Emily's POV
7 years later. Present. The moment I stepped out of the sleek black Rolls-Royce, a wave of flashing lights blinded me. The cameras clicked furiously, each one trying to capture the perfect shot. The air buzzed with the sound of reporters shouting my name, their questions tumbling over one another in a chaotic mess. “Miss Hart! Over here!” “Emily, are you planning to expand the company this year?” “Can we get a comment on your rise to success at such a young age?” I adjusted the lapel of my tailored cream pantsuit, my favorite pair of Louboutin heels clicking against the pavement as I strode forward. My face remained poised, composed—a faint smile playing on my lips as my bodyguards flanked me, creating a barrier between me and the overzealous crowd. I didn’t answer their questions. Not yet. I let the confidence radiate from me, my chin held high as I walked toward the entrance of the grand event hall. The paparazzi were relentless, their lenses tracking my every move, but I was used to it by now. This was my life. The youngest, most successful female CEO in the city—Emily Hart. The doors to the hall opened, and the chaos outside was replaced by the refined elegance of the event within. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. I paused for a moment, taking it all in. My father’s friends—men who had dominated the industrial sector for decades—milled about, champagne flutes in hand, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of classical music. A tall figure emerged from the crowd—my father. His proud smile was unmistakable as he made his way toward me, his hand outstretched. “There she is,” he said warmly, his voice full of pride. “The woman of the hour.” “Dad,” I said, shaking his hand before pulling him into a brief hug. “You’re the one who built this empire. I’m just steering the ship.” “And you’re doing a damn fine job of it,” he replied, his eyes crinkling with genuine pride. As we moved further into the room, several high-profile figures turned their attention to me. One by one, they came forward to introduce themselves, their words dripping with admiration and curiosity. “Emily, I’ve heard so much about you,” one man said, extending his hand. “Henry Calloway, CEO of Calloway Industries. Your work in the tech sector has been impressive, to say the least.” “Thank you, Mr. Calloway,” I replied, my tone polite yet assertive. “We’ve been focusing on innovation and sustainability—it’s the way forward, don’t you think?” Another woman, dressed in an elegant black gown, approached next. “Emily, I’m Evelyn Carter. Your partnership with GreenTech last quarter was brilliant. You’re setting a new standard for leadership.” “Thank you, Ms. Carter,” I said with a small smile. “We believe collaboration is key. No empire is built in isolation.” The conversations flowed seamlessly, each exchange reinforcing the respect I’d worked so hard to earn. My father stood nearby, watching with an expression that spoke volumes. He was proud of me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I truly belonged in his world. As the evening progressed, I moved through the crowd with ease, exchanging greetings and pleasantries, my confidence unwavering. I was no longer the girl who had been humiliated in a university hallway. No longer the girl whose tears had blurred her vision as she ran from the cruel laughter. I was Emily Hart, CEO of Hart Enterprises. And this was my moment. The applause was deafening as I stood at the podium, staring out at the sea of well-dressed professionals who had gathered for tonight’s event. My speech had started smoothly, detailing Hart Enterprises’ vision for the future and the strides we’d made in sustainable development. I spoke with the confidence of someone who had clawed her way to the top, earning every bit of respect the room gave me. But then he walked in. At first, I wasn’t sure it was real. The double doors at the back of the hall opened with a subtle yet undeniable presence, and in strode a man surrounded by bodyguards. His dark, tailored suit hugged his tall, broad frame perfectly, and his chiseled jawline was more defined than I remembered. My stomach churned as his familiar, self-assured smirk spread across his face, and I recognized him instantly. Cole Grayson. The same Cole who had humiliated me all those years ago. The same Cole who had ruined my self-worth, made me the laughingstock of my peers, and drove me to transfer schools just to escape the endless torment. He looked... different. Older. More polished. But the arrogance in his stride and the casual way he adjusted his cufflinks told me he hadn’t changed one bit. My breath caught in my throat, and my carefully rehearsed words faltered. