A sliver of golden light cut through the sheer drapes, tracing a thin path over the silk sheets. The scent of expensive cologne and last night’s champagne lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of something forbidden. The world outside this penthouse was already awake cars honking, heels clicking against polished pavement but inside this gilded cage, time stood still.Belle Madrigal stirred, the cool satin against her bare skin a sharp contrast to the fevered heat of last night. Her mind felt thick, sluggish, as if swimming through the remnants of a dream. Then reality struck.She wasn’t in her own bed.Her lashes fluttered open, and the sight before her stole the breath from her lungs.A man stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, his movements precise, unhurried like a king preparing for war. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his frame exuding raw power even in the simplest of gestures. Tousled dark hair framed a face so str
It was as chaotic within Belle Madrigal's heart as the storm outside. Fat drips raced down the glass of her tiny flat like tears she would not shed as the rain dashed against the windows. Long shadows were created by the bedside lamp's dull glow, which highlighted the bag that was lying open on the bed and partially full with the clothes she had stuffed inside just moments before. Her heartbeat sounded like thunder in her ears as she zipped up a black duffel bag, her hands shaking. She was unable to stay. No more. She had been wiped out by Alistair Kensington. As if she were inconsequential. She had been reliving the moment she called his office for days, how Gabrielle's icy tone had cut the thin thread that still held them together. No interaction. No recognition. Love, not from a man like him, was not what she had anticipated. However, she also hadn't anticipated being thrown out. The travel ticket on the nightstand was touched by her fingers. A flight to Seattle, one way. It
A sliver of cold light sliced through the darkness.Belle stirred, her body a battlefield of pain.Her limbs were leaden, her ribs screaming in protest at the mere attempt to move. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through her skull, the sensation sharp and unforgiving. The sterile bite of hospital air filled her lungs, mingling with the distant beeping of machines that counted out the fragile rhythm of her existence.She was alive.The realization should have brought relief.Instead, dread coiled in her stomach like a snake, tightening its grip.Something was wrong.The sheets beneath her were crisp, the mattress too firm, the walls around her a clinical shade of white, too pristine, too controlled.This wasn’t her apartment.It wasn’t even the cheap motel where she’d planned to disappear, where she could vanish into the background of the world and never be found.No.This place was a cage.Belle forced her eyelids open, blinking against the oppressive fluorescence overhead. The room wav
The silence was the first thing Belle noticed. Not the quiet sort. The sort that crushed against her ribcage, making breathing difficult, the kind that was oppressive and deliberate. Her body was weak and aching from the crash's aftermath, and she struggled to open her heavy eyes. As though her brain was still attempting to reconstruct the shattered moments before everything had turned dark, a steady throbbing settled behind her skull. After forcing herself to stand, she became aware that something was off. The white, sterile walls. The luxurious linens that seemed too costly for a public medical facility. The gentle buzz of machinery, keeping an eye on her every move. She felt a knot in her stomach. Belle wasn't by herself. Near the window, a woman in a grey suit sat with a tablet on her lap. Her small lips were squeezed into a hard line, and her blond hair was twisted back into a tight bun, Not a nurse. Not a medical professional,A handler,Belle's pulse quickened. She d
The mansion loomed before her, an iron fortress disguised as luxury.Belle stood at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of her choices pressing against her chest.She had signed the contract.She had sealed her fate.Now, she was here.Alistair had said nothing on the drive back. Not a word.And she had been too exhausted to fight the silence.The butler, an older man with a face carved by time and discipline, stepped aside, ushering her into a world she didn’t belong to.Belle stepped forward, her shoes sinking into the plush marble floors. Chandeliers glowed above her, casting golden light against the towering bookshelves, the grand staircase, the portraits of Kensington ancestors who had ruled before Alistair.She didn’t belong here.She never would.Alistair strode ahead without looking back. “You’ll stay in the east wing.”Belle swallowed hard. “And you?”He paused at the foot of the stairs. Then,
The faint crackle of the fireplace was the only sound emanating from the study. Behind his mahogany desk, Alistair Kensington sat with his fingers folded under his chin, his piercing blue gaze fixed on nothing. The mansion was still, and the little glow of predawn light enveloped the outer world.The phone then rang. Not his own line. The straight line. At this hour, only one person in the entire world would dare to utilise it. His dad. Kensington, Alexander. Alistair's mouth tightened. After letting the phone ring twice and then three times, he hit the accept button. "Papa." He spoke in a calm, expectant, and detached tone. On the other end, a low exhale. Not impatience. computation. "You've probably seen the headlines." He didn't sense the tranquilly that Alistair exuded as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't waste time on rumours." A scathing laugh devoid of humour. "Stalk?" Alexander thought. "Every screen in the nation has your name on it. "The covert marriage of bi
