KIAN'S POVThe following morning felt heavier than most. I was up before the sun, staring at the gray ceiling, my thoughts consumed by two things: Mr. Alcante and what I was about to do next.He had improved slightly overnight—the fever had gone down a notch, and his breathing was less labored. But there was still a fragility about him that unsettled me. I left a note and made sure he had water, his medicine, and a way to reach me if things worsened. Then I got dressed, straightened my tie, and stepped into my plan.Today, I was walking into Whitmore Enterprises.Not as a guest.But as an employee.The corporate building stood tall and glossy in the morning light. The receptionist, now familiar, directed me to the upper floor where HR conducted interviews. I waited in a sleek white lobby with three other applicants—all younger, all nervous.When my name was called, I walked into the interview room with the practiced calm of someone who had been through far worse.Three department head
LENA'S POV There are moments when the entire world halts—not in chaos, but in silence. When I turned toward the corner of the office and my eyes landed on him, I knew instantly. My throat closed. My heart missed a beat, then another. Time didn’t slow—it slammed to a stop. Kian. Standing there like a stranger dressed in something that didn’t belong to him, yet fit too well. Confident. Composed. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t shattered me. And yet, his eyes held no flicker of recognition. None. I stood frozen, the weight of my presence anchoring the room. The chatter died. Even the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to dim. Staff members glanced from him to me, then back again, unsure whether they were witnessing an accident or a miracle. But no one dared to speak. I swallowed hard, locking my spine straight, painting calm on my face like war paint. “Who,” I said slowly, carefully, “approved the hire of this gentleman?” My voice didn’t tremble. It sliced. Heads s
LENA'S POVLunch hour crept in quietly.I didn’t usually eat in the office—not because I didn’t want to, but because eating meant slowing down. And slowing down meant thinking. Remembering. Feeling.But today, I made an exception.Kian sat across from me at the small meeting table in the corner of my office, quietly unpacking the lunch boxes the kitchen staff had dropped off. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... strange. Heavy, yet soft. Like the air before a storm.He handed me my container, his fingers brushing mine briefly. I didn’t flinch, but I felt the shiver run up my arm.We ate in silence for the first few minutes, the occasional clink of cutlery the only sound between us. Outside, the buzz of company life continued. Phones ringing. Keys clicking. The low hum of ambition.Inside, it was just us.The way it used to be.I let my eyes linger on him longer than I should have. The light from the blinds cut across his face, and when he smiled—just slightly, lips twitching up
KIAN'S POVI trailed behind Lena as she walked with brisk purpose, every stride sharp and steady, her heels echoing off the glassy tile of the company building. Whatever awaited us outside, I could feel it humming at the edge of tension. Lena hadn’t said much—she didn’t have to. The urgency in the assistant's voice had already spelled enough.We reached the ground floor, and through the glass doors, I saw the crowd.Dozens of people loitered outside the building. Some held signs. Others gripped sticks. And in front of them, like a wall, stood three men with arms folded and expressions carved from stone. Tattoos curled up their arms and peeked from the collars of stained work shirts. They didn’t just look angry. They looked ready.Lena stepped through the doors first. I followed.One of the tattooed men stepped forward. “We were working on your East Wing extension. The structure collapsed two days ago. We lost equipment. Nearly lost men. And no one from your side’s reached out."Lena f
LENA'S POV I stood by my window, my gaze drifting over the lush green of our family mansion. The late afternoon sun bathed the flowers in gold, casting long shadows that stretched toward the buildings. The magnolias swayed gently, their scent faint but familiar. It was peaceful, deceptively so, like the eye of a storm waiting to unravel.Then, I heard it. "Lena," my name carried through the walls, spoken in a tone that felt like an invocation rather than a call. I straightened, listening carefully. Voices followed—urgent, hushed, and insistent. My mother’s voice. My grandfather’s. They were talking about me. Every since dad’s death, this was my new normal. Everyone seemed to get on my nerves—worse off, seemed to look up to me in expectation , of me, being in my best behaviors at all times. But still, I remained a feminine boss, who wouldn’t take shit. I turned away from the window, my pulse quickening. Something about the way they spoke made my skin prickle. My name was m
LENA'S POV The cold air hit my face as I stepped out of the house, my anger still pulsing like a living thing inside me. My grandfather’s words rang in my ears—his smug certainty, his absolute belief that I would submit to his will. I wouldn’t. I would win this battle. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and walked briskly down the street, my mind replaying the conversation over and over. The thought of marrying Harlin Cartwright made my stomach turn. A business arrangement, a deal sealed without my consent, as if I were some asset to be traded. Not me. The streets of Hudsonville were mostly quiet, the occasional car passing by, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows. I had no particular destination, only a need to be anywhere but home. I needed to clear my head, drown my resentment in something stronger than rage. And I knew exactly where to go. The Black Rose sat on the edge of downtown, tucked between two aging brick buildings. A neon sign flicker
