LENA'S POV It was early afternoon when we arrived at the Hudsonville Corporate Summit, a towering structure of steel and prestige that buzzed with the scent of ambition and perfume. The glass doors glimmered beneath a grand archway etched with gold leaf, welcoming CEOs, entrepreneurs, and business royalty from every corner of the state. I adjusted the cuff of my blazer and glanced at Kian beside me. He looked stunning. Controlled. A little too controlled, if I were honest. That rigid jawline, the unreadable calm across his face—it was all a mask he wore too well. I’d seen him like this before. Not just recently. Years ago. And the murmurs confirmed I wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Wait… is that…?” “Kiander Davenport? But he’s—” “No, it’s just someone who looks like him. Can’t be.” “They say he vanished. Never found a body, though.” My hand instinctively reached for Kian’s wrist, my fingers closing around his skin. He flinched slightly at the contact, then relaxed. “They’r
LENA'S POV The flash of cameras burst like a lightning storm the moment we stepped past the press corridor. Kian flinched beside me, his hand subtly brushing against mine. I could feel the tension in his every step, but he didn’t falter. Neither did I. We moved as one through the tunnel of lights, blinded by the glimmer of lenses and the shouts of journalists echoing off the marble walls. "Mr. Kiander! Mr. Kiander, is it really you?!" "Lena Whitmore, can we get a statement about the reappearance of the Hudsonville mogul?" "What happened five years ago? Is he really back from the dead?!" Their questions fell like rain—relentless and sharp. Kian kept his head down, his jaw clenched. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his discomfort through the weight of their stares. I stepped forward, slightly ahead, forming a silent barrier between him and the circus. "There will be a press meeting scheduled soon," I said, voice firm, eyes straight ahead. "We appreciate your interest, but t
LENA'S POV The room grew still. Then quiet. Then silent. Kian smiled faintly. And the silence turned to stone. He was Kiander Davenport reborn in confidence, in poise, in quiet power. The room felt it. Subtle shifts—attention drawn like iron filings to a magnet. Kian raised his gaze, scanning each face around the table, one by one. His expression grew colder, harder. There was calculation in his stare. Then he smiled. And spoke. "You know, I’ve always believed snakes don’t bite unless they feel cornered. So here’s a warning: don’t get comfortable." I inhaled sharply. That voice—steady, deep, edged with threat—it was him. It was Kiander. The room was stunned. He continued, as if he hadn’t just dropped a thunderbolt in the middle of the table. "Now," he said, casually dusting his cuff, "let’s talk about Whitmore Enterprises." He shifted in his seat, every bit the composed magnate, and began laying out plans, strategies, and long-term investments that I ha
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
LENA'S POV The orchestra swelled, strings weaving through champagne flutes and murmured deals. Adrian’s hand settled at the small of my back, his grip firm—a remnant of our waltz rehearsals a lifetime ago. His cologne, crisp and citrus-sharp, clashed with the memory of Kian’s cedar-and-salt scent. “Still leading with your chin, I see,” Adrian murmured, twirling me effortlessly. His smile was all polished edges now, suited for boardrooms instead of ballrooms. I laughed, too bright, arching into the spin. “And you’re still counting beats under your breath.” The lie fizzed between us. Every step was precision, every dip calibrated to catch emerald cufflinks glinting across the room. Kian hadn’t so much as flickered a glance toward the dancefloor. He leaned into some silver-haired titan’s anecdote, fingers loose around his untouched Scotch. Adrian’s thumb brushed my hip. “He’s watching. “He’s not.” “Check again.” Another rotation. My garnet silk gown hissed against his tail
LENA'S POV The room grew still. Then quiet. Then silent. Kian smiled faintly. And the silence turned to stone. He was Kiander Davenport reborn in confidence, in poise, in quiet power. The room felt it. Subtle shifts—attention drawn like iron filings to a magnet. Kian raised his gaze, scanning each face around the table, one by one. His expression grew colder, harder. There was calculation in his stare. Then he smiled. And spoke. "You know, I’ve always believed snakes don’t bite unless they feel cornered. So here’s a warning: don’t get comfortable." I inhaled sharply. That voice—steady, deep, edged with threat—it was him. It was Kiander. The room was stunned. He continued, as if he hadn’t just dropped a thunderbolt in the middle of the table. "Now," he said, casually dusting his cuff, "let’s talk about Whitmore Enterprises." He shifted in his seat, every bit the composed magnate, and began laying out plans, strategies, and long-term investments that I ha
LENA'S POV The flash of cameras burst like a lightning storm the moment we stepped past the press corridor. Kian flinched beside me, his hand subtly brushing against mine. I could feel the tension in his every step, but he didn’t falter. Neither did I. We moved as one through the tunnel of lights, blinded by the glimmer of lenses and the shouts of journalists echoing off the marble walls. "Mr. Kiander! Mr. Kiander, is it really you?!" "Lena Whitmore, can we get a statement about the reappearance of the Hudsonville mogul?" "What happened five years ago? Is he really back from the dead?!" Their questions fell like rain—relentless and sharp. Kian kept his head down, his jaw clenched. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his discomfort through the weight of their stares. I stepped forward, slightly ahead, forming a silent barrier between him and the circus. "There will be a press meeting scheduled soon," I said, voice firm, eyes straight ahead. "We appreciate your interest, but t
LENA'S POV It was early afternoon when we arrived at the Hudsonville Corporate Summit, a towering structure of steel and prestige that buzzed with the scent of ambition and perfume. The glass doors glimmered beneath a grand archway etched with gold leaf, welcoming CEOs, entrepreneurs, and business royalty from every corner of the state. I adjusted the cuff of my blazer and glanced at Kian beside me. He looked stunning. Controlled. A little too controlled, if I were honest. That rigid jawline, the unreadable calm across his face—it was all a mask he wore too well. I’d seen him like this before. Not just recently. Years ago. And the murmurs confirmed I wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Wait… is that…?” “Kiander Davenport? But he’s—” “No, it’s just someone who looks like him. Can’t be.” “They say he vanished. Never found a body, though.” My hand instinctively reached for Kian’s wrist, my fingers closing around his skin. He flinched slightly at the contact, then relaxed. “They’r
