Roy’s POV“It’s nothing, really,” I say, trying to quickly put on my shirt, but Isabel stops me midway. She definitely won’t take no for an answer.“Liar!” She snorts, pointing at me. “You really don’t know how to lie, do you? Just tell me the truth. You know how much I hate lies.Her gaze is steady, unwavering, and I feel a tug deep in my chest. “It’s from five years ago,” I finally let out, almost in a whisper.Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her. “Don’t tell me…” her hand hovers near her mouth, and she steps back, her voice barely audible. “From the fire?”I nod, attempting a small smile. “It’s just a scratch, Isabel. Nothing to worry about.”“A scratch?” She chokes on the words, her eyes welling up. “How can you say that?” Her tears break me.I move closer, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Isabel, look at me. I’m fine. It’s healed. I made the choice to save you. Don’t blame yourself for anything.”A tear slides down her cheek, and I gently wipe it away.“But… you went
Isabel’s POVThe confession hangs between us, thick and heavy like a storm cloud ready to burst. Roy’s face shifts from confusion to disbelief, and I can feel the gravity of my words pressing down on both of us. This wasn’t how I wanted it, but the truth was inevitable. He needed to know, and it was better coming from me than having him find out on his own.I owe Roy so much for everything he’s done for me.But Alexander King. The name tastes like ash on my tongue, a painful reminder of a past I’ve tried to bury.Roy’s gaze meets mine, searching for answers. “He’s the father?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, as though the words themselves are too heavy to hold. I feel my heart thud painfully in my chest.I want to reach out, comfort him, but the truth I’ve just laid bare feels like a chasm opening between us, too wide to bridge in this moment.I blink, remembering why I came in the first place. “Your mom must be waiting for us. I’ll go,” I say, forcing a calmness I don’t feel.
Alexander’s POVI tell you, I’m such a fool. I pace around my office, taking a halt at the window as I take in the view of the city sprawled beneath me. The world outside seemed calm, distant, but my mind was anything but. That night at the old pier keeps following through my mind. I stood on the pier for hours, the salty wind whipping around me, the wooden planks creaking under my weight. Every gut felt like a whisper of mockery, each splash of water a reminder of how foolish I was for coming. I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder, expecting—no, hoping—to see something move in the shadows. But there was only darkness, deep and suffocating, pressing down on me like a bad omen. I take a deep breath. Why would I get such a message if the person had no intention of showing up? Is there something more to it? I force myself to shake off the memory, but the questions linger as I reach for my Americano, letting the rich aroma fill the room.My thoughts were interrupted when Susan wal
Cynthia’s POVI’m deep in the bliss of my much-needed sleep when the incessant ringing of my phone yanks me out of it.My eyes flutter open, squinting at the brightness of the screen flashing beside me.Who the hell is disturbing my sleep this early? Even though it’s past 12 p.m., to me, it’s still early. After the exhausting outreach yesterday, the last thing I want is to be disturbed.Agnes. My PA.Her name flashes across the screen, and immediately my face contorts in a scowl. Anger surges through me.She knows better than to call me at this hour, especially when I’ve informed them I’m not coming to the office today.I’ve warned her a thousand times about this, and if she’s calling me for something trivial, she’s as good as fired.I grab my phone, my fingers gripping it tightly, practically vibrating with irritation.Taking a deep breath, I answer with a low growl. “This better be important, Agnes.”Her voice comes through, shaky and tense. Worry?That’s unlike her. “Ma’am, you nee
Cynthia’s POVThe phone won’t stop ringing.Every call brings worse news, and in an instant, I lose billions of naira.If this is how it feels falling from grace to grass, then I’m finally feeling it.Most of our sponsors pull out one by one, the major ones already gone.This is bad.How can one stupid—one poorly chosen moment in front of a hidden camera—make me lose everything I’ve worked for?I glare at the screen, disgust welling up inside me. I hate the internet.They’re all fools, a bunch of idiots! The way people share and comment like vultures on a carcass, feeding on whatever scandal they can find.It’s like some twisted scene from a movie, except this time I refuse to be the tragic character that loses everything. I’m not going to end up like them. There’s a way out. There must be.I pick up my phone, desperation clawing at me as I dial my father’s number.Even if everyone turns their back on me, he won’t. I want to believe so.I’m his only child, after all.He answers after
Alexander’s POVI sit by the wine bar, my fingers lightly tracing the rim of my glass as I replay the day in my mind—every word, every look, every moment that seems to unravel all at once.The Montgomerys are revealing their missing daughter to the world tomorrow. They keep making it seem like they’ve struck gold with her.What’s the point of a party? Well, considering we got the check, I won’t mind if they keep throwing parties every weekend. I scoff.Just as I’m about to take another sip, I catch sight of Cynthia passing by, dressed in a figure-hugging mini dress made of sleek, shimmering fabric that catches the light.I glare at her as she walks past, pretending not to notice me. For a second, I wonder where she might be heading this late at night, dressed like that.Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been interested in her, her looks, or anything related to her.But for the sake of my family’s reputation, I can’t just let it slide. And for god’s sake, she’s a mother! What kind of exam