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but my brain was screaming at me to run. “…and that’s why… um… innovation is at the core of Hart Enterprises,” I said, my voice uneven. I caught my father’s concerned glance from the front row and knew I had to wrap this up before I completely lost my composure. “Thank you for your time,” I concluded hastily, stepping away from the microphone as applause erupted. I descended the stage, plastering a neutral expression on my face even as my heart raced wildly. The moment I was out of the spotlight, I exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady myself. How could he be here? Why was he here? I quickly regained my composure, smoothing my suit and joining the mingling crowd. The event was winding down, with guests exchanging pleasantries and business cards. My father beckoned me over, standing beside Nicholas Grayson, one of his longtime friends and a prominent figure in the industry. “Emily,” my father said, his voice brimming with pride. “I want you to meet Nicholas’s son, Cole. He just got back to town after spending three years abroad managing Grayson Corp’s international operations.” My entire body stiffened as Cole turned to face me, his expression unreadable but professional. “Emily Hart,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. His voice was deeper now, more refined, but it still carried that maddening air of superiority I remembered all too well. I stared at his hand but didn’t take it. Instead, I met his gaze with a cold, neutral expression and nodded curtly. “Mr. Grayson,” I said simply, keeping my voice flat. Cole raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my reaction, but he quickly recovered. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, lowering his hand. “Hart Enterprises has been making waves recently. Impressive work.” I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned to my father and began discussing an unrelated topic, deliberately ignoring Cole as if he were a ghost. My father, oblivious to the tension, beamed at us both. “Isn’t it great to see the next generation taking the reins, Nicholas?” he said, clapping Nicholas on the back. Nicholas nodded, smiling warmly. “Absolutely. We should schedule a meeting for these two to discuss potential collaborations. What do you think, Cole?” Cole glanced at me, his jaw tightening slightly. “Of course. I’d be happy to.” I didn’t even acknowledge his words, my focus entirely on my father. “I’ll check my schedule,” I said, my tone dismissive. The men continued talking, but I tuned them out, my mind swirling with memories I’d buried for years. Cole had no idea who I was—or at least, he pretended not to. But I remembered him. I remembered the way his words had cut me like knives, the way his mocking laughter had echoed in my ears for weeks. I remembered the shame, the tears, the relentless whispers and stares from my classmates. And I remembered the video, immortalizing my humiliation on the school blog for everyone to see. That humiliation had shaped me, hardened me. It had driven me to become the woman I was today—smart, confident, and untouchable. But seeing him again brought back every ounce of pain and rage I’d buried. As the men continued their conversation, I excused myself and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble floor. I needed space, air, anything to stop the memories from flooding back. Cole Grayson had come back into my life. And I despised him with every fiber of my being.Cole's POV I leaned against the sleek black car parked outside the industrial event hall, watching the last of the guests trickle out. The evening had gone as expected, with handshakes and back-patting from the old guard, a few promising discussions about potential mergers, and, of course, the usual fawning admiration. Everyone wanted a piece of Cole Grayson. Everyone, that is, except Emily Hart. I shoved my hands into my pockets and let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. Emily Hart. She hadn’t just ignored my handshake…she’d downright dismissed me, as though I were some insignificant pest. No one had ever treated me like that, not in all my thirty years. “Too full of herself,” I muttered under my breath. “That’s what she is.” But there was something else about her, something that gnawed at the edges of my mind. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she seemed familiar. The curve of her face, the fire in her eyes when she looked at me…it wasn’t just confidence. It was somethin
Emily's POV. The air in my father’s study was thick with tension, and my voice rose so high that I thought the walls might actually crack. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor, my heels clicking like gunfire. “You expect me to marry Cole Grayson? That arrogant, self-absorbed…” I stopped mid-rant, my chest heaving, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You can’t be serious!” My father, ever the picture of calmness, sat in his leather chair, his elbows resting on the armrests, his hands folded neatly in front of him. He regarded me with the same infuriating neutrality he used in board meetings. It was like yelling at a wall. “Yes, Emily,” he said, his voice maddeningly steady. “I mean it. You’re going to marry Cole Grayson.” My jaw dropped. I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. “You’re actually serious?” I demanded, the disbelief clear in my voice. “You want me to marry him? Today, I meet him for the first time in ye
