Caroline’s Point of ViewThe house smells the same—leather furniture, old books, and my father’s cologne lingering faintly in the air. It’s a smell I grew up with, one that used to comfort me. Now, it feels stifling, suffocating, as if the walls themselves are mocking me for coming back.I step into the living room, my bag heavy on my shoulder. My father looks up from the newspaper, his glasses perched low on his nose. His sharp eyes sweep over me, taking in my disheveled state.“Well, well,” he says, folding the paper with deliberate precision. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Did the great Knoxx Wayne finally toss you out?”I sigh, too exhausted to argue. “Good evening, Dad.”He leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Caroline, I warned you about him. Told you he was nothing but trouble. But did you listen? Of course not.”“Not tonight, please,” I say, my voice flat.“Oh, but why not? Isn’t this what fathers are supposed to do?
Knoxx’s Point of ViewThe sunlight streaming through the curtains is blinding, cutting through the haze of my pounding headache. I groan, rubbing my temples as the events of last night remain a blur in my mind. The faint taste of whiskey lingers on my tongue, and I regret every sip I took.I sit up, blinking against the harsh light, and glance toward the other side of the bed. It’s empty. The sheets are untouched, as if no one slept there at all. My stomach twists uneasily.I remember that I was in the bar—Caroline was there. She looked angry, or maybe hurt. Did we argue? My mind feels like it’s wading through quicksand, the details slipping away the harder I try to grasp them.“Caroline?” I call out, my voice rough and cracked. The silence in the house is unsettling, the kind that gets under your skin and makes your chest tight.I grab my phone off the nightstand, ready to text her, but I hesitate. What do I even say? I don’t remember much what happened at the bar. She was there, wasn
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe quiet hum of the diner wraps around us, the clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversations filling the air. Adrian sits across from me, leaning back in his seat with an easy smile, but his eyes are sharp, studying me.“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asks, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern that makes me feel guilty.I fidget with the edge of my napkin, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing. Just work.”Adrian raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Caroline, come on. You’ve been picking at your food for twenty minutes, and I’ve never seen you this distracted. If it’s work, I can handle that excuse, but I don’t think it is.”I glance up at him, startled by how easily he reads me. His patience feels like a lifeline, and for a moment, I consider brushing it off again. But then I realize how exhausting it is to keep everything bottled up.“It’s not about Knoxx,” I say quickly, preempting the question I kno
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe restaurant is small and private, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. Perfect for the kind of discreet meeting I need right now. I check the time on my phone for the tenth time in two minutes, nervous energy coursing through me.When the door swings open, I immediately recognize her—Alisha Glam. She’s even more striking in person, her presence commanding the room effortlessly. She scans the space and makes her way to my table, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.“Aline Haven?” she asks, her voice cool but not unkind.I stand up quickly, extending my hand. “Yes, that’s me. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet.”She shakes my hand briefly, then sits down across from me, placing a sleek leather handbag on the chair next to her. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure if I should even take this meeting,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact. “But Adrian convinced me. He spoke very highly of you.”I blink, a wave of gratitude washing over me. Adrian’s n
Dolly’s Point of ViewI sit in the living room, Alisha Glam’s video playing on my tablet. My heart races with fury as I watch her flawless face beam with that insufferable smile that grating in my nerves.“It seems there was a misunderstanding,” Alisha says, her voice calm and cheerful as if she’s announcing the weather. “Aline Haven, the designer of the piece, reached out to me personally. She was so apologetic and professional about the entire thing. It’s clear this was just an isolated mistake, and it’s all been resolved now.”She pauses dramatically, raising her hand to show off a bracelet—one of Caroline’s designs. The camera zooms in, emphasizing its sparkle under the light.“Look at this,” Alisha gushes. “Isn’t it stunning? Aline Haven even sent me a few new pieces to make up for the earlier issue, and I
