Larry's out of the picture. What next? If you don't know, kindly hit the like button, but if you do know, please share, We'd love to know too
Larry’s POV The clang of metal startled me. My head whipped around toward the kitchen, the sound sharp and sudden like a gunshot. Was it the dishwasher? The microwave? Or maybe the gate outside?I held my breath, frozen, ears straining for the slightest hint of movement. But all I heard was the faint creak of the wind outside, teasing me.It was just the wind.My heart was already hammering, sweat gathering at the nape of my neck. I tried to focus on the TV, some random sitcom blaring its laugh track at inappropriate intervals, but the noise only grated on my nerves. I jabbed the remote to lower the volume, and in the near-silence, the air around me felt heavier.I glanced around the living room. Spotless. The house had never looked this clean, not even when we first moved in. Every surface gleamed, every cushion was fluffed and in its proper place. The smell of dinner—her favorite stir-fry—wafted from the kitchen, but I wasn’t sure if it would be enough.That’s why I’d ordered the C
Larry's POVThe pounding bass of the club vibrated through my chest, each beat hammering against my skull like the taunt of a cruel joke I couldn't escape. Strobe lights slashed through the haze, blinding in their erratic bursts, as smoke curled around the room like a living thing, thick and choking. I leaned back into the leather seat of the VIP lounge, nursing the drink in my hand. The scotch burned going down, but I welcomed it—the fire in my throat was the only sensation that felt real anymore.This place was chaos. A sensory overload of debauchery, a cocktail of sweat, booze, and desperation. The stench of urine and vomit clung to the air, blending with the acrid bite of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. It was vile, repulsive, and yet, it felt like home.On the dancefloor below, bodies twisted together in a feverish rhythm, blurring into a mass of flesh under the pulsing lights. Some people were making out in the corners; others were openly groping, their movements so brazen I
Mirabel’s POVThe morning light filtering through the heavy velvet drapes annoyed me, glaring like some silent accuser. I groaned, rolling over and letting out an exasperated sigh. Where was Vincent’s mother? She should’ve drawn the curtains, brought my tea, and anticipated my every need by now. It was her job, wasn’t it?I glanced at the clock—already past 9 a.m. I couldn’t stand the thought of her wasting my time. The least she could do was wake up earlier.“Mrs. Ashford!” I called sharply, my voice slicing through the stillness of the oversized house. Silence answered me. My irritation flared, and I threw back the duvet with dramatic flair, stomping down the hallway in my silk robe.The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor echoed through the house like a warning. Each step brought me closer to her, and with every second, my patience wore thinner.I found her in the kitchen, scrubbing the already spotless counters. The sour tang of whatever herbal brew she was concoct
Claire's POVThe moment Emily and Adrian left, the tension in the air felt almost suffocating. I was still processing the mess from earlier when something unexpected happened. It started with a faint sound—like the rustling of dozens of people gathering—and then it grew louder. By the time I made it to the window, I could see the crowd forming outside the gates, a sea of reporters, paparazzi, and random strangers pushing forward, trying to get in.I froze. Panic surged through me. I wasn’t sure what to do.Vincent, however, was on it in an instant. His phone rang with the speed of someone who had already anticipated this move. He snapped a few words into it, and within minutes, a team of security arrived. The scene outside was chaos, but it didn’t take long for the reporters to be pushed out of the way.Vincent had everything under control. And somehow, that made the whole situation feel even worse. The idea that I was trapped here—while he was orchestrating everything—only added to t
Mirabel’s POVI paced the length of the room, my stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor, their sound slicing through the tense silence. Every deliberate step mirrored the whirlwind in my mind. That insipid little video Claire had posted was still trending. A pregnant woman pleading for peace? Sympathy for her unborn child? It was a masterstroke of manipulation.And it was working.The pity I’d spent months crafting had evaporated overnight. My nails dug into my palms as I replayed her words in my head, each line dripping with saccharine innocence. If I announced my pregnancy now, it would look like a desperate bid for attention. Worse, it would backfire spectacularly. No one would side with me over a vulnerable, heavily pregnant woman.The public would eat me alive.But I wasn’t about to roll over and surrender. I’d played the victim long enough. Now, it was time to become the devil.I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the one I needed. My