Emily's POV. The tension in the air was suffocating. My hands were still clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms, but it didn’t make the fury any easier to hold back. I had spent my entire life thinking I had control over my destiny, but now? Now I felt like I was just a pawn in some cruel game between two powerful men. My father, the one person I thought I could trust, was willing to trade me like a commodity. And for what? For him. For Cole. Cole sat across from me, a wall of cold indifference between us. His jaw was tight, his eyes never meeting mine, his posture stiff and uncomfortable. The silence between us was heavy, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that made you think there was still something left to say. No, this silence was suffocating, each passing moment a reminder that this…this situation was happening, and there was nothing I could do about it. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I can’t do this, Emily," he said, as if forcing the words out of
Emily's POV. A week ago, I thought the world couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong. The chaos of that evening was nothing compared to the slow suffocation I’d been enduring since. Every second of every day had been a reminder of my entrapment, and now, here I was…sitting in the room of Cole’s father’s house, being painted and polished for a wedding I wanted no part of. “Hold still,” the makeup artist scolded, her tone sharp as she grabbed my chin and angled my face. “Stop frowning, or the eyeliner will smudge.” I clenched my fists in my lap, resisting the urge to shove her hand away. My jaw ached from how tightly I’d been clenching it, and my shoulders were stiff from the tension I couldn’t seem to shake. The more she worked, the more I felt like I was being turned into someone else…someone I didn’t recognize and certainly didn’t want to be. “There, perfect,” she said finally, stepping back with a satisfied smile. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t thank her. I didn’t care. The s
Emily's POV. The church bells had chimed, their hollow sound echoing in my ears as I stepped into the grand space. My stomach churned with every step I took, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. The air smelled of roses and incense, a sickening combination that made my throat tighten. My hands clenched the bouquet of white roses so tightly I felt the thorns pressing into my palms. Around me, people beamed with joy, their eyes glittering with excitement. They didn’t see the farce unfolding before them. They didn’t see the hatred. At the altar, Cole stood tall, his posture rigid, his expression a mask of cold detachment. He was maddeningly perfect in his suit, his dark hair flawlessly styled. I hated him for it. I hated him for everything. My fingers dug deeper into the bouquet, the pain grounding me as I forced myself forward. He didn’t look at me. Not once. Good. I didn’t want him to. The ceremony began, the priest’s voice echoing through the towering stone walls. Th
Cole’s POVI pushed the hotel room door open, already exhausted from the day’s circus. The stench of roses hit me first, cloying and artificial, a reminder of the mockery of a wedding we’d just gone through. Everything about this room screamed over-the-top luxury, from the gold-trimmed wallpaper to the massive bed in the center. My father’s bed. The same one he probably used for his countless affairs.Disgust curled in my stomach. I wasn’t touching that thing.Wonder why it was his bed? This was his hotel and the bed was the biggest size.Emily was already on the couch, wrapped in every single pillow, looking smug as hell. She’d changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her hair messily tied back after she’d ripped out her hairpins like she was fighting off an attack.She looked like she was settling in for a peaceful night’s sleep. Too bad for her…I wasn’t letting this slide.I shut the door harder than necessary. “You took all the pillows.”Emily didn’t even open her eyes. “So?”I s
Emily's POV. The first thing I saw when I woke up was Cole. Not on the bed. Not even on the chair. On the floor. I sat up on the couch, rubbing my eyes, trying to make sense of it. This idiot had actually chosen to sleep on the floor instead of the ridiculously huge bed that his father had arranged for us. I hated the man, but even I had to admit that was a level of stupid I hadn’t expected. My gaze dropped to his face. His jaw was tight even in sleep, like he was still scowling at me in his dreams. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out, one foot slightly twitching. For a second, I was tempted, really tempted…to stomp on his foot. Just a little. Just enough to wake him up with a nice jolt of pain. But I held back. Last night had been funny for me, even though I despised him with every bone in my body. Watching him struggle to calm his whiny girlfriend had been pure entertainment. The way his face had twisted in disgust when he swore he’d rather r
