Knoxx’s Point of ViewI sit in the quiet of my study, the velvet box still in my hand. The edges of it are smooth and cold, and for a moment, I stare at it like it holds the answers to everything. The quiet is deafening, punctuated only by the faint crashing of the waves outside. Caroline’s words replay in my mind, sharp and relentless.“You think you can buy me off with expensive things? Do you even know what I like, Knoxx?”Her voice had trembled, not with sadness but with anger. The rawness of it cuts deeper than I want to admit.I look down at the box again. The necklace inside is flawless—gold with intricate detailing and a diamond that catches the light like a star. It had cost a small fortune, but when I saw it, I thought of Caroline. Not because she wanted it, but because it was what I knew.When Dolly and I dated all those years ago, gifts were easy. She always made it clear what she wanted. Jewelry, designer handbags, trips to Paris—her tastes were as lavish as they were obv
Caroline’s Point of ViewI sit by the window, the ocean breeze whispering through the curtains, as Dolly’s voice carries through the house. Her laughter is light, cheerful, and it grates against my nerves. Every word feels like a carefully aimed dagger, and I can’t shake the irritation bubbling beneath my skin.“You know, Knoxx and I used to play hide-and-seek in that garden when we were kids,” Dolly says, her tone sweet but laced with something sharper. “He was always terrible at hiding.”I force a smile, gripping the edge of my teacup. Her words swirl in my mind, dredging up questions I wish I didn’t care about. Childhood sweethearts. That’s what they were. That’s why Karen adored her so much—why Dolly always seemed to have a claim on parts of Knoxx’s life I could never touch.Knoxx enters the room, his expression cautious. He must sense my discomfort because he approaches slowly, his voice softer than usual. “Caroline, can we talk for a minute?”I set the cup down, followed him out
Knoxx’s Point of View“What’s the plan, boss?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.Caroline smirks, crossing her arms. “The plan is to make that second bedroom livable since someone is monopolizing the master suite.”I raise my hands in a mock surrender. “Point taken. Lead the way.”She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm, but there’s a flicker of amusement on her face. I follow her through the aisles of the upscale furniture store, watching as she examines each piece of décor with a thoughtful gaze. She’s meticulous, pausing at every fabric and color swatch, as though each decision holds the weight of the world.“This one,” she says firmly, stopping in front of a navy-blue sectional sofa. Her eyes light up as she gestures toward it.I lean in, pretending to scrutinize it. “It’s nice, but will it fit in the room?”She narrows her eyes at me. “Knoxx, the measurements are right there. Don’t act like you’re clueless.”Caught, I laugh, holding up my hands. “Fine. We’ll get it. You’re the expert
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe buzz of the store fills the air, faint murmurs of other shoppers blending with the soft classical music playing overhead. Knoxx walks beside me, pushing the cart filled with everything we’ve chosen. Despite myself, I feel a small sense of accomplishment looking at it—a reminder that we’re doing something normal, something together.As we approach the checkout, a sales assistant glances up and freezes. Her face lights up with recognition, and she strides over, her smile wide and eager.“Mr. Wayne! It’s been such a long time!” she says brightly, her tone dripping with familiarity.Knoxx acknowledges her with a polite nod. “Hello.”Her gaze flits over to me, briefly curious but dismissive as her smile tightens. “And who might this be? Your sister? Or...?”I blink, momentarily stunned by her assumption. Knoxx frowns slightly but doesn’t answer immediately.“She’s my wife,” he says firmly, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.The sales assista
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe sun dips below the horizon as we return to the beach house, bags in hand. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore greets us, soothing yet distant. To my surprise, the furniture and decorations we ordered earlier have already arrived, neatly stacked in the living room.“Right on time,” Knoxx says, his tone lighter than usual. He glances at me with a playful grin. “Let’s get to it. I want to see your vision come to life.”“My vision?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You’re acting like I’m redesigning an entire house. It’s just a bedroom.”He shrugs, unboxing the navy-blue sectional sofa we picked out earlier. “Still counts. You have good taste.”We fall into an easy rhythm, unpacking and arranging the pieces. I spread out rugs and position the lamps, while Knoxx tackles the heavier items like the bedframe and dresser. For a while, the awkwardness between us seems to dissipate, replaced by a shared sense of purpose. It feels almost... normal. Almost
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe quiet aftermath settles around us like a warm cocoon. Knoxx lies beside me, his arm lazily draped over my waist as we catch our breath. The dim glow of the bedside lamp softens his features, making him look almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. My gaze drifts to the drawer where he had placed the condoms earlier, and an unexpected thought lodges itself in my mind.“Knoxx,” I say softly, my voice breaking the silence.He stirs slightly, his eyes half-lidded as he looks at me. “Hmm?”I hesitate, unsure if I should even bring it up. But the thought refuses to leave, growing louder in my mind until I can’t ignore it anymore. “What do you think about having children?”The question seems to jolt him fully awake. His body stiffens ever so slightly, and his eyes widen for a fleeting moment before he schools his expression into something more neutral. “Why do you ask?” he replies, his tone casual but forced.I shift to face him, resting
