Isabel’s POVFelix Castillo approaches me with the kind of calm confidence that only someone of his stature can carry. His glass of champagne catches the light as he raises it in a mock toast, his lips curling into a small smile. “Miss Montgomery,” he greets, his tone smooth, polished, almost theatrical. I respond with a curt nod and a polite smile, masking the unease bubbling beneath my composed exterior.“Finally, I get the chance to talk to you,” he says, letting a soft laugh escape. “I think I should feel honored.”I don’t get the joke, but I force a cheeky smile, hoping it’s enough to mask my confusion. He leans in slightly, his dark eyes sharp yet unreadable. “You’re quite interesting,” he remarks.My brow furrows ever so slightly, though I quickly smooth it out. “What do you mean by that, Mr. Castillo?” I ask, keeping my tone professional, unwilling to let him see that his words have put me on edge.His lips lift in a softer smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Simply
Isabel’s POVMy heart races, pounding against my ribs like a desperate drumbeat as I strain to make sense of the suffocating dark. My fingers claw at the air, searching for something, anything, but it’s too dark to see. Too dark to breathe. And then I hear it—or think I do—a steady, deliberate breath. It’s close. Too close. A man’s breath, growing louder with every second, each sound a knife against my sanity.Panic grips me like a vice, my throat tightening as I suppress the urge to scream. Who could feel sane in a moment like this? The imagined sound grows heavier, impossibly near, and my mind spirals into chaos. Is he standing in front of me? Watch me? Waiting? My heart slams against my chest as if it’s trying to break free. The darkness feels alive, pressing in, trapping me.Then, like a cruel twist of fate, the lights flicker back on. My vision adjusts, and the room reclaims its reality. He isn’t too close: there’s no breath on my neck. It was all in my head. But there he is—
Alexander’s POVThe moment Claire walks into the event, flanked by an entourage of bodyguards, the air shifts. She commands attention effortlessly, her mere presence drawing every eye in the room, including mine. I can’t help but stare. It’s not just her striking resemblance to Isabel—it’s everything else about her. The power she exudes, the confidence in her every step, the way she holds herself as though the world bows to her. Isabel was never like this. Isabel lived in my shadow, content to be the soft-spoken wife, the woman who leaned on me for support.Claire, though—she’s a force of nature. A far cry from the life Isabel led. And yet, despite all the reasons I’ve found to dismiss any connection between them, my gut won’t let go of the hunch. It doesn’t make sense. Why does she interest me so much?Her eyes lock with mine, just for a brief moment. There’s something unreadable in her gaze, but before I can analyze it, she tilts her head ever so slightly and places a soft smile on
Cynthia’s POVThe laughter in our small circle drifts around me like meaningless noise as I sip my champagne. I nod politely, feigning interest, but my mind is elsewhere, unraveling threads I can’t quite pull together.Across the room, a flash of movement catches my attention. My gaze locks on Claire and my father, deep in conversation near the far corner of the hall.It’s strange. My father rarely accepts invitations, especially for events like this. He’s always preferred to keep his distance from society’s endless charades. Yet the moment he heard the name Claire Montgomery, he insisted on attending.I push the thought aside, trying to rationalize it. He’s probably just as curious as everyone else, wondering how someone could look so much like Isabel. But deep down, there’s a nagging unease I can’t quite shake.“I know it’s just business,” a voice from our group cuts into my thoughts, dragging me back. “But there’s something in the way Alexander looks at her.”The words land like a s
Isabel’s POVThe sterile scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils as my eyes flutter open, blinking against the light of the room. My gaze sweeps over the white walls, the bright fluorescent lights, and the dull silver fixtures—it’s unmistakable. A hospital room.I turn my head slightly, the effort pulling a groan from my lips, and that’s when I see her. My mother. She’s seated beside me, her fingers trembling against the edge of the chair, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion.“Mom…” I croak, trying to push myself upright, but the sharp pull of pain in my limbs forces me to pause.“No, Isabel, don’t!” she exclaims, leaning forward, her hands reaching to stop me. “You don’t have to get up. Christine!” Her voice rises, sharp with urgency as she calls for Christine. “You need to rest. I’ll call the doctor now.”“I’m fine,” I manage, though the weight in my chest says otherwise. I push against the mattress again, and this time, I manage to sit up, my head throbbing in protest. Just as I
Isabel’s POVThe air in the room feels heavier as my mother shifts slightly in her seat, her gaze following Alexander as he walks deeper into the room. Her face doesn’t reveal much—neutral as always—but there’s a flicker of unease, just enough for me to notice. She’s good at masking her feelings, but I know her well enough to sense her discomfort at seeing him here.Christine, ever efficient, nods almost immediately, slipping out of the room without a second thought. I watch her go, the click of her heels echoing softly before the door shuts behind her.Alexander stops a few feet away from where my mother sits. “Mrs. Montgomery,” he greets her, his tone formal but measured.My mother presses her lips into a thin line, her expression momentarily tightening as if debating what to say or do next. She clears her throat, her voice flat but laced with an attempt at politeness. “Thanks for bringing my daughter right on time to the hospital.” The words feel forced, her tone unable to mask the
