It’s nighttime by the time the car rolls through the towering gates, and I can’t help but gasp at how huge the mansion is. The structure seems to stretch endlessly, illuminated by soft, golden lights that make its grandeur even more striking. Large windows reflect the night sky, and perfectly manicured gardens line the path leading to the entrance, their flowers still vibrant under the soft glow of garden lamps. Everything about it is breathtaking—like something out of a fairytale.As the car stops, Lincoln steps out, signaling me to stay inside. He strides confidently around to my side, his footsteps echoing lightly on the stone driveway. He opens my door with practiced ease, leaning slightly to offer me his hand.“Careful,” he says softly, his tone carrying a gentleness that’s hard to ignore.I step out cautiously, my shoes making the faintest sound against the smooth surface beneath. My eyes dart to a line of servants forming near the grand entrance. Their uniforms are immacul
[Arella] I wake up to a strong arm wrapped around my middle, warmth seeping through my back. Sighing and still sleep-laden, I curl deeper into the warm embrace. It’s so comforting, so safe, that I almost don’t want to leave the moment. The arm around me tightens, pulling me closer, and I feel a flutter in my chest. "Don't move around more, Arella. I'm having a hard time controlling myself." I stiffen immediately, and that's when I notice something hard pressed against my backside. My body warms immediately at the realization, a rush of heat flooding my face. "S-sorry," my breath comes out shaky, and Lincoln chuckles, the deep sound rumbling through his chest. "You need to stop apologizing for every little thing, Ella," he says in that deep, morning voice of his, making my heart race in response. My nod is immediate, but he groans, and the next second, I’m flipped onto my back, a startled gasp escaping me. His eyes are intense, hungry with something I can’t quite nam
[Lincoln] Her fear shifts into fierce anger as she stands, her movements sharp. Her fingers curl into fists, trembling slightly as though the anger is barely contained. “I need to go see Deric.” My stomach drops, the light mood from lunch vanishing like smoke. Her hands shake as she clutches her phone tight, but her face is blank—too blank. I catch the faint shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes, but she blinks them away. “I’ll have the driver prepare the car,” I say, rising to my feet. My voice is steady, though tension coils tight in my chest. She shakes her head quickly. “No, no, I’ll handle it on my own.” Her rejection stings, a sharp jab to my pride. Without hesitation, I grab her hands, their chill against my skin startling. I lift one hand to my face, holding her gaze. “Who am I?” My voice is low, unyielding. Her breath catches, and her response is soft, barely a whisper. “My husband.” The words land like a balm on my soul, flooding me with glee. It’s
[Deric]Did Lincoln just say wife? He married Arella? He married that vile woman?!But how—and why? My head throbs as I wince, picking myself up from the cold, unforgiving floor. The faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, but it does nothing to soothe the sick feeling pooling in my chest. The thought of that wench married and happily pregnant is a bitter pill to swallow.Running a hand through my hair, I pick up my rumpled jacket. My face stings, each throb a sharp reminder of the punches I endured. The ride back to my place feels endless, the city flashing by like ghostly taunts. I'd driven alone, hoping to get rid of that wench and get back to my sweet Vivi on time, but it looks like fate has other plans.Dread claws up my spine. Nobody messes with Lincoln Sawyer and gets away scot-free. Behind his gentlemanly behavior lies a beast, just waiting for the right opportunity to shred his opponent to pieces.The familiar warmth of my apartment does little to comfort me when I st
[Arella]The dining area is bathed in soft sunlight pouring through tall glass windows, reflecting off the polished marble floors. I sit at the expansive wooden table, its surface gleaming under the light, with a small plate of sliced apples in front of me. I'm alone at the table, Lincoln had told me last night that he wouldn't make it for breakfast because of a board meeting.My stomach feels hollow after throwing up–yet again, and I bring a an apple slice to my mouth, hoping its sweetness will settle me.The butter–sweet, tangy taste soothes my taste buds, momentarily easing the nausea twisting in my gut. It’s still my first trimester, so tell me why the only thing I can enjoy in the morning without throwing up is mayo-covered apple slices. Heaven knows what my weird cravings will be like as the months come along. “Need more apples, my dear?” Rita’s warm, maternal voice floats over from the kitchen area. She moves toward me with a concerned smile.I shake my head, rubbing my tu
[Arella]“Oh please, you don’t have to call me that,” Bridget giggles, her voice light and melodic as she leads me to our favorite spot at the back. The warm, familiar ambiance of Morty’s wraps around me like a cozy blanket.I wonder if Morty, the owner, still works here. He was already quite old back in college, with a twinkle in his eye and stories that could fill a library.“But I do, Your Highness,” I tease, lips curving into a playful smirk, and Bridget just shakes her head, her cheeks flushing faintly.I’m not joking, though—Bridget is a real-life princess of a small Scandinavian country in Europe, though she’s always been more down-to-earth than royal.We sit, settling into the worn but inviting leather booth. Our orders are taken by a cute little girl on rollerblades. Cliché, I know, but it’s charming, like something out of an old movie.Feeling my hands being clasped by Bridget’s soft, slightly cool fingers, I look up. Her baby-blue eyes glisten with unshed tears, reflecti
