The glow of the fundraiser still warm in Isla Carter's memory the next morning, she came into the small office of the shelter, an armful of paperwork in her arms.Her cheeks burned even now as she recalled the kiss — their kiss — amid a sea of onlookers. She hadn't cared who might see.For the first time in many years, Isla could hope without terror tightening its grip on her throat.Killian Blackwood was transforming into the man she needed.Maybe, just maybe, they had a hope of forever.She put down the papers and started to put them in order, humming a tune to herself. The office was unusually silent on a Monday morning, but she wrote that off as post-event exhaustion.It was only when she listened in to the strained, hurried words behind the door that she stopped.Janine's voice. Taut. Concerned.A different voice — gruffer, lower. Male.And Killian's voice — hot, tight.Isla's gaze grew darker and took a step toward the door.The moment she pushed it a little way open, she listen
For a few fleeting days, the world stilled around Killian Blackwood and Isla Carter.They settled into a rhythm that was fragile but real — a rhythm built of whispered vows and lingering touches, of cautious smiles and hands brushing accidentally-on-purpose.It wasn't ideal.There were still shadows, still wounds not quite scarred over.But it was real.It was theirs.And that was enough.Until Marcus came back.This time, he did not come quietly. This time, he came to destroy.---It started with a headline. Killian had just stepped into the entrance of the shelter when he heard the buzz — biting whispers, horrified gasps. Janine rushed to him, phone outstretched, her face pale. "You need to see this," she whispered, shaking. Killian took the phone. The article stared back at him, the bold letters screaming:**"Blackwood's Dirty Secrets: From Criminal Empire to Philanthropist Fraud"**He read the words once. Then again. And again.Each sentence was a knife.Each accusation meti
The Blackwood Estate stood as a towering symbol of wealth and influence, its grandeur casting an imposing shadow over the city skyline. It was a place where only the most elite gathered, a haven for billionaires, politicians, and socialites who measured power in whispers and sealed deals with a clink of crystal glasses. Tonight, the estate was alive with music and laughter, the grand ballroom a spectacle of shimmering lights, flowing champagne, and breathtakingly expensive gowns.Isla Carter adjusted the strap of her deep emerald dress, her fingers grazing the soft silk as she scanned the crowd with barely concealed unease. She was out of place here, surrounded by women who wore their privilege like a second skin and men who had the world at their feet. She hadn’t wanted to come, but her best friend, Elena, had insisted, dragging her into a night she was already regretting.“You look like you’re about to make a run for it,” Elena teased, nudging Isla’s arm as they stood near the bar.
The night was supposed to end the moment Isla stepped off the dance floor, but fate had other plans. Her pulse was still erratic from Killian Blackwood’s touch, his cryptic words echoing in her mind. She should have walked away, left the gala without a second glance—but the fire in her veins wouldn’t let her.Instead, she found herself storming into the dimly lit study at the far end of the Blackwood Estate, away from the prying eyes of high society. The heavy mahogany doors shut behind her with a quiet click, enclosing her in the lion’s den.Killian stood by the bar, pouring himself a drink, his broad shoulders at ease as if he had anticipated this confrontation. He didn’t turn immediately, but Isla knew he sensed her presence.“You just walk away after that?” Isla’s voice was sharper than intended, laced with an emotion she refused to name.Killian finally glanced at her over his shoulder, his dark eyes amused. “Would you have preferred I stayed and entertained your questions in fro
The sun had fully risen by the time Isla gathered the courage to leave Killian’s suite. Even in her expensive gown, she felt exposed, vulnerable. The hallway was empty as she slipped through, her heart pounding with the weight of her regret. Every step away from that room felt like a thousand miles, but it still wasn’t far enough.By the time she made it to the lobby, her phone buzzed.**Bestie:** Where are you? I saw you leave with HIM. Tell me you didn’t.Isla’s fingers trembled over the screen. How could she explain what had happened? How could she admit to the reckless mistake that now clawed at her insides?Before she could respond, a hotel concierge approached her with a polite but distant smile. "Miss Carter, Mr. Blackwood requested that a car be prepared for you. It’s waiting outside."Isla stiffened. “Excuse me?”The man’s expression didn’t waver. "Mr. Blackwood had an early departure and left instructions to ensure you had a comfortable way home."Early departure.The words
The morning air was crisp as Isla sat curled up on her couch, staring blankly at the steaming cup of tea in her hands. The TV was on, the news anchor droning about stock market shifts and business takeovers, but the words barely registered. Her mind was elsewhere—trapped in an endless loop of anxiety and confusion.Her period was late. She had been trying to ignore it for days, blaming stress, exhaustion, anything but the most obvious possibility. But as she counted the weeks in her head for the hundredth time, dread tightened around her chest like a steel vice. Elena, who had been bustling in the kitchen, walked in with two plates of toast and eggs. She eyed Isla’s expression and immediately frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, setting the plates down. “What’s going on?”Isla hesitated, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. Elena knew her too well. There was no hiding this. “I think I might be pregnant,” Isla finally whispered.Elena blinked. Then blink