Alexander’s POVI stand outside the door, staring at the smooth wooden surface as if it holds the answers to my hesitation. Christine’s words echo in my head: She’s awake now.I should go in.I shouldn’t.The decision feels heavier than it should, like the air pressing against my chest. My hand brushes against the doorknob, then drops back to my side. Why the hell am I hesitating? It’s just a conversation—acknowledge she’s fine, exchange a few words, and leave. That’s it.Finally, I knock, the sound sharper than I intended, and push the door open.The stares hit me first. Mrs. Montgomery’s, cool and guarded, and Claire’s, fleeting yet piercing in its own way. The air shifts, weighted by their gazes. I push it down—the unease, the way my chest tightens. I’m here for a reason. Say what needs to be said and leave.“Mrs. Montgomery,” I greet, giving her a polite nod.Her lips press together in a faint line before she speaks. “Thank you for bringing Claire to the hospital.” Her words are m
Alexander’s POVI step into the house, the heavy silence greeting me like an unwelcome guest. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit, shadows clinging to the edges of the walls. My steps slow as I steady myself, bracing for what comes next. I know she’s here. I can feel her presence, like static in the air before a storm.And then I see her—Cynthia. Pacing the living room like a restless predator, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that grates on my nerves. Her movements are sharp, deliberate, and when she spots me standing in the doorway, she freezes, her gaze locking onto mine.I sigh, the weight of her impending tirade already pressing down on me. I don’t have the energy for this. Not tonight. Not ever. Without a word, I start moving, intent on passing her without acknowledging her presence.But her voice stops me.“Alexander.”It’s sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. I halt, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. Of course, she wouldn’t let me go that easi
Cynthia’s POVAs I step into the quiet house, the faint scent of whiskey lingers in the air, mingling with the cool stillness of the night. My heels are muffled by the polished marble tiles, and I glance at the dimly lit hallway, relieved to find it empty. Sneaking in has become second nature, a careful game of silence and shadows. I make my way toward the stairs, hoping to slip into my room unnoticed.But just as my hand grazes the bannister, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.“Are you out again seeking a way to ruin things?”I freeze, my breath hitching as my gaze snaps toward the living room. Alexander.He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of whiskey resting in his hand. The dim lighting casts shadows across his sharp jawline, but it’s his eyes that strike me. Cold, piercing, and—under the warm glow of the lamp—almost red, like embers waiting to ignite. He doesn’t move immediately, but there’s a slow, deliberate shift in his posture as he
Cynthia’s POVMy heels click sharply against the polished floor as I storm through the building. My fury burns like a live wire under my skin, each step propelling me closer to the one place I know can absorb it all. The private escape no one else knows about—my sanctuary of chaos.When I reach the door, I shove it open without hesitation. He barely has time to react before I close the space between us, grabbing him by the collar and crashing my lips against his. The kiss is raw, desperate, and he responds in kind, his hands gripping my waist before sliding lower with a force that makes me shudder. This is what I came for—the intensity, the fire that burns away everything else.My breath comes in short gasps as the kiss deepens, and I pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with emotion, the kind that always ignites something primal in me. I hate that it does, but I can’t stop. He’s always been the one to ground me, to take the edge off when I’m spiraling.I grab him
Alexander’s POVCollins’ voice pulls me out of my thoughts like a sharp tug on a leash. “Hey, man, that’s a lot,” he says, his tone light, but there’s an edge to it that I can’t ignore. I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light refract through it. My jaw tightens, the silence between us heavy as I finally raise my eyes to meet his. He’s giving me that look—sharp, no-nonsense—the one he uses when he’s about to call me out.“So,” Collins says, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “What’s the plan? You’re not thinking of backing out, are you?”I sigh, setting my glass down with a dull clink. “What do you think?” The words feel heavy, like throwing a coin into a well without knowing what the outcome will be.Collins’ brows shoot up, his surprise cutting through the haze in my mind. “Come on, man, it’s unlike you to just give up. This isn’t just some contract. It’s your name, your legacy. Losing this deal could mean losing everything you’ve built—and everything you’ve fo