Claire’s POVExhaustion weighed heavily on me, my body begging for rest, but my mind refused to grant it. My eyelids drooped as I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting protectively over my belly. Vincent was pacing in front of me, his phone in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He had been trying to convince me to sleep for over an hour, but how could I close my eyes with so much at stake?“They said ten hours,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Ten hours, Vincent. That’s a lifetime right now.”“You’ll make yourself sick,” he countered, kneeling before me. He placed the glass in my hand and cupped my cheek with his other. His gaze was soft, yet determined. “Claire, please. Trust me. We’re almost there.”I wanted to believe him, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t unravel. “I can’t. Not until this is over. Not until Mirabel’s lies are exposed, and she can’t hurt us anymore.” My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded.Vincent’s thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping
Vincent’s POVThe moment the hacker delivered the final batch of files, I knew Mirabel’s reign of terror was over. Nine hours was all it took for her carefully constructed image to shatter. Years of deceit, manipulation, and cruelty now sat neatly categorized in front of me—subtle, strong, explosive.I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen as the weight of the evidence settled over me. Bank transfers tied to bribery. Screenshots of threats she’d sent to assistants she bullied into silence. Even a recorded confession from one of her ex-managers, who detailed the torment she’d put him through before driving him to a breakdown. And then there were the videos.They were the kind of content no PR team could spin, the kind that would obliterate every shred of credibility she had left. Explicit. Damning. Ugly.I should have felt disgusted—or maybe even pity—but all I felt was cold, unrelenting anger.“Vincent?” Claire’s voice pulled me back. She was sitting on the couch, her legs cu
Larry's POVI never saw it coming—the sharp crack of bone that echoed through the room, a sound so foreign yet unmistakably mine. Pain flared up my leg, an incandescent burst of white-hot agony that blotted out thought and breath. I crumpled to the cold, hard ground, gasping, clutching at the shattered limb as if sheer will could piece it back together.“Damn it, Larry,” Vincent’s voice cut through the haze, cold and commanding. “You really should watch your step.”His words were laced with fury and satisfaction, a combination that made my stomach churn as much as the pain in my leg did. I bit down a groan, my breaths coming shallow and fast. Sweat pooled on my brow, and the room spun like a cruel carnival ride.“You didn’t have to do this,” I rasped, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. My voice trembled, lacking conviction even as I spoke.Vincent crouched beside me, his face a mask of barely restrained rage. “Didn’t have to?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “You
Larry Thorne’s POVIt was quiet now. The kind of quiet that used to drive me insane when I was younger, before I knew how to appreciate it. The twins had finally fallen asleep after I’d read them their bedtime stories, the girl clutching her stuffed rabbit and the boy sprawled out like he owned the world.Fatherhood. Who would have thought it?Four months ago, I couldn’t have imagined this life. Me, Larry Thorne, the reckless playboy who lived for booze, drugs, and women, now playing the role of a family man.Well, mostly.I leaned against the doorframe of the twins’ room, watching their tiny chests rise and fall with each breath. It was surreal, almost poetic, how much they had changed me. I didn’t touch alcohol anymore, and the mere thought of drugs made me sick. I wanted to be better—for them. They deserved that.And for all her quirks, Elise had stepped up too. She loved those kids like they were her own, doting on them in ways I never expected. There were moments when I caught her
Chapter 34Mirabel Vanroe’s POVThese past four months have definitely been the longest four years of my life, it has taken me through different phases, made me understand myself more and most especially, understand the surrounding situation.The time within those months ave made me understand that forgiveness be damned, new beginnings be damned. Those who said that opportunities come but once weren't lying. They definitely had won my shoes before coming up with those words of wisdom, because I had that opportunity to become a star after I graduated from college, and it was the only once of my life, because now, I was nothing but a crazy woman forced to wear a white uniform because the alternative would have been orange overalls in a damned cell with notorious roommates, but right now, I was stuck with crazy. "I heard she used to be a top star.""Top star my foot, if she was a top star, then I was a top planet," I glared at the two psychopaths and watched them scamper away, while I h
Claire’s POVFour months had passed since my world turned upside down, and now I stood at the precipice of a new beginning. The joy of motherhood swelled within me, even as I lay drenched in sweat, gripping the sides of the hospital bed with all my might. The air in the delivery room felt thick, buzzing with nervous energy and the weight of what was about to happen."Push, Claire! You’re almost there!" The doctor’s voice cut through the haze of pain, grounding me in the moment.A sharp contraction tore through me, and for a brief moment, I thought I might lose my mind. Every nerve in my body screamed in protest, but then I felt Emily’s firm hand clasping mine."You’ve got this! You’re the strongest woman I know." Her voice, steady and filled with conviction, was the anchor I desperately needed.On the other side of me was Vince