LENA'S POVThe Whitmore family name had long been synonymous with power, wealth, and influence in Hudsonville, and tonight was no exception. The gala at the Grand Sterling Hotel was as extravagant as ever—glistening chandeliers dripped with crystals, the scent of imported roses perfumed the air, and the clinking of champagne glasses echoed over the hum of polite conversation. The Whitmores were the sole sponsors of the event, meaning my presence wasn’t just expected—it was required..One of the few nights I have to pretend to be okay—okay in appearance, in the least.Dressed in a deep emerald silk gown that clung to my frame, I glided through the ballroom, flashing empty smiles at guests I barely knew and exchanging pleasantries with business moguls and socialites who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in my family’s empire.I had mastered the art of pretending. More of a lifestyle now.Pretending to be interested in shallow conversations.Pretending that I wasn’t suffocating und
LENA'S POV Coincidence. That was what any rational person would call this. But I wasn’t naive enough to believe in coincidences. Not when it came to my family. Not when it came to the life I had been forced into, the expectations that had been placed upon me like a noose around my neck. Kian Davenport had been missing for five years. He had been presumed dead. And yet, here he was, standing among Hudsonville’s elite, pretending not to know me. My fingers curled into a tight fist at my side, nails digging into my palm. This wasn’t just chance. It wasn’t fate. It was deliberate. And I was going to find out why. The weight of the gala felt suffocating now. The chandeliers, the laughter, the constant murmur of business deals and empty pleasantries—it all blurred into a meaningless backdrop. My mind was elsewhere, tangled in a mess of unanswered questions, uncertainty, and something that felt a lot like betrayal. I needed to leave. I needed fresh air. I needed— A co
KIAN'S POVI trailed behind Lena as she walked with brisk purpose, every stride sharp and steady, her heels echoing off the glassy tile of the company building. Whatever awaited us outside, I could feel it humming at the edge of tension. Lena hadn’t said much—she didn’t have to. The urgency in the assistant's voice had already spelled enough.We reached the ground floor, and through the glass doors, I saw the crowd.Dozens of people loitered outside the building. Some held signs. Others gripped sticks. And in front of them, like a wall, stood three men with arms folded and expressions carved from stone. Tattoos curled up their arms and peeked from the collars of stained work shirts. They didn’t just look angry. They looked ready.Lena stepped through the doors first. I followed.One of the tattooed men stepped forward. “We were working on your East Wing extension. The structure collapsed two days ago. We lost equipment. Nearly lost men. And no one from your side’s reached out."Lena f
LENA'S POVLunch hour crept in quietly.I didn’t usually eat in the office—not because I didn’t want to, but because eating meant slowing down. And slowing down meant thinking. Remembering. Feeling.But today, I made an exception.Kian sat across from me at the small meeting table in the corner of my office, quietly unpacking the lunch boxes the kitchen staff had dropped off. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... strange. Heavy, yet soft. Like the air before a storm.He handed me my container, his fingers brushing mine briefly. I didn’t flinch, but I felt the shiver run up my arm.We ate in silence for the first few minutes, the occasional clink of cutlery the only sound between us. Outside, the buzz of company life continued. Phones ringing. Keys clicking. The low hum of ambition.Inside, it was just us.The way it used to be.I let my eyes linger on him longer than I should have. The light from the blinds cut across his face, and when he smiled—just slightly, lips twitching up
LENA'S POV There are moments when the entire world halts—not in chaos, but in silence. When I turned toward the corner of the office and my eyes landed on him, I knew instantly. My throat closed. My heart missed a beat, then another. Time didn’t slow—it slammed to a stop. Kian. Standing there like a stranger dressed in something that didn’t belong to him, yet fit too well. Confident. Composed. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t shattered me. And yet, his eyes held no flicker of recognition. None. I stood frozen, the weight of my presence anchoring the room. The chatter died. Even the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to dim. Staff members glanced from him to me, then back again, unsure whether they were witnessing an accident or a miracle. But no one dared to speak. I swallowed hard, locking my spine straight, painting calm on my face like war paint. “Who,” I said slowly, carefully, “approved the hire of this gentleman?” My voice didn’t tremble. It sliced. Heads s