[Lincoln]“Welcome home, Mrs. Sawyer,” I say, my voice calm yet firm, startling Arella as she turns to see me seated on the dark leather couch, illuminated only by the soft amber glow of the fireplace. The large living room seems even bigger in the dim light, with the fire casting moving shadows on the marble floor.The staff retired to their quarters early today because I wanted to spend some quality time with my wife.Imagine my shock when I didn’t see her home—no texts, no calls. I went a little paranoid—not that she needed to know that, though.“Heyy…Lincoln,” she replies in an awkward voice, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.My lips twitch, and I fight back a smile.I’m supposed to be angry, but I guess I can’t—not when she looks like an adorably stunned hamster, her wide eyes shimmering under the soft light.Keeping my voice flat, I continue with a practiced stoic face, “The driver tells me you declined his offer to take you out.” My tone is even,
[Arella]The dim light from the bedside lamp fills our cozy bedroom with a soft, golden glow. The air smells faintly of lavender from the candles on the nightstand filling the silence between us. Lincoln’s shoulders slump, and my heart drops for some reason."I'm sorry," the words come out as a whisper, barely audible."You don't want to work with me?" His voice is low, tinged with disbelief.Deciding against lying, I nod truthfully, and he chuckles sadly, the sound hollow and distant."Can I at least have a reason? You declined it without going through it all" His gaze is steady."It's not what you're thinking, Lincoln. It's just that…it wouldn't be right handing me the position of Chief Officiating Officer of Sawyer Group," I explain, feeling my fingers tremble slightly."With your numerous qualifications, nobody would say a word even if I make you the CEO, Arella. Tell me the real reason." His voice tightens just enough to make my chest constrict.I swallow, reaching out to hold
[Arella]Lincoln looks conflicted, his jaw tightening like he’s holding back a war inside himself. His body is tense, his breaths uneven, like he’s trying to convince himself of something even he doesn’t believe. Then, suddenly, he presses a lingering kiss to the top of my head. It’s warm, firm—full of something unspoken. It should calm me. It should tell me everything will be okay.But it doesn’t.Not when I don’t know what’s coming next.Not when something in my chest screams that this moment is slipping away—slipping through my fingers like sand.“I swear, I’ll come back.”His voice is rough, almost torn. There's something final in the way he says it, something that sends an icy wave crashing through my veins. Before I can respond, he steps back, pulling free from my grasp. My fingers, weak and trembling, try to hold on, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.No.A frail voice breaks through the tension. "Are you sure about this, son?"The words barely register, but I know that voice
[Arella]“Lin…coln…” My voice is dry and coarse, barely more than a whisper, but he hears it.He’s kneeling beside me in an instant, his face twisted in a mixture of fury and raw pain as his gaze lands on the gash at the side of my head. His touch is gentle but trembling, like he's afraid to hurt me more."Who did this to you? How did you—" He coughs violently, the sound wet and ragged.A drop of blood falls from his lips.My heart clenches.Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision as they spill like heavy rain. A thick, metallic scent clogs my nostrils, and my stomach turns."What’s that smell, Linc?" I murmur, my body swaying.Before I can process anything, I feel myself lifted, cradled in his arms. My body is too weak, too heavy, but the movement jolts another coughing fit from my burning throat.A firm hand presses something against my nose. His handkerchief.“Cyanide,” he rasps.My heart sinks into my stomach.My body tenses, horror gripping my chest like a vice.I know what cya
“We’re under attack!” my father rasps between violent coughs, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the chaos erupting around us. His eyes are bloodshot, his face paling by the second as the toxic air claws its way into his lungs.“Who would dare do such a thing?!” Grandfather barks, his voice raw, but the words barely make it out before another violent cough racks his body.My heart slams against my ribcage as I take in the horror unfolding around me. My mother suddenly appears, her face pale as a sheet, her breathing labored. She looks frantic, her eyes darting around until they land on me.“Lincoln—”“Don’t say anything, Mom. Reserve your breath.” My tone is sharp, commanding, but I can’t afford for her to waste energy. “Where’s Arella?”Her eyes widen. Panic flickers across her face. “I—I don’t know. We were all just having a conversation, and she wanted to ease herself. Then, after a while, fumes started pulling out of the vents—” She breaks into a coughing fit, struggling to fin