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe days pass in a haze of silence from Knoxx. At first, I tell myself he’s just busy, caught up with work or dealing with whatever drama Dolly has created this time. But as the hours stretch into days, the reality sets in. He’s not reaching out—not a text, not a call, not even a vague sign that he cares about my absence.I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I throw myself into my work and spend more time with Adrian. He’s become a surprising source of comfort. It’s ironic, really—Knoxx’s own brother seems more attuned to my needs than Knoxx himself.Adrian’s invitations become more frequent—coffee, dinners, even casual strolls in the park. Today, he invites me to an art exhibition. “It’s a little niche,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think you’ll like it.”When he picks me up, I can’t help but notice how effortlessly cha
Caroline’s Point of ViewI’m in the middle of reviewing designs in my studio when it hits—an overwhelming queasiness that makes my stomach lurch. My hands freeze over the sketches, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.It doesn’t work. The sensation grows stronger, forcing me to abandon my work and head straight to the bathroom.I clutch the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain grounding me as I fight the urge to retch. I tell myself it’s stress. That’s all it can be. Between the divorce, the constant tension with Knoxx, and the endless juggling act of managing Aline Jewerly Havens, my body is bound to feel the strain.But as the minutes pass, the nausea doesn’t fade. Instead, it clings to me, persistent and unyielding.I thought if I just gave myself some time to rest, whatever this was would pass on its own. I convinced myself it was just a temporary thing—stress, exhaustion, maybe even
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe late afternoon sun is soft, casting golden light over the garden where I sit, lost in thought. My hands rest lightly on my lap, but the tension in my chest doesn’t fade. The faint scent of blooming flowers surrounds me, but it does little to calm the storm brewing inside.I feel off. I’ve felt off for days now. Morning sickness has become a daily companion, and I know I can’t keep ignoring it. But the question remains: do I tell Knoxx?A part of me whispers that I should. No matter how strained things are between us, he has a right to know. But then, I remember the cold silence that has hung between us since the dinner party. He hasn’t reached out, hasn’t even tried to fix things. He’s letting me stew in my own frustrations, and I can’t help but think it’s exactly what Dolly wanted.I sigh, running a hand over my stomach as if it holds the answers. “What do I do?&rdqu
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe hospital halls are quieter than usual this afternoon. Adrian is still asleep when I come back from the nurse’s station, where I asked for his updated chart. He’s stable. Recovering well, they said. But even if they didn’t, I think I would’ve stayed right here anyway. I sink into the chair beside his bed and fold his blanket higher on his chest. His breathing is slow, steady. Peaceful.I don’t know how long I just sit there staring at him. Watching his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep. I’ve memorized every line of his face these past few days, every scar and freckle, every soft crease that forms when he dreams. Sometimes, I wonder what he dreams about. Does he know I’m here?There’s no schedule in my head anymore. No outside world. No thoughts of work, the shop, or anything else. Just this room. Just him.The door clicks open behind me.I don’t need to look to know it’s Knoxx. The air shifts the moment he walks in—thick with that same tension that’s bee
Penelope's Point of ViewI knock on Liam’s door, glancing at the time on my phone. Caroline’s still at the hospital, taking care of Adrian. I offered to drop by the house and help with Liam since I know her hands are full. Plus, I miss the kid. There’s something about Liam’s energy that makes everything feel lighter.The door opens, and the nanny greets me with a smile. “Hi, Ms. Penelope. Liam’s inside drawing. He’s been asking if you’re coming.”My chest warms. “Good. I brought snacks.”I head inside, dropping my bag by the counter before walking into the living room. Liam is sitting cross-legged on the rug, his little hand moving crayons across a piece of paper. He looks up and beams when he sees me.“Penny!” he says, jumping to his feet and running to hug me.I kneel to catch him. “Hey, bud. You missed me?”He nods. “Mama’s busy. Daddy is sick. But I made drawings.”“I can’t wait to see them.”He pulls me by the hand, dragging me to the living room floor. I sit down beside him as h
Caroline’s Point of ViewKnoxx is standing in front of me again. Same expensive suit. Same arrogant posture. Same eyes that once used to undo me with a single look. Not anymore.I don’t flinch when he speaks.“You really won’t even look at me?”I cross my arms, leaning back against the wall of the hospital waiting area. The air smells sterile and cold. But inside, I feel oddly still. Numb, even.“I’m looking at you right now,” I say quietly.“That’s not what I meant,” he replies. He shifts on his feet like he’s uncomfortable. “Caroline… everything’s out. Everyone knows what Dolly did. She’s going to prison. You don’t have to keep pretending like you’re angry at me.”“I’m not pretending,” I say, still calm. Too calm. “And I’m not angry.”He frowns. “You’re not?”