Isabel’s POVThe boardroom is silent as I settle into my seat, the eyes of every executive fixed on me. The meeting had been scheduled to discuss updates on our key projects, but I know the rumors circling the King’s Empire are the real reason for this tension.I fold my hands deliberately on the desk, my knuckles grazing the polished wood. It’s a small gesture, but it halts the rising whispers, their attention snapping back to me.I begin with a rundown of the agenda, covering the progress of ongoing initiatives. My voice is steady, confident, as I outline the achievements so far. Just as I finish, one of the executives, a middle-aged man with graying hair, leans forward, his brow furrowed.“Miss Montgomery,” he begins, his tone cautious, “we’ve heard unsettling rumors that the King’s Empire may not be able to complete the interiors of the project before the set date. Is there any truth to this?”The room shifts—chairs creak, murmurs rise like an undercurrent. But I don’t flinch. My
Isabel’s POVThe building buzzes with energy as I stride toward the entrance. The hum of voices overlaps with the tapping of keyboards, punctuated by the occasional ring of phones. This isn’t just another day—it’s crunch time, with slightly more than a week until the launch of the condo project. My heels click against the marble floors, each step purposeful, each stride a testament to the pace we need to maintain.“Ma’am.” A team head approaches, matching my stride with a clipboard in hand, his tone urgent. “There’s an issue with the digital marketing campaign. Some of the ad visuals didn’t pass compliance, and the team is concerned it might delay the final push.”“Pull the team into a quick review,” I say firmly, barely slowing my steps. “Have them make the necessary revisions and submit by the end of the day. We can’t afford to lose momentum.”“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and veers off into the sea of activity.Christine is waiting for me by the elevator, her gaze focused on her iPad. “Soc
Alexander’s POVIt’s been three days since Cynthia created this mess, and I still can’t figure out her reason. Why would she do this? What does she gain? I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning back in my chair, the weight of it all sinking into my chest. If this spirals out of control, I don’t think I can ever forgive her. My jaw tightens at the thought—especially if this mess blows back on me.My thoughts are interrupted as Susan walks in. Her heels click softly against the floor, her figure framed by the doorway. “Sir,” she starts, her tone professional but edged with worry, “like you requested, an order has been sent.” Her hands drop to her sides, her voice shifting slightly as she continues, “But sir… can we really meet the deadline?”I glance up at her, not because of her words but because my mind is spinning with the possibilities. What if we can’t? What if this entire launch gets derailed? My fingers tap restlessly on the desk as Susan shifts, not nervously but cautiously, like
Isabel’s POVThe city blurs past as I finalize today’s strategy. When the Redding Foundation’s grand facade comes into view, I’m ready for the next phase.I step out of the car, the admiration and subtle murmurs of onlookers brushing past me like a warm breeze. I stride confidently through the building, my heels echoing against the polished marble floors.As I approach Cynthia’s office, I find her at her desk, shoulders hunched, fingers tapping nervously. Her usual composure is gone.I smile faintly, a calculated expression of amusement, as I push open the door and step inside. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our appointment today?”Cynthia startles, her head snapping up, her mask of professionalism slipping for just a moment before she hastily reassembles it. “Of course not,” she replies, though her voice lacks its usual bite.I lean against the back of the chair, studying her carefully. Her brow furrows slightly, as if she’s trying to piece something together. “We’ve just started ou
Isabel’s POVChristine stands before me, her hands neatly clasped behind her back, her tone measured but laced with quiet frustration. “Ma’am, there’s been no progress on identifying the masked man. No leads, no trace—nothing concrete to go on so far.”I lean back into my leather chair, letting her words hang in the air like a weight I can’t shake off. The sound of my pen scraping against the smooth surface of my desk breaks the silence, a small action, yet it somehow eases the tension in the room. I focus on that small distraction, letting it calm the ever-growing unease swirling in my mind. How is it possible for someone to vanish completely, without even a hint, a whisper of where they’ve gone? It doesn’t make sense, but I can’t let it show. Not yet.I tilt my head slightly, my gaze narrowing on Christine. She’s always been loyal, but there’s something in her demeanor today that feels different—more uncertain. I can see it in the way she avoids eye contact, the slight hesitation
Cynthia’s POVI sit up on the bed, my mind replaying Claire’s words from earlier at the school, her voice smooth yet laced with an edge. With that infuriating smile of hers, she said, “Let’s be clear, Cynthia. It’s always better to know where you stand. You wouldn’t want to make an enemy of me—not when I can make things… difficult.” The smile on her face never wavered, but the words lingered, carrying a weight I couldn’t ignore.Pushing my hair back, I think about the way she glared at me, her expression a clear message: she was in control now. The memory tightens my chest, my irritation building with every passing second. I couldn’t even defend my daughter, not when the partnership between our foundations had just been announced. As someone with a high profile, I couldn’t afford a public spectacle, but the restraint burned.“Shit,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair again, the gesture harsher this time. Next time, I won’t stay quiet and let her rub it in my face as if I’m supp