The lobby of Kensington Enterprises was a hive of wealth and influence. With her arms folded, Belle stood close to the glass windows, listening to the bustle of the city below. This was not the place for her. Not in the marble floors, the well-tailored suits, or the whispered chatter of those who breathed money like oxygen. But she was not going anywhere. Considering how hard she'd fought to get here. A controlled, deliberate click of heels reverberated behind her. Belle pivoted. Richards, Gabrielle. Alistair's helper. His guardian. Gabrielle, dressed immaculately in a silk shirt and charcoal-gray pencil skirt, walked like a queen in her court, cold and unreachable. Her eyes ran over Belle, disdainful and calculating. "You're doing something wrong," Gabrielle said. Belle's chin went up. "I'm accustomed to hearing that." Gabrielle's forehead raised. "Are you accustomed to correctness?" Belle remained unflinching. "What are you looking for?" Gabrielle lowered her voice and
Deception was the language and power was the currency of the glittering mirage that was the Kensington mansion, which shone like a dream. Belle's breath froze in her throat as she stood at the great ballroom's entrance. The polished marble floors were illuminated by broken light from the gold and crystal-dripping chandelier overhead. The air was filled with the sound of glasses clinking and laughter, a symphony of exclusivity and luxury. This was not the place for her. Nevertheless, she was present. because her hand had been forced by Lucy Kensington. Lucy had stated, "Appearances must be maintained," in a smooth and harsh voice. "A Kensington wife must learn to navigate a room full of wolves." Every single person in this room was waiting for her to fail, Belle realised as she looked about her. Champagne was offered by a waiter. Belle covered the internal conflict with a steady hand as she took a glass. She sensed that someone was watching her. Alistair, not just the visito
"Bernard?" Her voice shook and she hardly identified it as her own. Emerging from the darkness into the cabin, he replaced his normal serenity with a jaw stiffness. He was aware of what she lacked. "They've found us," Bernard murmured quietly, almost as if speaking it out loud would make it more real. Showing no signs of panic, he swiftly and methodically collected their belongings. Belle's breath became shallow and her chest constricted. Are you certain? Moving his attention to the little pack in his hands, Bernard ignored her. But his voice was strong. They are approaching closer. We have to go right now. Belle's gaze on the cabin door sent a shiver down her spine. Her thoughts raced: was it Alistair's team or someone else pursuing them? She believed she had purchased enough time. But suddenly, as the sounds of motors got closer, the dread she'd been hiding for so long erupted like a dark tide, rising to consume her whole. Panic made her pulse race. Could she outpace Alistair'
She had left. The sheets twisted about his legs as Alistair leapt out of bed. His chest constricting, he breathed quicker. Stumbling out of the bedroom and into the corridor, his head spun. He had to locate her right now. He had to understand why she was missing, what had occurred. He didn't even recall when she departed, undetected slipping from his side. The memories of their last moments together were a muddle, the drunken haze of the night before still clouding his mind. But down inside, something primitive knew. She was gone; he was to blame. Rushing down the corridor, his eyes searching every corner and every shadow, his heart raced with eagerness as if expecting her to materialise out of nowhere. But there was no one. There was no one in the house. A voice crackled over the intercom just as he got to the stairs. "Sir, we found her car. She is no longer here. He felt a sinking in his gut. The words suffocated him, hanging in the air. She had fled. She had truly run. A floo
"It's time," he replied gently, his voice steady. Come in. Belle gazed out the window, her face reflected in the glass, but her mind was far else. Was this the correct option? The query made her heart hurt. She had abandoned everything, the house she always dreamed of, her relationship to Alistair, the life she had lived. The idea alone seemed like a betrayal, but she realised she couldn't remain. She looked at Bernard, his face unreadable as he concentrated on the highway. "I don't know whether I can do this," she said softly, her voice almost inaudible. "I don't know whether I can ever forgive him." Though he remained silent for a long time, Bernard's hold on the wheel grew stronger. His hands were constant, his will obvious. At last, he stated in a gentle but strong voice, "You're doing what you have to do." No one can decide this for you. Alistair is not even close. His remarks hurt more than she had expected. Alistair had let her down, using her as a pawn in a power struggl