The city skyline stretched beyond Isla’s apartment window, twinkling with lights that seemed indifferent to her turmoil. The pregnancy test lay discarded on her nightstand, but the truth it revealed haunted her every waking moment. She needed to talk to him. Killian Blackwood might have vanished after that night, but he couldn’t ignore this forever. Heart pounding, Isla grabbed her phone and scrolled to his contact once more. The screen glowed in the dim room, his name taunting her. She hesitated only a second before pressing ‘call.’The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.Straight to voicemail.A lump formed in her throat. She ended the call and tried again. This time, the call didn’t even ring—it went directly to voicemail.He had blocked her.The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Her breath came out in shallow bursts, fingers tightening around the device. Anger, frustration, hurt—all of it swirled inside her, an uncontrollable storm. Elena, who had been sitting cross-
The days following her humiliating encounter with Killian Blackwood were filled with a suffocating silence. Isla tried to move on, tried to focus on her work, but the weight of his dismissal clung to her like a curse. She spent her nights tossing and turning, replaying their last conversation over and over again in her mind. Then, the summons came.It was abrupt—a call from an unknown number, followed by a sleek black car arriving at her apartment doorstep. The driver, a man with a stony expression, handed her a single piece of paper: *Killian Blackwood requests your presence. No refusals.*She wanted to ignore it. She should have. But something inside her burned with the need to confront him, to demand answers for his cruel indifference. The frustration, the pain, the anger—all of it surged within her, and before she could rationalize, she was getting into the car.And so, she went.---The Blackwood estate loomed ahead like a fortress, its grand entrance flanked by towering iron ga
For a few fleeting days, the world stilled around Killian Blackwood and Isla Carter.They settled into a rhythm that was fragile but real — a rhythm built of whispered vows and lingering touches, of cautious smiles and hands brushing accidentally-on-purpose.It wasn't ideal.There were still shadows, still wounds not quite scarred over.But it was real.It was theirs.And that was enough.Until Marcus came back.This time, he did not come quietly. This time, he came to destroy.---It started with a headline. Killian had just stepped into the entrance of the shelter when he heard the buzz — biting whispers, horrified gasps. Janine rushed to him, phone outstretched, her face pale. "You need to see this," she whispered, shaking. Killian took the phone. The article stared back at him, the bold letters screaming:**"Blackwood's Dirty Secrets: From Criminal Empire to Philanthropist Fraud"**He read the words once. Then again. And again.Each sentence was a knife.Each accusation meti
The glow of the fundraiser still warm in Isla Carter's memory the next morning, she came into the small office of the shelter, an armful of paperwork in her arms.Her cheeks burned even now as she recalled the kiss — their kiss — amid a sea of onlookers. She hadn't cared who might see.For the first time in many years, Isla could hope without terror tightening its grip on her throat.Killian Blackwood was transforming into the man she needed.Maybe, just maybe, they had a hope of forever.She put down the papers and started to put them in order, humming a tune to herself. The office was unusually silent on a Monday morning, but she wrote that off as post-event exhaustion.It was only when she listened in to the strained, hurried words behind the door that she stopped.Janine's voice. Taut. Concerned.A different voice — gruffer, lower. Male.And Killian's voice — hot, tight.Isla's gaze grew darker and took a step toward the door.The moment she pushed it a little way open, she listen
The next morning, Isla Carter woke to the smell of coffee drifting through her small flat.For a moment, she lay still, eyes closed, letting the warmth of it seep into her bones.It had been a while since she woke up feeling anything like peace.When at last she opened her eyes and moved into the kitchen, Killian Blackwood was waiting for her — his back to her, shirt sleeves rolled up, pouring two mismatched mugs with coffee.It was this small, ordinary moment. This brutally normal thing.And it hit her smack in the middle of her chest.This might be real.This might be them.Killian turned at the sound of her footsteps and smiled — a tentative, uncertain smile that twisted her heart in torture."Morning," he offered, holding out a mug.She took it, their hands touching, a spark of electricity shooting up her arm."Morning," she whispered in return.They stood there for a moment, sipping coffee, the silence comfortable.But Isla knew that it couldn't stay this easy forever.Last night
