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’s Point of ViewI’m arranging the last set of picture frames on the dresser when I hear the sharp sound of heels clicking against the wooden floor. The steady rhythm grows louder, accompanied by an unmistakable tension that makes my shoulders tighten.When Dolly appears in the doorway, her expression is a storm of anger and disdain. Her eyes scan the room, taking in every detail of the space I’ve worked so hard to transform into something that feels remotely like mine—ours.“What is this?” she demands, her voice cutting through the peaceful atmosphere I’d been trying to cultivate. Her gaze narrows on the fresh curtains, the navy-blue sectional, and the carefully chosen decor. “Who do you think you are, redecorating this place like you own it?”I blink, startled by her audacity but quickly recovering. My hand settles on the edge of the dresser as I face her. “Dolly, this is my house. My name is literally on the property. If anyone has the right to make changes, it’s me.”She s
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe room is bathed in darkness, save for the faint silver light of the moon streaming through the curtains. I stir awake, reaching out instinctively to Knoxx’s side of the bed. My hand meets cold sheets, and my heart skips a beat. I sit up, scanning the dim room, but he’s not there.Frowning, I slip out of bed, wrapping a robe around myself. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and went to get some water, or perhaps he was working late in the study. I tell myself not to worry, but a small voice in the back of my mind whispers doubts I don’t want to entertain.The house is eerily quiet as I pad through the hallway. The soft sound of waves crashing against the shore drifts in through the open windows, mingling with the creaks of the old floorboards beneath my feet. I glance into the kitchen and the living room, but both are empty. The study door is ajar, but there’s no sign of him there either.A chill runs down my spine as I realize Dolly's room is empty as well. My breath
Knoxx’s Point of View The door creaks open, and I’m jolted awake. For a split second, I think it’s Caroline, maybe coming back to bed after a restless moment. But instead, I see Dolly standing there, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. My stomach tightens with a mix of frustration and alarm. What the hell is she doing here?I quickly rise from the bed, glancing back at Caroline. She’s still asleep, her breathing steady, her features soft in the moonlight. I don’t want her waking up to this.“What are you doing?” I whisper harshly, stepping toward Dolly and shutting the door behind me as quietly as possible. “Have you lost your mind?”Dolly’s face is flushed, her eyes glistening as though she’s been crying. But I’ve seen this act before—the carefully calculated vulnerability designed to chip away at my defenses.“Knoxx,” she breathes, her voice low and pleading. “We need to talk.”I drag her further down the hall, away from the bedroom until we reach outside the house, nea
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe sun dips low on the horizon as the car weaves through the familiar roads back to the city. One month. It feels like both a lifetime and a fleeting moment. I glance at Knoxx, who’s focused on the road, his profile calm yet determined. The man who once felt like a stranger has been trying, in his own way, to close the chasm between us.But is it enough?I can’t say for certain. What I do know is that the one-month trial is over, and I’m still here. The papers remain unsigned, folded neatly in the back of my drawer, where I hid them after we arrived at the beach house.“You’re awfully quiet,” Knoxx says, his voice breaking the silence. His gaze flicks toward me briefly, concern etched into his features.I force a small smile. “Just tired.”His brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t press. I can tell he wants to. The Knoxx from a month ago would’ve brushed it off, uninterested in prying deeper into my feelings. But now, he hesitates, as if weighing his words ca
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe sunlight streams through the windows of the living room as I sip my tea, savoring the fleeting calmness. It’s the kind of peace that feels too fragile to last, especially after everything we’ve been through.But then I hear the sound of heels clacking against the floor, loud and intrusive. My brows knit together as I set my cup down. The front door opens, and a familiar figure steps inside like she owns the place. Dolly. Again.I rise from the couch, my heart thudding with irritation. “What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.Dolly pauses, a fake smile plastered across her face as she adjusts her designer bag on her shoulder. Her hand rests lightly on her stomach, the calculated gesture meant to draw attention to her pregnancy.“Good morning, Caroline,” she says, her tone dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Didn’t Knoxx tell you? I’ll be staying here for a while.”My jaw tightens. “He most certainly did not. And w
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