Back in the office, Kian slouched into the guest chair in Lena’s room. The air was thick with numbers, paperwork, and the scent of her perfume that always lingered like a calm he hadn’t earned.She looked up from her tablet. “You look like someone kicked your sandwich across the cafeteria.”“Close,” he muttered.She raised a brow. “Want to talk about it, or should I break into a spontaneous musical number to cheer you up?”That made him laugh, a low sound he didn’t expect.“You sing?” he asked.She shrugged. “Terribly. But I dance pretty well. Especially in heels. You should see my two-step spin.”He shook his head, grinning now despite the weight on his shoulders.“Come on,” she said, setting the tablet aside. “We’re going to play a game.”“A game?”“Yeah. Something harmless. Two truths and a lie. Come on, Kiander.”He winced. “Still not used to hearing that.”She smiled gently. “Then maybe it’s time to start.”***********KIAN'S POV Lena leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a sl
The day had barely begun when Kian stepped into the building, his steps as measured and focused as they’d always been, yet something felt different. The receptionists at the front desk, who usually offered polite nods or quiet greetings, now seemed unnervingly enthusiastic."Good morning, Mr. Kiander," one of them said with a smile far too bright for the early hour. Her eyes sparkled with something beyond courtesy—awe, perhaps, or curiosity. Kian paused, lips slightly parted, wondering if he had heard wrong.Kiander?The name rang strangely in his ears, like a whisper from a dream he couldn’t quite remember. He managed a small nod and kept walking, brushing the confusion aside. Maybe she had simply misread something on the employee board.But as he moved deeper into the heart of Whitmore Enterprises, the pattern repeated."Good day, Mr. Kiander.""Sir, do you need assistance with your schedule today?""We weren't informed that Mr. Kiander would be visiting this floor today."The whisp
KIAN'S POV Her breath hovered inches from mine, the warmth of it grazing my lips, but neither of us moved. Not forward. Not away. We were suspended in that delicate space between longing and restraint, the hum of the truck’s engine whispering beneath the tension. Then, as if summoned by the universe just to mock me, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket. Lena blinked, then laughed softly, a breathy sound that stung with its suddenness. I muttered a curse under my breath and pulled away, glancing at the screen. DANNY (NEIGHBOR) I answered with a sigh. “Give me one sec.” Turning slightly away from Lena, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Yo, Kian,” Danny’s voice crackled through. “Just got the figures from the beach committee. You still good for that loan you promised? The event’s getting bigger than we thought.” I stiffened. “Yeah, it’s fine. Consider it covered.” “Cool. Just wanted to make sure before I finalize everything tomorrow.” “I’ll confirm later. Gotta run.” I hu
KIAN'S POV The ride from the hospital should’ve been quiet, maybe even heavy with the aftermath of everything that had happened. But inside the old truck, something else unfolded—something warmer, something like peace dressed in laughter. Lena sat beside me, seatbelt hugging her in a way I found myself glancing at too often. Her perfume filled the cabin, subtle and familiar. She tilted her head, sunlight catching her features just right. In the back seat, Mr. Alcante leaned against the window, propped up with pillows we’d hastily packed. He looked tired, but his eyes were still mischievous. “You hit another pothole like that,” he grunted after a particularly rough bump, “and I swear, I’ll fake another heart attack just to avoid this ride again.” I chuckled. “You could’ve taken the ambulance back.” “Yeah, and miss this comedy show? No chance.” Lena grinned, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “You sure this truck is legal? I’ve seen antique furniture with better shock absorber
KIAN'S POVThe moment the nurse waved me into the room, I didn’t hesitate.I pushed through the door with a force that startled even myself.There he was.Mr. Alcante, alive, breathing, propped up in bed with more monitors around him than I could count. He looked pale. Smaller somehow. But when his eyes met mine, that old stubborn glint was still there, and it knocked the breath clean from my lungs.I crossed the room in three steps."You stubborn bastard," I muttered, half laughing, half choking on something thicker than air as I grabbed the side rail of his bed. "You scared the living hell out of me."He grinned, a lazy, exhausted grin. "Takes more than bad plumbing to send me packing, kid."I sat down hard in the chair beside him, my hands braced on my knees. It was overwhelming relief, anger, fear all twisting together in a storm inside my chest."You had me thinking." I started, then stopped because my voice betrayed me. It cracked in the middle, made raw by the pounding inside m
LENA'S POVI found him slumped on a cracked hospital bench, his jacket bundled under his head, the exhaustion carved deep into the lines of his face. Kian slept like someone who hadn’t rested in weeks, his body still, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed shallowly.My chest tightened.I stood there for a long moment, the breakfast bag in my hands crinkling softly, forgotten. Watching him.Last night I had seen his truck speeding through the city. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, a mirage created by missing him too much. But the way he drove, fast and desperate, had torn something primal inside me. Without thinking, I followed.I trailed him across intersections, side streets, down to the waterfront, heart pounding the whole time. I saw him pull into the hospital.And then I drove back home half out of fear, half because I didn't want to smother him.I cooked. I packed his favorite breakfast, the one he used to steal bites from when he thought I wasn't looking.