"You're here," he whispered quietly, moving forward to greet her. Low and heavy with their shared secret, Bernard spoke. Rugged with a sharp jawline and dark eyes that always seemed to be judging the world around him, he was a man in his forties. He had always been faithful to her, but now more than ever, his deeds would show whether that loyalty stretched deeper than simple obligation. Belle said, her voice strained with stress, "I had no choice." Though the dread of being found still ate at her insides, she had been getting ready for this day for weeks. I am prepared. You claimed you could assist me. Bernard nodded, his eyes darting anxiously to the passage's dark shadows. Everything is set up. You must believe me. That is the only approach. Belle was unsure. Bernard had been there when no one else had, therefore she wanted to trust him. But after hearing what she had from Rosalie, the fear of treachery was like a darkness hanging over every choice she made. Could she now genuine
"No, Father," Alistair's voice was sharp with a frigidness that made Belle shiver. I will not act foolishly. But after the kid is delivered, we will make her gone. No one will ever know she lived. Belle's breath caught and her heart raced in her chest. She didn't dare to shift. She was unable to. His father's voice, harsh and unrelenting, said, "Alistair, the empire comes first." Any vulnerabilities cannot be allowed to appear. Though it is regrettable, the agreement with her is required; once it fulfils its goal, we may get rid of it. You will once more have power over everything. Belle's throat constricted as the room spun with understanding of the words. Regulate. For Alistair, that had always been all. His father had always viewed her as a tool, a means to an end, a pawn in their game. She was now on the verge of being thrown away once the infant came. Belle felt a rush of queasiness from Alistair's frigid, icy voice. I get it. Just do it. I will not allow emotion to cloud my
"I was never allowed to love anyone," he said again, his voice dropping and a hint of remorse seeping into his words. Not even you. Belle sat quietly, taking in Alistair's admission's gravity. Every statement echoed through her, distorting her view of the guy she had known, the man she had loved. His face contorted with sorrow and rage as she observed him intently. Raw and exposed, devoid of the control he clung to so fiercely, this was a side of him I had not seen before. "My father... he never gave me a choice," Alistair said, his voice strained as if the words were fighting to break free. Fighting the overpowering wave of feeling threatening to engulf him, his hands became white-knuckled fists. He ordered every aspect of my existence. The business, the marriage, the individuals I could rely on... all of it was his design. His might. Belle's heart sank. She had always understood that Alistair carried a weight, that the empire he built came at a great cost, but hearing him talk of
Gabrielle's voice, quiet but forceful, shattered the stillness: "Belle." I have to talk to you. Belle hesitated, fingers gripping the hem of her dress, but she nodded and came closer. There was something about Gabrielle that always made her uneasy, something too keen, too aware. The unspoken words hanging between them like a dense cloud, the tension in the air, she could feel as she came closer. Belle replied, her voice cautious but interest beginning to grow in her heart, "I'm listening." Gabrielle's eyes moved across the garden, absorbing the surrounding loveliness before looking back to Belle. "Alistair is dangerous," she murmured, her words slicing through the quiet like a dagger. You are only a pawn in his game; he is domineering and manipulating. Belle's heart raced. The words struck her more than she had anticipated. Gabrielle wouldn't let her talk so she opened her mouth to answer. Gabrielle said in a low whisper, "Don't pretend you don't see it." "You have already experi
Gabrielle's voice sliced through the stillness like a sharp knife. You are wrong. Alistair tensed, his mouth clenching at her comments. Wordlessly, he turned to confront her, his eyes black with unexpressed anger. His voice tight, he said, "I'm doing what has to be done." I will locate who caused this. I will see to it that they suffer. Gabrielle moved nearer, her face a blend of worry and annoyance. Alistair, do you really believe this fanatical quest will give you peace? Though her voice softened, her comments struck more forcefully than any charge. You're just digging your own grave. Her gaze never left Alistair, Gabrielle studied him intently. Tall and imposing as always, he stood there, but the fissures in his normally impenetrable front were obvious. Belle's illness was weighing on him, the guilt driving him crazy; she could tell he was coming apart. Haven't you always believed that control was the solution? Though sharp, Gabrielle's voice was steady. But see where it has l
"She's stable for now," the doctor stated gently, meeting his gaze. The bullet wound is serious, though. She has bled a great deal. The larger issue, then, is her pregnancy. Alistair's gaze grew wide. The infant? The word strange, his voice breaking, like if it didn't belong to him. The doctor shook his head gravely. "She's in danger. We cannot be sure the infant is still viable given the major trauma. Though her situation is serious, we are doing all we can. The room appeared to tilt under him, and he grabbed the wall, the truth of the circumstance crashing over him like a tidal wave. His heart ached like if his actual chest was too tight to contain the breath he was fighting to inhale. His words hardly came out as he said, "Can she... can she survive?" The doctor's expression grew more serious. We are trying our hardest. But at the moment, it's touch and go. She might lose the baby… or worse. Every stride was quick as he took out his phone and down the corridor he strolled. Di