[Lincoln]My father and I settle into the dimly lit study of my grandfather-in-law. The heavy scent of old books and polished mahogany fills the air, mixing with the faint aroma of cigar smoke that seems embedded in the very walls. The room is grand—intimidating even—with its high ceilings, dark oak shelves lined with legal tomes, and an air of quiet authority that only men like my Harold Walcott can command.My father shifts in his chair beside me, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his shoulders stiff. He’s nervous—hell, even I’m a little uneasy. Grandfather sits across from us, his expression unreadable, but the slight downturn of his lips is enough to tell me this won’t be a pleasant conversation.He clears his throat, his voice steady and sharp. “There are some matters that still need settling, and I’d like us to be clear on the Clement Thompson situation before we move on.”Straight to the point, as always. No sugarcoating, no unnecessary pleasantries.My father exhales, nodd
[Arella]"Are you okay, Arella? I heard voices."Mila’s voice startles me as I turn around to see her standing at the top of the stairs. My chest is still heaving, my breathing erratic from Deric’s antics, but my heart warms at the thought of Lincoln keeping me safe—even at a party like this.I force a breath, shaking my head. "It's nothing, don't worry. Just some random stranger."Mila doesn’t look convinced. Her brows furrow in skepticism, but she lets it go."Oh… okay," she says slowly. "What are you doing up here anyway? Looking for Lincoln?" She smirks, throwing in a cheeky wink.I palm my face, shaking my head. "I came to pee, and I didn't want to use the guest restroom downstairs. Could you point me to the one here?""I mean, I could follow you. I just peed now myself," she offers after pointing the way.I roll my eyes. Why is everyone trying to babysit me?"Don’t act like my husband, Mila. You look like you could explode any minute. Go sit down," I tease, shoving her playfully
[Deric]This is fucking crazy. No—this is batshit insane.What the hell am I doing? If we get caught, Harold Walcott will make sure neither of us walks out of this alive. The only sliver of comfort I have is that security seems to be lax. No guards in sight. No cameras that I can see. If we pull this off, I can grab Arella, get her out of here, and we’ll start over—somewhere far, somewhere safe.But the empty hallways around me don’t feel empty. They feel like they’re watching. The dim lighting flickers slightly, the walls are too still, the air is too damn thick—like the entire house knows what we’re about to do and is waiting to expose us.I'm so lost in my thoughts, drowning in the weight of what I’m about to do, that I don’t realize when I collide with someone. Hard. My body jerks, and a startled squeak escapes my lips before I can stop it.Shit.Panic claws at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. My stomach drops, twisting into something violent and gut-wrenching."Are you
[Vivian]“Fuck, this is taking forever.”Deric is restless beside me, his jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying not to lose his shit. "When is Arella coming up?!" His voice is sharp, low, impatient.We’re tucked into a small corner upstairs, near the bathroom, hidden just enough to watch without being noticed. Well, he's watching. I'm not.I can’t stop looking at him. The way his beautiful brown hair is a total mess, disheveled and wild, nothing like the usual sleek, controlled way he keeps it. Stress has taken its toll on him, and somehow, it makes him look even better. His side is pressed against mine, the heat of his body sinking into me like a slow burn, and for a moment, I let myself remember.I want it back. The way things were before. The way he used to look at me, used to touch me, used to—"I can’t wait for everything to go back the way it was between us."The words slip out. I don’t even realize I said them out loud until Deric snaps his head toward me.
[Lincoln]How did she know?My chest tightens, a slow, suffocating coil of tension wrapping around my ribs as I try to comprehend how Arella knows about the secret my father has been trying to keep from me for years.It makes no sense.Before I can even fully register her last statement, the sharp shatter of glass pierces the ballroom.Mr. Thompson’s champagne flute crashes to the ground, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces."You have got to be kidding me!" he bellows.Fuck.Everything’s ruined.He strides forward, his eyes blazing with venomous intent, and then—he points a rigid, accusing finger straight at Arella."You!"A guttural sound, low and primal, rumbles from my throat before I even realize it. Instinct. Possession. Protection.Before Thompson can get any closer, I grab Arella’s wrist, pulling her behind me, my stance rigid, muscles coiled, ready for whatever the hell comes next."Watch it, Thompson," I growl, my voice dipping into something dangerous, something that w
[Arella]I don’t even bother sparing Lisa or Mr. Thompson another glance. They don’t deserve it.We move on with our conversations, ignoring them so thoroughly it must sting. But they still try to wedge their way in, their voices lingering like an unwanted aftertaste.Utterly pathetic. But something feels off. My gaze flickers across the room. Where the hell is Vivian?She’s nowhere in sight, and that sends a cold, uneasy ripple through my spine. She’s not the type to disappear quietly.Whatever.Eventually, we’re all guided back into the grand ballroom for gift presentations.This room screams old money—the crystal chandeliers dripping gold, the marble floors reflecting the warm glow of candlelight, the air thick with the scent of vintage cologne and wealth. A true battleground where status is the only weapon that matters.Lincoln leans in as we walk. His voice brushes against my ear, low and teasing.“So, a surprise, huh?”I smirk, locking eyes with him as I make an exaggerated mot