When Isabelle's mother, an ambitious socialite, marries for the fourth time, she introduces Isabelle to her new stepfamily. To Isabelle's horror, her new stepbrother is none other than Logan Sinclair—the very boy who tormented her during high school. Seeing him again rekindles all the old fears and resentments. To make matters worse, Isabelle is soon hired as Logan's secretary at Sinclair Enterprises, the megacorporation run by Logan’s father. Isabelle braces for the worst, expecting her nightmare to continue. But instead of cruelty, Logan is calm, professional, and oddly protective of her. Isabelle is torn. The wounds of her past run deep, and the humiliation she endured at his hands isn’t easily forgotten. Can people truly change? Or is Logan just playing a long game, trying to manipulate her emotions once again?
View MoreIsabella’s POVThe imposing gates of the Sinclair mansion loomed in front of me, a reminder of everything I wanted to escape but somehow kept getting pulled back into.I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white. My mother had called, her voice dripping with concern, urging me to come here—to avoid the media circus, to fix things, to make everything right.With a heavy sigh, I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking against the stone driveway as I approached the grand entrance. A butler opened the door before I could even knock, his expression unreadable as he ushered me inside. The familiar opulence of the mansion wrapped around me, but it felt suffocating rather than comforting.My mother appeared at the top of the staircase, her posture regal, her expression carefully neutral. "There you are," she said smoothly.Before I could get a word in, she took my arm and whisked me away, leading me down the hall to one of the guest rooms. The moment the door shut behind
Isabella -I had spent the past day buried under my own misery, shutting myself away while the world outside burned with scandal. And Logan… he had been in the middle of it all, facing the fire alone.Guilt gnawed at me.When we reached my apartment, Derek followed me inside, leaning against the kitchen counter as I tossed my keys onto the table. He studied me, waiting, like he knew I had something to say but wouldn’t say it first.I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Tell me everything.”Derek nodded, as if he had been expecting that. “Logan is handling it.”I scoffed, crossing my arms. “That’s vague.”He exhaled. “Fine. He had a long talk with his dad. The old man wanted him to stay quiet, let the rumors die down on their own. But Logan refused.”I frowned. “What do you mean?”“He’s fighting back,” Derek said simply. “He’s making sure no one spreads another lie about you. He’s calling in favors, shutting down the worst of it, and working on legal action against the tabloids.”I swallowed
Isabella -The air was crisp as I pulled the hood of my oversized sweatshirt over my head, my fingers trembling slightly as I adjusted the drawstrings. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. The back gate of my apartment complex was rarely used, an old exit that led to an alleyway behind a coffee shop. If I was lucky, I could slip out unnoticed.It wasn’t until I stepped into the bright, sterile lobby of the station that I finally exhaled. The officer at the front desk gave me a knowing nod, recognizing me from our previous conversation.“Miss Munroe, right?” he asked, his tone professional but laced with concern.“Yes,” I confirmed, adjusting my hoodie. “I need to finalize my statement against Carl Foster.”He nodded and gestured for me to follow him. As I walked deeper into the station, a small sense of security settled over me. Inside these walls, the noise from outside couldn’t touch me.Thirty Minutes LaterI stepped out of the police station, relieved that the worst of it wa
Isabella -"You can hate me all you want, Isabella," he said, his jaw tightening. "But I’m not leaving you alone in this. Not now, not ever."I crossed my arms, my resolve wavering under the intensity of his gaze. "I don’t hate you, Logan," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "But this—whatever this is—it’s complicated enough without you barging in like some white knight."His lips quirked into a humorless smile. "A white knight? I’m hardly that."I turned away, my fingers brushing against the edge of the couch as I tried to collect my thoughts. "I need to go to the police station to press charges against Carl," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But you can’t come with me. It’ll raise eyebrows. People will talk."Logan stepped closer, his footsteps deliberate but soft. "I don’t care what people think, Isabella. Let them talk. Let them gossip. You can’t deny me a chance to make things right."I spun around to face him, anger and exasperation bubbling to the surface. "
Isabella"I found your diary by accident," he continued. "Back in high school, the day in the library. You dropped it when... well, when Patty and I were being idiots."I flinched at the memory, my fingers digging into my arms."At first, I didn’t think much of it. I thought I’d give it back to you the next day. But you weren’t at school."I looked up sharply, and he met my eyes."I didn’t know what happened," he said softly. "I didn’t see you again after that day. I asked around and found out your grandfather had passed away. And... I don’t know. I guess I just assumed you needed space. Then school ended, and you were gone."His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid."I should’ve found a way to give it back," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "But instead, I kept it. And I read it."My heart twisted painfully. Hearing him confess to reading my most private thoughts felt like a violation all over again, but there was something raw and genuine in hi