KIAN'S POVThe following morning felt heavier than most. I was up before the sun, staring at the gray ceiling, my thoughts consumed by two things: Mr. Alcante and what I was about to do next.He had improved slightly overnight—the fever had gone down a notch, and his breathing was less labored. But there was still a fragility about him that unsettled me. I left a note and made sure he had water, his medicine, and a way to reach me if things worsened. Then I got dressed, straightened my tie, and stepped into my plan.Today, I was walking into Whitmore Enterprises.Not as a guest.But as an employee.The corporate building stood tall and glossy in the morning light. The receptionist, now familiar, directed me to the upper floor where HR conducted interviews. I waited in a sleek white lobby with three other applicants—all younger, all nervous.When my name was called, I walked into the interview room with the practiced calm of someone who had been through far worse.Three department head
KIAN’S POV Morning came faster than expected. Mr. Alcante’s fever hadn’t broken overnight, and by the time the sun spilled across the hardwood floor, his breathing had grown heavier, labored. I didn’t wait any longer. I helped him dress slowly, layered him in a coat, and loaded him gently into the truck. The local hospital was tucked at the edge of the city, modest but competent. A nurse met us at the door with a wheelchair, and I handed over the paperwork and insurance details while they wheeled him off to be assessed. Hours passed. Blood work. Scans. A barrage of questions about history neither of us could fully answer. I stayed in the waiting area, watching the large wall-mounted television flicker with muted news and hospital alerts. The sterile scent of antiseptic made my stomach churn. It reminded me of something I couldn’t quite place. And then something disrupted the quiet hum. A voice. Loud. Sharp. Unapologetically entitled. I turned. Two large bodyguar
KIAN’S POVThe next morning broke through the windows with merciless brightness, chasing away whatever fragments of sleep I had managed to hold onto. I sat at the edge of the bed for a long while, staring at the worn floorboards, letting the silence ring.I was angry. Again. And for the same reason.Not the kind of anger that came with rage or yelling. It was the quiet, gnawing kind. The kind that simmered in your bones and made everything feel off-kilter.I started to wonder how many times I’ll be agitated because of the person I couldn’t remember. Maybe she isn’t lying, maybe she is.Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake Lena Whitmore from my mind. Her eyes, her voice, the way she said my name—they haunted me. Not because they were unfamiliar, but because they weren’t. Because they meant something I couldn’t touch, like trying to remember a word that was always on the tip of your tongue.I recognized her. I just couldn’t remember why.I started into nothingness before
LENA'S POV The restaurant was exquisite. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead like stars suspended by invisible thread, and the polished marble floors reflected the golden light that made everything feel expensive, staged, and cold. The place was too perfect—like a dream designed by someone else. Someone like my father. I sat at the edge of a velvet-cushioned chair, legs crossed, arms folded, giving off the exact amount of politeness required. My phone buzzed in my clutch, and I knew without checking it was my father. A follow-up, no doubt. I didn't bother answering. I knew what he'd say. "Just give him a chance." But he didn't mean Dylan, the man sitting across from me, fiddling with his cufflinks like he wasn't sure what to say next. No, this whole thing was a distraction, a smokescreen. My father still wanted Harlin Rider in the picture. This was all theatre. "You look lovely tonight," Dylan said, his voice pleasant, if a bit rehearsed. I smiled politely. "Thank you." He took
KIAN'S POV The sky was ink-black by the time I pulled into the driveway. The porch light flickered once, then steadied as I cut the engine and sat for a moment, letting the silence press in. Mr. Alcante was already asleep in the back of the truck, snoring gently under a folded blanket. I didn’t wake him. He’d find his way inside eventually, like he always did. But me? I wasn’t ready to step inside. Because tonight felt different. Because tonight, she was in my head again. Lena. It wasn’t just her voice or her scent or her smile. It was the way she said my name. The way she looked at me with this desperate, aching belief that I was someone she used to know. Someone she still cared for. Someone she maybe still loved. I recognized her. That was the worst part. I recognized something in her. And yet, my mind refused to hand over the memory. Like it had locked the truth behind a door I wasn’t allowed to open. Not yet. Not until it decided I was ready. I stepped inside the house
KIAN'S POV After the carnival lights began to fade into twilight, we drove out of the city and up into the hills overlooking the coastline. The view stretched wide and distant—the darkening sea meeting the sky in a hazy blue horizon. We parked on a gravel patch near the cliffside and walked to the edge, where the wind rolled in steady waves. Mr. Alcante sat on the hood of the truck, pulling out a pack of old tobacco cigarettes from his jacket. “Haven’t had one of these in a while,” he muttered, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. He offered me one. I hesitated, then took it. Reaching for the lighter placed in between us, I lit up the cigarette, watched it burn slowly before taking a long drag of nicotine. The smoke curled in the cold air as we sat quietly, the glow of the city far below us, the carnival now a flickering memory in the distance. I looked over to Mr. Alcante, who was busy taking the hilltop view in. I smiled briefly, Knowing my old man's actually smiling. “Alr