Emily's POVThis was already the worst honeymoon ever, but somehow, life just kept finding new ways to make it worse.I sat on the stupid boat, arms crossed, staring out at the ocean while Cole lounged beside me like he didn’t have a single care in the world. The tour guide was going on and on about some historical nonsense, but I wasn’t listening. I didn’t care. The only reason I was here was because Cole’s father had booked the damn thing, and backing out would’ve given him more reasons to be an insufferable control freak.Cole shifted, stretching out his legs like he owned the place. “You look thrilled,” he muttered, not even glancing at me.“Wow. It only took you thirty minutes to notice?” I shot back, arms still crossed.He smirked. “What? You don’t like the ocean?”“I don’t like being stuck on a boat with you.”His smirk widened like he found that funny. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”I rolled my eyes and turned away, watching the water. The sky had been bright when we got on,
Smith’s POVThe Hart Enterprise 50th Anniversary Gala was perfect.Every inch of the ballroom screamed success. The walls, lined with art and gold accents, reflected the soft shimmer of crystal chandeliers. The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and fresh flowers, the latter arranged in massive, white-topped vases at every corner. I surveyed it all…took it in from the balcony before stepping down to join the crowd below.It was a night that I had meticulously planned. Years of hard work, of seeing opportunities and risks like no one else, and now, it all led here. Every seat in the room was occupied. Every person invited was a mover, a shaker, an influencer. The type of people who understood what it meant to be at the top.I adjusted the cuffs of my black tuxedo…custom-made, obviously. Not a thread out of place. My watch gleamed under the soft lighting as I looked out at the sea of faces below. The night was unfolding as I had imagined. Every detail was perfect. Every piece in p
Stevie-Lou’s POVThree days.It had been three days since we lowered my father into the ground.Three days since I stood beside his casket, dressed in black, staring down at the man who raised me…silent and still beneath a polished wooden lid. Three days of hearing strangers murmur things like “He was a good man” and “So sorry for your loss,” as if their condolences could glue together the splintered mess inside my chest.They couldn’t. Nothing could.The grief was a living thing. It clung to me like a second skin, heavy and suffocating, curling around my lungs every time I tried to breathe. I sat curled up on the sagging couch in my apartment, wrapped in my father’s old flannel shirt, my knees tucked under me like a scared little girl. A single candle burned on the coffee table. Sandalwood…his favorite scent. The flame danced, throwing shadows against the walls, soft and flickering. It was the only light I could stand. The overhead bulbs were too harsh, too alive.Jeremy, my boyfrien
Smith's POV.I leaned back in my chair slowly, the leather squeaking. I didn’t speak. Just stared at James.His hands were twitchy. Fidgety. Like he didn’t know what to do with them."Is that all?" I finally asked.He blinked. Like he expected me to say something else. Anything else."Yes, sir. I just thought... you should know."I scoffed. "Why?"He flinched. "Well, he worked here since before you were born.""Exactly," I said, cutting him off. "Which means he had years to prepare. Retirement fund. Family. Friends. A damn GoFundMe if he wanted."James didn’t speak."You think it was my job to save him?" I asked, eyes narrowing.He shook his head quickly. "No, sir. Of course not.""Good. Because it wasn’t. This isn’t a charity."The silence in the room tightened. James looked at the floor."He was desperate," he mumbled.I stood up slowly. Walked around the desk until I was a few steps from him."Let me ask you something, James. If I give 1.3 million to a dying man with a bad heart, h
Smith POV.I was 27. Young. Cold. Successful. Ruthless.CEO of the Hart Enterprise.People feared me. And that was fine. Fear keeps people in check. I didn’t have time for emotions or second chances. Not in this world. Not in business. One mistake could bring it all crashing down.I sat behind my office desk…black, clean…just like everything else in my life. The skyline of New York stood outside my glass window. Everyone out there had a dream. I was already living mine. But it didn’t come easy.I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I wasn’t meant to exist.My father, Richard Hart, never wanted me. He wasn’t married when he met my mother, Lena. His first wife…Emily’s mother…had already left him. Walked away. No cheating involved. That chapter had ended.Eight years later, he met my mother. It was just a one-night stand. Nothing more. A stupid decision. When she found out she was pregnant and told him, he turned into a monster.He tortured her. Pressured her. Told her to get rid of me.But