Knoxx’s Point of ViewThe jail reeks of sweat, piss, and something else I can’t name. The kind of scent that clings to your skin long after you leave. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes, waiting for them to bring her out. I’m not pacing. I’m not anxious. I’m angry. And the longer I stand here, the more it simmers.She finally walks in—Dolly. Her wrists are cuffed, her hair a tangled mess, lips dry and pale. Her eyes flicker up to mine, hopeful. God. Still hopeful.“Knoxx,” she says, a breathy smile tugging at her lips. “You came.”I sit down across from her, hands clasped, jaw tight. “Don’t act surprised. You knew I would.”She leans forward like this is a reunion. “I didn’t think you’d visit this soon.”“I didn’t come to visit,” I snap. “This isn’t a visit. This is the last time we’ll speak.”Her smile falters, but she covers it quickly. “You’re upset. I get it. The media’s twisting everything—”“Stop talking.”Her mouth shuts.I breathe through my nose, steady, even, but inside
Caroline’s Point of ViewI sit across from the detective in the cold, gray-walled interrogation room, the recorder lying on the table between us. My fingers tremble slightly as I slide the flash drive across the smooth surface. I’ve played this moment in my head all night—how I’d hand over the truth, how I’d finally clear my name.“This is it,” I say, voice low but steady. “Everything she confessed. It’s all there.”Detective Ramirez picks up the drive, giving me a long, assessing look. “You’re sure she wasn’t coerced? No threats?”I meet his gaze. “She talked on her own. I just listened.”He nods slowly, motioning for the officer behind the mirror to take it for processing. My stomach tightens as the door clicks shut again. The moment feels heavier than I imagined.“She admitted to the theft of your designs, the drugging incident, and the incident involving the late Mr. Wayne?” he asks.“Yes,” I say. “She confessed to all of it. She also named someone else. A man. I don’t know his fu
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe door clicks open, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.The surgeon steps inside, still wearing his scrubs. His gloves are off, and his face is tight, but it’s not the kind of tight that screams bad news. It’s calm. Measured.I shoot to my feet.“Is he—?” I choke on the rest of the sentence. My legs feel shaky. I grip the back of the plastic chair for balance.“He’s alive,” the doctor says.I drop into the chair.Alive.My vision blurs, and I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste salt. I cover my mouth, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Alive.“He lost a lot of blood,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical, but kind. “The stab wound punctured a lung, but we were able to stop the bleeding. He’s stable now. He’ll need rest. Weeks of it. But he’s going to recover.”I nod furiously, even though I can barely hear him over the pounding in my chest.“Can I see him?”He nods. “We’ll move him to recovery in a few minutes. He’s still unconscious, but
Caroline’s Point of ViewKnoxx is standing in front of me again. Same expensive suit. Same arrogant posture. Same eyes that once used to undo me with a single look. Not anymore.I don’t flinch when he speaks.“You really won’t even look at me?”I cross my arms, leaning back against the wall of the hospital waiting area. The air smells sterile and cold. But inside, I feel oddly still. Numb, even.“I’m looking at you right now,” I say quietly.“That’s not what I meant,” he replies. He shifts on his feet like he’s uncomfortable. “Caroline… everything’s out. Everyone knows what Dolly did. She’s going to prison. You don’t have to keep pretending like you’re angry at me.”“I’m not pretending,” I say, still calm. Too calm. “And I’m not angry.”He frowns. “You’re not?”
Knoxx’s Point of ViewThe jail reeks of sweat, piss, and something else I can’t name. The kind of scent that clings to your skin long after you leave. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes, waiting for them to bring her out. I’m not pacing. I’m not anxious. I’m angry. And the longer I stand here, the more it simmers.She finally walks in—Dolly. Her wrists are cuffed, her hair a tangled mess, lips dry and pale. Her eyes flicker up to mine, hopeful. God. Still hopeful.“Knoxx,” she says, a breathy smile tugging at her lips. “You came.”I sit down across from her, hands clasped, jaw tight. “Don’t act surprised. You knew I would.”She leans forward like this is a reunion. “I didn’t think you’d visit this soon.”“I didn’t come to visit,” I snap. “This isn’t a visit. This is the last time we’ll speak.&rd
Caroline’s Point of ViewI sit across from the detective in the cold, gray-walled interrogation room, the recorder lying on the table between us. My fingers tremble slightly as I slide the flash drive across the smooth surface. I’ve played this moment in my head all night—how I’d hand over the truth, how I’d finally clear my name.“This is it,” I say, voice low but steady. “Everything she confessed. It’s all there.”Detective Ramirez picks up the drive, giving me a long, assessing look. “You’re sure she wasn’t coerced? No threats?”I meet his gaze. “She talked on her own. I just listened.”He nods slowly, motioning for the officer behind the mirror to take it for processing. My stomach tightens as the door clicks shut again. The moment feels heavier than I imagined.“She admitted to the theft of your designs, the drugging incident, and the incident involving the late Mr. Wayne?” he asks.“Yes,” I say. “She confessed to all of it. She also named someone else. A man. I don’t know his fu