Isabel’s POVI stand before the mirror, my heart racing beneath the surface, refusing to reveal the anxiety simmering inside.Today isn’t just any day—it’s the day the world learns my true identity, the long-lost daughter of the Montgomery family. I release a slow, steady breath, forcing calm to replace my nerves.Five years have passed since I last faced Alexander, Cynthia, and the meddling Mother Hen—Sabrina King. The thought of seeing them—especially Alexander—tightens a cold knot in my chest. I remember the last words he said, the look in his eyes when he handed me the divorce papers. I can’t afford to show my rage, not tonight.“Sis, you look absolutely gorgeous,” Aurora’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, her reflection joining mine in the mirror.Her eyes sparkle with pride and excitement as she adjusts her gown, a stunning midnight blue that shimmers under the chandelier light.“You’re ready for this, Isabel… Claire.” She rolls her eyes, and I can’t help smiling. “More than r
Alexander’s POVI stride down the hall, adjusting the cufflinks of my tailored white tuxedo, the soft notes of piano drifting through the air. A gentle melody echoes from the grand piano near the far end of the ballroom, mingling with the quiet hum of conversations. The weight of success settles comfortably on my shoulders.The tux fits like a second skin, and the subtle gleam of my Rolex catches the light with each step. Cynthia is by my side, her manicured fingers curled around my arm, projecting the image of a perfect, polished couple. Her presence beside me is calculated, rehearsed—just like everything else in our public life.Tonight is it.The hotel ballroom is filled with a who’s who of elites, business magnates, and influential figures. The Montgomerys sure know how to gather power under one roof. I let a smile play on my lips as the camera flashes capture the moment, bathing us in a soft glow. Golden accents on the walls catch the light of the chandeliers, casting a warm, a
Alexander’s POVI step into my office, the weight on my shoulders lighter than it’s been in months. Victory tastes sweet, but this one is different. I move to the bar cart in the corner, pouring myself a drink, savoring each sip as if the liquid carries the satisfaction I’ve been chasing for so long.The designs have been approved. Finally. It feels like I’ve proven myself again—not to anyone else, but to me. A small, strange smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Is this happiness? It feels foreign, almost uncomfortable. And then a thought strikes me.Am I happy because of the project’s success? Or is it because Claire Montgomery will see me differently now?I scoff inwardly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. Why should I care? It’s just another project—like dozens before it, nothing special. But even as I tell myself this, I know I’m lying.This is different.The thought hangs in the air as I sip my drink again, slower this time. It’s Claire Montgomery. There’s something about he
Cynthia’s POVI slam my car door shut, the humid Los Angeles breeze doing little to cool the fire simmering inside me. Alexander’s face flashes in my mind—calm, composed, indifferent. Indifferent to me. My heels click sharply against the marble floor of my foundation’s office building, a steady rhythm to my rising frustration. By the time I push open the door to my office, I’m seething.With a frustrated puff, I toss my handbag onto the couch and grab a cup of coffee from the table, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The warm ceramic in my hand doesn’t soothe me. Instead, it gives me something to hold onto as my thoughts spiral.“He left me. Again,” I mutter under my breath, the words bitter on my tongue. “Not even a damn glance in my direction.” I laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “I know he’s been avoiding me, but for how long? For how long, Alexander?” My voice rises slightly, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.I stop pacing, stare into my coffee, and l
Isabel’s POVI step into my office, closing the door softly behind me. The air presses against my chest, heavy and suffocating, like it knows what I’m trying to ignore. Dropping into my chair, I grip the armrests, steadying myself against the tide of emotions I swore I’d mastered.Alexander’s words echo in my mind, “I’ll be in touch soon.” His tone was casual, but something about it felt deliberate, calculated. Was there more to it, or am I just reading into everything these days? I shake my head and glance at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen.I’d re-saved his number after that incident at the park—a number I should have deleted long ago. The thought lingers, pulling at me, and I wonder if he’s sent a message.Unlocking the phone, I glance at the screen, but nothing. No texts, no calls. My grip tightens, and a bitter laugh escapes my lips. What am I even thinking? I shake my head, muttering to myself, “Goodness, Isabel. You’re letting yourself slip. Remember the hurt, the