Knoxx’s Point of ViewThe moment Caroline asks me about my thoughts on having children, I feel my chest tighten. My mind spirals immediately to the one truth I can’t speak aloud—the lingering possibility that Dolly’s child might be mine. The thought doesn’t bring me any joy. Instead, it’s like a heavy weight pressing on my chest, suffocating. I’m afraid, not of the responsibility, but of the implications. That child—if it is mine—represents mistakes, regrets, and a situation I wish I could undo.But Caroline? The idea of her carrying my child fills me with a different kind of emotion entirely—something so foreign, so deeply rooted in joy and longing, that it shakes me. I can almost see it: her belly rounding, her glow brighter than the sun, her hand resting protectively over our child. It’s a vision that catches me off guard and takes my breath away. I’ve never realized how much I want that until this moment.Yet here she is, waiting for my response. Her gaze pierces through me, full
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe ocean breeze filters through the open balcony doors, stirring the sheer curtains and bringing with it the faint scent of salt and sun-drenched sand. I’m supposed to be relaxing, but my mind refuses to cooperate.Instead of lounging with a book or napping under the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun, I’m hunched over my laptop, furiously texting Lisa about the studio.Lisa: Stop nitpicking. The designs are perfect.Me: Are you sure? Maybe the second collection could use more variety. And the logo—does it feel too understated?Lisa: No, it’s chic. Caroline, trust me. This is the kind of subtlety that sells. But we need to talk about something more important.Me: What is it?Lisa: The studio’s name. It’s time we drop the anonymous act. People need to know that you’re the designer behind all of this.My stomach tightens. Me: Why? The anonymous branding is working fine. It’s not about me, it’s about the designs.Her reply comes instantly. Lisa: Caroline, your n
Caroline Point of ViewThe next day, I arrive at my shop early,expecting another day of long hours of cleaning up and fixing the mess of theday before. But when I emerge onto the sidewalk, I am stopped. The walls thathad been defaced with vulgar graffiti just yesterday are spotless. The crudewords spray-painted across my store’s sign are gone, as if they were neverthere. Even the sidewalk, which had been littered with trash, looks freshlycleaned.I blink, confused. Did the city workersclean it up? No, that wouldn’t make sense. There’s no way they’d work that fastfor a single shop.Then, I hear it.“Miss Hill, we are truly sorry!”I turn sharply toward the voice and see thesame group of men from yesterday—the ones who had demanded a protection fee.The same gangsters who had laughed when I told them I wasn’t paying them asingle cent. But now, instead of smug arrogance, they look… terrified.One of them, a burly man with a scarrunning down his cheek, actually bows. “We had no
Caroline’s Point of ViewI take a step back and look over the shop,pride swelling to the surface of my chest. The glass display cases, recentlyinstalled, shine with gentle light, and walls boast decorations of equally goodtaste carefully selected to enhance the classy image I had envisioned. My ownjewelry studio at last appears to be coming together. It has not been easy andI know there is more to come, but seeing it all begin to come together fills mewith hope.Tomorrow, I will have a soft opening, alow-key announcement to inform people that my brand is here. I don't want a biglaunch—just a steady, solid beginning. My work will speak for itself, and Ibelieve in it enough to know it will.But my happiness does not last long.The instant the front door is flung open, arough looking of men enter. There are three of them—tough-looking,leathery-clad, and with the odor of smoke about them. There is one, the tallestone, with a scar down the left side of his cheek. He advances fo
Dolly’sPoint of ViewIscroll through my phone, tapping my fingers on the screen as I read theannouncement for the jewelry design competition in Italy. A sneer forms on mylips. This company? I've never regarded them highly. They boast about theirtradition and craftsmanship, but they don't stand out to me. Yet, thecompetition is reputable, and the media attention is extensive. It’s the sortof opportunity that could transform someone’s life.Notthat I need them to change mine. I’m already the best. But I need leverage. Ineed a reason for Knoxx to finally take the next step.I turnmy head slightly, stealing a glance at him from across the room. He’s sprawledon the couch, his arm draped casually over the back as he watches my daughterplay with one of her toys. This moment should fill me with warmth, but instead,I feel a surge of frustration.It’sbeen years. Years since Caroline left. Years since I came back. And yet, hestill refuses to marry me. Still refuses to make ‘our’ f