Logan’s POV, 2016The air in the library was heavy with the mingling smells of old books and cheap disinfectant. The dim overhead lights gave everything a muted glow, the perfect cover for fooling around. Patty giggled as I pulled her closer, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders."Logan," she whispered, glancing around nervously, though her smile betrayed her excitement. Her skirt was hitched up and wrapped around my waist."Relax," I said with a smirk, leaning in to kiss her again.We were tucked away in the far corner, hidden behind rows of rarely borrowed encyclopedias. It was supposed to be a quiet, uneventful afternoon until I heard it—a soft shuffle, like someone had accidentally walked in on us. Patty stiffened, her head whipping around."Who’s there?" She demanded, her voice sharp and grating.From behind a shelf, a familiar face emerged—Isabella. She looked startled, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she clutched her books tightly against her chest."I’m sorry," s
IsabellaThe adrenaline was fading, leaving me shaky and light-headed. My knees buckled, and before I hit the ground, Logan caught me. His strong arms wrapped around me, holding me upright as I clung to him, my breath shallow.“Isabella, you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice filled with alarm.I touched my forehead, feeling a warm, sticky wetness. Pulling my hand back, I saw red smeared across my fingers. The sight made my stomach churn, but I shook my head.“I’m fine,” I managed, though my voice wavered.“Fine?” Logan repeated incredulously, his jaw tightening. “You’re bleeding, and you can barely stand. We’re going to the hospital.”“No,” I protested weakly. “It’s just a scratch. I don’t need a hospital.”Logan ignored me, his concerned gaze scanning my face. “You’re in shock. Let me—”“I said I’m fine,” I interrupted, my voice firmer this time. I straightened myself, though the effort made my head spin. “It’s nothing serious. Just... help me home.”Logan looked unconvinced, his lips
Unfinished BusinessIsabella -A smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth before I could stop it. “Good for her,” I said, turning back toward the stairs.“Isabella, wait,” he called out, his voice sharper now.I ignored him, taking a step forward. But then I felt his hand on my arm, gripping it tightly.“Why did you tell her?” he demanded, his voice thick with accusation.I spun around, yanking my arm free. “Tell her what?”“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You told her everything. About me, about us.”I laughed dryly, crossing my arms. “You mean about you cheating on me? And her? Please, Carl. Grace deserved to know the truth. You have no one to blame but yourself.”His face twisted with anger, his eyes narrowing. “You ruined my life,” he hissed, stepping closer.I glared at him, refusing to back down. “You ruined your own life. Maybe you should have thought about that before sleeping with both of us.”His expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might back off. But then his
Logan Paris’s apartment was as opulent as ever, with its pristine white walls, expansive glass windows, and a sweeping view of the ocean.She greeted me at the door, her expression bright and deceptively warm. "Logan," she purred, leaning in for an air kiss. "To what do I owe this surprise? You never drop by unannounced."I brushed past her into the living room, my jaw tight. "We need to talk."Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t miss a beat. She closed the door behind me and sauntered over to a plush armchair, gesturing for me to sit as if this were a casual visit."I’m all ears," she said, crossing her legs and giving me a practiced smile.I remained standing. "Did you get that article printed?"Her smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "Why would you think that?""Cut the act, Paris," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "You’ve been stirring the pot ever since Isabella started working at my company. Don’t think I haven
The grand hotel loomed before me, its marble stairs bathed in the fading amber of the late afternoon sun. I stepped out of the car, smoothing the folds of my elegant silver gown, wishing I could disappear into the pavement. This celebration had nothing to do with me, even though it was my mother’s wedding dinner.I hadn’t seen her in months, not since she’d called to announce she was marrying for the fourth time, this time to a wealthy businessman, Robert Sinclair. I had only agreed to attend because I knew the alternative was worse: weeks of her relentless guilt trips and scathing remarks about my "ungrateful attitude." So, here I was, bracing myself for a night of fake smiles and shallow congratulations.The grand entrance to the hotel shimmered with chandeliers and luxury. As I walked in, a sinking sensation twisted in my stomach. No matter how many times I was pulled into her world of glitz and glamour, I never quite fit in. My mother, once a minor actress who still clung to the r...
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