Isabel’s POVThe cool morning breeze brushes past as my Louboutin heels click against the marble pavement outside LM Group’s headquarters. Clad in a white blazer and tailored navy pants, I adjust my cuff bracelet before striding purposefully through the glass doors.Inside my office, sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a glow on the stack of folders on my desk. I pick one up and freeze. Alexander. The name stings like an old wound. I shake my head, setting it back down. “Focus,” I mutter, willing his voice and the memories to fade.I sit up abruptly, spinning my chair around to face the expansive view of the city. Skyscrapers rise majestically against the pale blue sky, and the streets below pulse with life. For a moment, I lose myself in the rhythm of the world outside, but even the bustling city can’t drown out my inner turmoil.A soft knock pulls me back. “Come in,” I call, straightening in my chair. Christine steps inside, iPad in hand, her expression pr
Alexander’s POVThe imposing glass façade of the LM Group headquarters looms ahead as I step out of my car, briefcase in hand. I stride through the lobby, nodding at a few familiar faces. By the time I reach the conference hall, my thoughts are already racing. My team and Claire’s are seated around the long table, their murmurs cutting off as I enter. A flicker of something—anticipation or maybe relief—flashes across their faces, and I furrow my brows slightly.I glance around. Everything appears calm. Judging by the silence and the lack of any major movements, the meeting hasn’t started yet. I sigh inwardly. I guess I made it on time after all.I greet the leaders of Claire’s team, exchanging firm handshakes before taking my seat. As I crouch into the chair, the one opposite me swings forward, and my gaze lifts. It’s Claire.There’s a polished simplicity to her appearance—sharp lines, clean elegance. Her gaze is cool, unwavering, and just the sight of her is enough to unsettle me.I
Alexander’s POVI pull the cuffs of my shirt down before slipping on my cufflinks, the metallic click grounding me. Today’s meeting hangs heavily in my mind as I brush my hair into place, the gel smoothing down the dark strands until they fall in the sharp, confident style I prefer. Looking at my reflection, I tug the edge of my jacket, ensuring every line of the suit is immaculate. “I’m ready,” I murmur, letting the words steel my resolve.Sitting down, I slide my feet into polished leather shoes, fastening them securely. My movements are deliberate as I pick up my briefcase and head down the grand staircase. Halfway down, a rich, savory aroma drifts up to meet me. My steps falter. For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. Meals aren’t uncommon here, but this… it feels different, strange even.And then I see her. Sabrina. My mother.Standing near the dining table, she’s supervising the preparation of breakfast. It’s jarring—a scene I can’t recall witnessing since childhood. My mother a
Isabel’s POVI make my way to the private gym that is tucked into the west wing of the mansion, right past the study. It’s one of Aurora’s favorite places, a sanctuary she treats with the same devotion as her morning coffee. For her, this space isn’t just about fitness—it’s her escape. I can see why. The polished floors gleam, and the glass doors let in the soft light from the garden outside, making the space feel open and alive.As I walk in, the familiar hum of the machines fills the air. Aurora is on the treadmill, her strides steady and determined. Sweat beads on her forehead, glistening under the lights as her focus remains unshaken. Watching her like this always motivates me. She’s relentless, committed to every goal she sets.Her eyes flick toward me, and a faint smile plays on her lips as she slows the machine to a stop. She grabs the small towel hanging off the side, dabbing her face and neck before she speaks.“I bet you’re not here for this, are you?” she teases, her voice
Alexander’s POVI lean back in my chair, my leg bouncing restlessly as I stare at the closed door. My fingers twist the edge of my jacket, the tension in my chest refusing to settle. I’ve been trying to keep my mind off it—off them—but it’s useless. Cynthia and Claire in the same room never ends well. Oil and water don’t mix, and I know the history between them well enough to expect a spark turning into a blaze.For a moment, I almost push myself up to check, but I stop, pressing my hand to the armrest instead. They’re adults. They can handle themselves. So why the hell does it feel like something’s about to go wrong? I shake my head, forcing myself to sit still, but the unease claws at me, pulling tighter.The door creaks open. My head jerks up, and there she is—Cynthia. A smug smile spreads across her face, so out of place that I blink. My mind stumbles over it. Didn’t she walk in earlier with a look so downcast she could’ve passed for a grieving widow? Now she’s smiling?I sit up st
Isabel’s POVAs I step back into the restaurant, I force myself to focus on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Calm, steady, controlled. My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to clench into fists again, but I smooth them down my dress instead, willing myself to keep it together. I won’t give Cynthia the satisfaction of knowing she got to me. But my fury burns hot and sharp as my eyes land on Alexander.Our gazes lock, and the air feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name. His face is calm—too calm—but there’s something in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty, maybe even guilt, crosses his face, as if he’s caught in the web of his own mind.My heart pounds, my anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. For a fleeting moment, I want to march straight to him, to say something—anything—that will cut as deeply as I feel wounded. The words are on the tip of my tongue, burning to be released. But I stop myself, taking a long, measured breath. No.