The next morning, it had stopped raining, but the city was shrouded in a thick fog, as if the world itself was catching its breath.Isla Carter stood in her window, holding a mug of steaming coffee between her hands, looking out at the gray skyline.The midnight conversation with Killian Blackwood still ran through her head, as vivid as if it had just happened.His cracked voice.His soaked body at her doorstep.His promise: *I'll wait forever if I have to.*She wasn't sure if she was ready to pardon him yet.But she did know this — she couldn't ignore him either.Her phone on the counter rang.Her heart skipped a beat.A message.**Killian Blackwood:**> *There's something I have to show you. No pressure. If you want to see it, I'll be at 345 Lennox Street at noon. If not. I'll get it.*Isla stared at the note for a moment, stomach twisting with nerves.She should leave it alone.She should stand up for herself.And yet. her fingers seemed to act of their own accord, typing out two b
Rain was still coming down on the city, sheeting the streets with a damp, mournful glow. Isla Carter slumped beside the big glass wall of her tiny rented studio, her knees to her chest, looking blankly out into the world beyond. Her tea had gone cold hours ago, sitting on the table.She hadn't replied to Killian Blackwood's previous attempts to reach out to her.Hundreds of messages. Voicemails, emails, even handwritten letters left on her doorstep — all ignored.She didn't know if she was brave enough to see him again. She didn't trust him — not entirely. Not yet.And the ache in her chest warned her that even one small mistake could destroy her for good this time.A sharp knock shattered her downward thoughts.Isla braced.She hadn't been expecting anyone. Her heart hammered pitifully. She crept quietly to the door and peered through the peephole.Of course.Killian.He stood there, dripping from the rain, a fistful of white lilies clutched tightly in one hand. His face was a map of
City lights twinkled in the weight of twilight, as though the horizon itself held bated breath. Killian Blackwood stood against the roof garden of the Carter Foundation, the wind tugging at his open coat, his expression impassive. The city raged beneath him, unaware of the storm brewing in one man's soul.Tonight was not one of pomp and circumstance. There were no fireworks, no red carpet, no over-the-top displays of riches. Tonight was raw, bare, and totally human. It was about truth. About redemption.Killian had sent the invitation to Isla Carter days before, a scribbled note in the bouquet of lilies she still refused to accept. But he knew she'd be there. He had caught it in the quiet between them, in how her eyes clung a beat longer on their last encounter, as if she heard words that he hadn't spoken yet.As she stepped onto the roof, her heels ticking quietly on the wooden deck, Killian turned lazily. The sight of her, in the gentle light of string lights swaying above them, too
The city hummed with its own rhythm, but for Isla Carter, it was all just a bit. softer. Quieter. It had been three days since she'd stood beside Killian Blackwood in the brightly lit community center and said the words she'd never been brave enough to say until that moment. "Maybe I'm still in love with you."Those words had changed everything. And nothing had been rushed. There were no grand statements or fireworks. No immediate talk of labels or planning. Just a slow rebuilding. And for once, Isla didn't feel like she needed to rush to get ahead of her emotions.She was in her bookstore again today. The scent of old paper and cinnamon coffee greeted her, and sunlight streamed through the windows, casting golden squares on the wooden floor. Customers browsed idly through the shelves, and her helper, Margo, waved as Isla entered."Morning, boss. You look. glowy," Margo teased.Isla smiled, her cheeks going pink. "It's the weather.""Okay, let's pretend it's not the sexy billionaire
Rain drenched the sidewalk as **Killian Blackwood** stood at the entrance of the charity gala, his stylish suit soaked, but he didn't move. Umbrellas hovered, cameras snapped, but none of it mattered. Not the murmurs of shock on passersby, not the reporters shouting questions. Not even the blistering disappointment in his father's eyes when the older man stepped from a black limousine, lips pursed into a tempestuous line."Mr. Blackwood—" a journalist shouted, shoving a mic in his face. "Is it true you've ended your engagement with Celeste Van Alder?""Yes," Killian said firmly, his voice crisp. "Because I was engaged to the wrong woman."A collective gasp of shock filled the crowd. The cameras clicked more wildly now, catching the unadorned truth in his eyes."What about Isla Carter?" another journalist shouted. "Are you doing this for her?Killian didn't hesitate. "I'm doing this because I finally realized what real love feels like. And I lost it once. I'm not losing it again."Insi
The following days were filled with subdued skepticism for Isla. She was returned to her life—her job, her schedule—but everything was different. It was as though a small shift had occurred, something she couldn't define, but it gave her an irrevocable feeling that something was coming. She wasn't sure what it was, or how to prepare herself for it, but she knew it would change everything.She sat at her desk in the office, staring into her computer screen, the documents before her blurring to a haze. Her mind kept drifting back to Killian's words. His voice lingered in her head, with the sincerity that both comforted her and disturbed her. She wasn't going to decide yet—she knew that. But whenever she thought she had shaken him off, a part of her wanted the connection they had shared.The phone suddenly rang, snapping her out of her reverie. She glanced down at the screen, her racing heart as it read Killian's name.Her fingers lingered over the phone for a moment, a flash of emotions