KIAN'S POV The morning light crept in through the wooden slats of the old cabin, casting thin golden rays across the walls. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore hummed in the distance, steady, relentless. I lay still in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the faint pulse of pain behind my temples. The dull ache of a hangover. Again. I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. I had drunk too much last night. Not because of joy. Not because of sorrow. Because of her. Her presence yesterday, questioning me about me remembering her, like I knew her before. Ransacking my brains for clues, she was nowhere to be found in my memory, a action which infuriates me, knowing she’s strikingly familiar and related to me. I turned onto my side, but the restless feeling gnawed at my chest. Sleep had been fleeting, fragmented—haunted by images I couldn’t quite piece together. A woman beneath the golden lights. Dark, piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, filled with som
LENA'S POV The morning hum of Whitmore Enterprises was as relentless as ever—keyboards clattered in perfect rhythm, phones rang with urgency, and the hushed yet hurried voices of employees filled the air as they moved between departments, carrying out their carefully orchestrated routines. He revolving doors of Whitmore Enterprises exhaled a frost-kissed breath as I stepped through them, Manhattan’s February bite clinging to my wool coat like a jealous lover. Inside, the air tasted of sterilized ambition—lemon polish and freshly ground Ethiopian coffee, the perfume of corporate gods. My Louboutins clicked a staccato rhythm across marble floors as employees parted before me like the Red Sea, their murmured ”Good morning, Miss Whitmore” dissolving into the hum of ringing phones and humming printers. This temple of steel and glass answered to my commands now, every gleaming surface and whispered rumor bending to the weight of a name etched in generational wealth. My empire. The
LENA'S POV The day had already been long, filled with distractions I wasn’t ready to face. First, the valentine’s package that sent my heart spiraling into uncertainty. Then, the incident with Hannah, where I shocked even myself by showing restraint instead of letting my frustrations dictate my actions. I wasn’t myself today. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. And just as I was about to retreat into my office, desperate for a moment of silence, the sound of a furious voice snapped me back to reality. “Miss Whitmore!” I turned just in time to see a man storming through the office, his expression dark with frustration. Behind him, two of my employees—Daniel and Claire—were scrambling to de-escalate the situation before it exploded into something that would disrupt the entire floor. I recognized him immediately. Mr. Raymond Carter. A long-time investor and, most importantly, a recent client who had purchased a large plot of land from Whitmore Real
LENA'S POV The Price of The office had settled into its usual rhythm—calls being made, deals being closed, and employees moving like well-oiled machinery. But I barely registered any of it. Not after what I had just seen. Not after Kian. I sat in my chair, staring blankly at my computer screen, my mind still reeling from the sight of him on that stage, accepting an award for being an "upcoming" entrepreneur. Kian, who had once been a multi-billionaire, now being presented as if he were just getting started? Nothing about it made sense. Had he lost everything? Had he been playing a role? Or worse… Had he deliberately erased his past? A sharp vibration against my desk pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glanced at my phone, my stomach clenching the moment I saw the name flashing across the screen. Grandfather. I sighed, rubbing my temple. I had a feeling I knew exactly what this was about. After a brief moment of hesitation, I pressed accept an
LENA'S POV The soft hum of the city night barely reached my penthouse, muffled by the thick walls of my solitude. I had spent the entire drive home replaying the events of the day, the conversations, the disappointments, the unshakable ghost of Kian Davenport lurking in my thoughts.But now, as I stood in my living room, staring at the valentine’s package on the coffee table, a different kind of tension settled over me.I had avoided opening it all day, as if delaying the inevitable would somehow change the outcome.Deep down, I knew why.I had foolishly hoped.Hoped that when I opened the package, it would be from him. That Kian had sent it as some kind of silent confession. A recognition that he still remembered me.My fingers trembled as I reached for the silk ribbon, slowly untying the bow before lifting the lid.Inside, an array of roses lay in perfect arrangement, their scent instantly filling the space around me. Beneath them, a velvet-wrapped jewelry box sat nestled in betwee
LENA'S POV The next morning, I woke up with a plan—deal with Harlin, and find Kian.But my mother had other ideas.“Lena, we’re going to the dealership. You need a new car.”I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Mother, I already have six.”She waved off my complaint. “And now you’ll have seven. You’ve been driving the same Range Rover for over a year. It’s time for an upgrade.”I sighed, already knowing that arguing with Vivian Whitmore was pointless. Once she decided on something, it was as good as done.So that was how I found myself in the backseat of our Bentley, heading toward one of the most exclusive car dealerships in Hudsonville, with my mother sitting beside me, scrolling through her tablet as if this was just another business transaction.An Argument Waiting to Happen“You should be focusing on Whitmore Enterprises more,” my mother said suddenly, without looking up.I raised an eyebrow. “I run the company, Mother. What more do you want?”She turned to me, her piercing gaze unre
LENA'S POVThe sun was beginning to dip behind the skyline of Hudsonville, casting long shadows across the rooftop café. It was quiet here—removed from the traffic, the chaos, the legacy.Just the two of us.Me and Kian Davenport.The man I loved. The man I lost. The man who now sat across from me like a stranger.I watched him, unsure of whether to speak first. He looked composed, impossibly still, dressed in muted grey and black—understated, elegant, guarded.He offered a small nod when I sat down. “Lena.”The way he said my name still made my stomach tighten.“Thanks for agreeing to meet up. I could tell you're a very busy person.” I said, folding my hands in my lap.Kian gave a faint smile, nothing behind it. “I figured I owed you at least that much. The gala was… unexpected.”I looked at him carefully. “You mean pretending not to know me in front of a crowd?”His smile faded just slightly. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel.”“No,” I said, a little sharper than I meant. “You never were
KIAN'S POV I hadn’t expected to spend the day with Mr. Alcante. In fact, I hadn’t planned on spending it with anyone. But when he knocked on my door that morning, weathered hat in one hand, a mischievous smile on his face, and a backpack slung over his shoulder, I knew whatever he had in mind would be far from quiet. “We’re going to the city,” he announced. I raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you leave the beach?” “Since today. There’s a carnival. Once a year. Big, bright, loud. Come on, you need it.” Before I could protest, he was already halfway down the path that led away from the cottage."I don't think this is a good idea. I'll prefer to stay in and work on my company's portfolio.""Work, work, work. Is all you do recently. We're not getting any younger, you know?" He responded."I know, and that's why I'm trying to retire the both of us. I want to be able to comfortably buy a large mansion for you at the city, before the year runs out." I said, a smile plastered across my f
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