Mirabel's POV The cold steel of the prison bars bit into my palms as I leaned against them, the chill seeping into my bones. My breath came out in ragged gasps, each one a struggle to pull from the suffocating air of my cell. The coarse fabric of my orange jumpsuit scratched at my skin, a constant reminder of how far I had fallen—from the glamour of studio lights and red carpets to this dim, unforgiving cage. Tears streamed
Larry's POVI never saw it coming—the sharp crack of bone that echoed through the room, a sound so foreign yet unmistakably mine. Pain flared up my leg, an incandescent burst of white-hot agony that blotted out thought and breath. I crumpled to the cold, hard ground, gasping, clutching at the shattered limb as if sheer will could piece it back together.“Damn it, Larry,” Vincent’s voice cut through the haze, cold and commanding. “You really should watch your step.”His words were laced with fury and satisfaction, a combination that made my stomach churn as much as the pain in my leg did. I bit down a groan, my breaths coming shallow and fast. Sweat pooled on my brow, and the room spun like a cruel carnival ride.“You didn’t have to do this,” I rasped, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. My voice trembled, lacking conviction even as I spoke.Vincent crouched beside me, his face a mask of barely restrained rage. “Didn’t have to?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “You
Vincent’s POVThe moment the hacker delivered the final batch of files, I knew Mirabel’s reign of terror was over. Nine hours was all it took for her carefully constructed image to shatter. Years of deceit, manipulation, and cruelty now sat neatly categorized in front of me—subtle, strong, explosive.I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen as the weight of the evidence settled over me. Bank transfers tied to bribery. Screenshots of threats she’d sent to assistants she bullied into silence. Even a recorded confession from one of her ex-managers, who detailed the torment she’d put him through before driving him to a breakdown. And then there were the videos.They were the kind of content no PR team could spin, the kind that would obliterate every shred of credibility she had left. Explicit. Damning. Ugly.I should have felt disgusted—or maybe even pity—but all I felt was cold, unrelenting anger.“Vincent?” Claire’s voice pulled me back. She was sitting on the couch, her legs cu
Claire’s POVExhaustion weighed heavily on me, my body begging for rest, but my mind refused to grant it. My eyelids drooped as I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting protectively over my belly. Vincent was pacing in front of me, his phone in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He had been trying to convince me to sleep for over an hour, but how could I close my eyes with so much at stake?“They said ten hours,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Ten hours, Vincent. That’s a lifetime right now.”“You’ll make yourself sick,” he countered, kneeling before me. He placed the glass in my hand and cupped my cheek with his other. His gaze was soft, yet determined. “Claire, please. Trust me. We’re almost there.”I wanted to believe him, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t unravel. “I can’t. Not until this is over. Not until Mirabel’s lies are exposed, and she can’t hurt us anymore.” My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded.Vincent’s thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping
Mirabel’s POVI paced the length of the room, my stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor, their sound slicing through the tense silence. Every deliberate step mirrored the whirlwind in my mind. That insipid little video Claire had posted was still trending. A pregnant woman pleading for peace? Sympathy for her unborn child? It was a masterstroke of manipulation.And it was working.The pity I’d spent months crafting had evaporated overnight. My nails dug into my palms as I replayed her words in my head, each line dripping with saccharine innocence. If I announced my pregnancy now, it would look like a desperate bid for attention. Worse, it would backfire spectacularly. No one would side with me over a vulnerable, heavily pregnant woman.The public would eat me alive.But I wasn’t about to roll over and surrender. I’d played the victim long enough. Now, it was time to become the devil.I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the one I needed. My
Claire's POVThe moment Emily and Adrian left, the tension in the air felt almost suffocating. I was still processing the mess from earlier when something unexpected happened. It started with a faint sound—like the rustling of dozens of people gathering—and then it grew louder. By the time I made it to the window, I could see the crowd forming outside the gates, a sea of reporters, paparazzi, and random strangers pushing forward, trying to get in.I froze. Panic surged through me. I wasn’t sure what to do.Vincent, however, was on it in an instant. His phone rang with the speed of someone who had already anticipated this move. He snapped a few words into it, and within minutes, a team of security arrived. The scene outside was chaos, but it didn’t take long for the reporters to be pushed out of the way.Vincent had everything under control. And somehow, that made the whole situation feel even worse. The idea that I was trapped here—while he was orchestrating everything—only added to t