to shrink the spacious room. "Edward Stewart. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Miss Morrison."Charlotte’s mind was spinning so fast she felt nauseous. The panic was quickly being swallowed by a rising, fiery indignation. "This isn't a coincidence. You knew who I was last night.""I did," Edward admitted, completely unapologetic. He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, looking at her with that same intense, predatory gaze from the bar. "I knew exactly who you were.""And you bought my family's

The heavy brass lock clicked into place with a sharp snap that echoed through the cavernous office. Charlotte kept her hand on the cold brass handle for a moment, taking a slow breath before turning around. Nancy’s words echoed in her mind.You know this gallery better than anyone. Don’t let him intimidate you.She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and forced herself to remember why she was there. She wasn't going to let Edward Stewart see how unsettled she was.She turned and closed the distance between the door and his massive oak desk. But instead of sinking into one of the plush leather guest chairs, she stopped right in front of them. She stood tall, her crimson blazer a stark, vibrant slash of color against the dark, imposing aesthetic of his office. "I prefer to stand," Charlotte said. Her voice was cool, clipped, and remarkably steady. Edward didn't look annoyed. If anything, the dark amusement in his eyes deepened. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the

Two hours later, a sleek, matte-black box was hand-delivered to Charlotte’s apartment by a silent courier. Inside, nestled beneath layers of black tissue paper, was a dress. It wasn't the conservative, pastel-colored, perfectly tailored aesthetic Charlotte usually wore to appease her mother's strict society standards. It was a slip of liquid, emerald-green silk. It was backless, plunging, and entirely unapologetic. Resting on top of the fabric was a heavy cardstock note, written in sharp, aggressive handwriting. “Your parents took them to The Vanguard to celebrate their 'survival' of your hysteria. Nancy tipped the press. Be downstairs at eight. — E.”Charlotte stared at the note. Her heart gave a hard, erratic thump against her ribs. The Vanguard was the most exclusive, impossible-to-book restaurant in the city. A place Andrew had constantly complained was too pretentious, masking the fact that he simply couldn't afford a glass of water there. Tonight, her family was using it as

The marble foyer felt completely devoid of oxygen the moment Edward turned his back to pour his drink. Charlotte stood frozen at the base of the sweeping glass staircase, her pulse thrashing against her ribs. A very long year. His whispered threat still echoed in her ears, sending a confusing, entirely unwelcome flush of heat straight to her core. She gripped her velvet clutch, took a deep breath to steady her trembling legs, and began the long climb up the stairs. She found the double doors at the end of the second-floor hallway exactly as he had described. Pushing them open, Charlotte stepped into Edward Stewart’s private sanctuary. The master suite was colossal, bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were a deep, moody charcoal, accented with brushed steel and dark walnut. In the center of the room sat a massive California king bed, draped in heavy silk and dark linen.It didn't look like a place of rest. It looked like a