Caroline’sPoint of ViewStaringat the laptop, I sit at my desk; the official announcement of the comingjewelry design contest in Italy blinks in front of me. My fingers hover aboutthe keyboard as I read the details for the tenth time.One ofthe most prestigious competitions in the industry, conducted globally by one ofthe oldest and most well-respected jewelry houses, the grand prize ismembership with them. But that is not why I am interested—more so with therecognition, not a position there. My new studio is just starting to find itsfeet, and to win or even just leave a mark in this competition might meangetting my break.Myheart starts racing as I almost lose my breath. Part of me is eager; that's thedrive to be able to prove myself. Another part lingers-a part that remembersthe hurt of last times.Welteringmemories, both unwelcome and painful, down into my mind-I remember back to whenI was last involved in such a competition. The anticipation and all that joylightin
Caroline’s Point of ViewI step into my home, feeling the warm comfort wraparound me like a warm blanket. Vanilla and the scent of something sweet bakingin the oven fill the air. It makes me feel welcome, relaxing me and comfortingme like I'm at home. It's the kind of warmth I imagined a family wouldhave, this feeling of being at home and comforted that overcomes me. I drop mybag on the floor and take a moment to soak it all in. In a flash, a tiny shaperuns towards me, breaking my moment of tranquility."Mommy! You're home!" My son launcheshimself into my arms, wrapping them around me. I wrap mine around him,breathing in his scent, feeling the strong beat of his little heart againstmine."I'm home, sweetheart," I whisper,leaving a kiss on the crown of his head.He looks at me, his eyes shining. "Daddy'smaking my birthday cake! It'll be out soon. He'll be out in a minute!"Wait!Daddy?I freeze. The warmth in my chest stutters for abrief second.I glance around. The house
Caroline’s Point of ViewI am paralyzed with shock. My breath getsstuck somewhere in the throat and my heart pounds in my chest. This isoverwhelming. I'm not sure what to say or think as thereality of his words sinks in.What?Before I can even process his words, theworld around me blurs, and everything else fades into the background.He said what?I stare at Adrian, my heart pounding, my brainstruggling to process his words."You… what?" I manage to say, my voicetrembling and soft. Did I really hear him correctly? Did he genuinely just tellthe kindergarten that we were engaged? He leans back against the bench, licking his icecream as if he hasn't just dropped a bomb on me and, after a moment, smirks."Relax, I am just kidding."I blink, completely caught off guard."What?" I ask, trying to grasp what just happened. He laughs, obviously getting a kick out of myreaction. "I didn't say we were engaged. I just made a small donation tohelp them build a new playground. They ag
Caroline’s Point of ViewI still feel anxious after leaving thekindergarten. Even when I try to ignore it, it sticks in my mind. The best ofeverything should be offered to my son, and I feel that I failed him today.When we walked out, I still remember the look on his little face. It was atthat point his expression changed, his shoulders drooping like they were heavy.Despite being so young, he had to deal with rejection for something he didn'tdo wrong.That burden falls on me alone.I take a sharp breath and shake my head,trying to dispel the thoughts that haunt me. But they cling on, refusing to letgo.Adrian notices, of course. He always picksup on when something is bothering me. Whenever I am bothered by something, heis the first to pick up on it. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he watchesme poke cold food on my plate. "Caroline," he says, his voice amixture of softness and concern. “Stop overthinking.”I look up, surprised by his insight. “I’mnot—”“You are,” he g
Caroline’s Point of ViewI sit in the principal’s office and clutchthe edge of my chair and listen to her polite but firm refusal. Her expressionis neutral, professional; but I catch the judgement hiding in her meticulouslychosen words.“We thank you for your interest, Miss Hill,” she says with atight-lipped smile. "However, we have very limited spots available, and weprioritize students who come from stable backgrounds. That is morebeneficial for children than providing a quote-unquote stable or consistentenvironment."I stiffen. "My son has a supportiveand consistent environment," I say, keeping my voice calm even though mystomach twists. The principal folds her hands on the deskand nods, though her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sure you do your best,but there are some challenges as a single mother that you may not anticipate.We have a very rigorous academic structure here, and we’ve noticed that children from two-parenthouseholds do really well in this kind of env
Caroline’s Point of ViewSilence fills the car, thick and heavy like a blanket. My son's question keeps replaying in my mind, over and over, making it hard to think of anything else.“If Uncle Adrian is not my daddy… then who is?”My breath catches. I feel Adrian still beside me, his hands frozen on the steering wheel.I turn to face my son, but no words come out. My heart pounds as I try to find an answer—one that won’t hurt him. And for the first time in a long time, I realize I don’t know what to say.I never thought he would ask this. I wasn’t ready for it. I had hoped he wouldn’t wonder about it, especially not now when things seemed so steady. I thought he was already seeing Adrian as his father. I thought he wouldn’t even ask about the man who should be here but isn’t. I tried to shield him from this difficult truth. Clearly, I was wrong.I take a deep breath, feeling shaky. I turn to look at him. His big, innocent eyes are focused on me, filled with curiosity and expectation