Married To The Billionaire I Hate Part 2Synopsis:Stevie-Lou Parker’s world shattered the day her father, a loyal employee of Smith Hart, died after being denied a loan for his treatment. Smith Hart, the ruthless billionaire, refused to help, and her father paid the price. Consumed with rage, Stevie-Lou swore revenge on the man who caused her family’s downfall.To get close to him, Stevie-Lou went undercover, hiding her true identity. She lied about her name and used a disguise so Smith would never suspect she was the daughter of the man whose death he had caused. Using her beauty and talent as a skilled dancer, Stevie-Lou captivated Smith with a performance that left him wanting more. He fell in love, believing she was just another woman to add to his collection.But for Stevie-Lou, this was never about love…it was about revenge. She married him, planning to strip him of everything he held dear: his wealth, his power, his empire. What Smith didn’t know was that Stevie-Lou wasn’t alo
Emily's POV.Six years later.I couldn't believe how much everything had changedm..and how much I had changed. I used to be a woman who could take on anything with a smile, fighting tooth and nail for what I wanted, getting my way, keeping my guard up. Now, I was a wife, a mother to two wild kids who were way too much like me for comfort, and I was somehow still trying to find the balance. Cole and I had two little monsters. I meant that in the most loving way, of course. A five-year-old girl who thought she knew everything, and a three-year-old boy who was already calm enough to be mistaken for a mini version of his father.I looked over at Mia, our daughter, as she flipped through her book on the couch, muttering to herself. “Mom, you know you can’t just say things like that. The truth is like…” She paused, squinting up at me, “...it’s like a key. It opens doors. And if you don’t have the key, well, you’re locked out. Simple logic. Honestly.”I blinked, my fork halfway to my mouth
Emily's POV.I could feel the tightness in my chest as I walked into the hospital room. The usual weird smell of the hospital hit me instantly, but it didn’t matter. My feet were heavy, like each step took more out of me than it should. I didn’t know what I expected walking in here, but seeing him like this…injured, bruised, bandaged…was almost too much.Cole was sitting upright in the bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he adjusted the position of the IV that was attached to his arm. His face, though familiar, looked a little different. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his hair was messy, falling loosely across his forehead. His eyes…those eyes that could melt anyone with a single glance…were narrowed at the screen in front of him. His left hand was holding a small tablet, and I saw the footage of the trial. It was the video of what happened in court …Vanessa, shackled, dragged in like she was nothing. I saw the shot of her standing in the courtroom, struggling to keep
Vanessa's POV.They brought me in through the back. Shackled. Dressed in orange. I could feel every damn eye in that courtroom the moment the doors opened.Phones were out. Cameras. People whispering. Judging. Hating.I used to walk through halls with power in my step, people hanging onto my words, afraid to cross me. Now, the guards shoved me forward like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t the Vanessa Monroe.The courtroom was colder than I remembered. The lights too bright. Too many people. Too many eyes. My throat was dry, and not a soul here gave a damn.The judge didn’t look up as I was led to the defendant’s table. He was flipping through a file…my file…thicker than a Bible.I sat. Hands cuffed. Ankles chained. Heart racing. Face burning.And then I saw her.Emily.Sitting there in the front row like she owned the damn place. Like she wasn’t two months pregnant with the child I tried to erase along with her.Her head was high. Shoulders back. Lips painted blood red. Her arms crossed l
Emily's POV.Hours passed. Again.The ICU lights didn’t dim. Nurses kept coming in and out. Adjusting tubes. Checking monitors. Writing things down without saying a word to me. One of them offered me a blanket. Another brought me water I didn’t touch. I couldn’t drink. Couldn’t eat. My stomach was twisted into a hundred knots.Cole hadn’t moved.Not even a twitch.I kept waiting for something. A flick of his fingers. A twitch of an eyelid. A miracle.But the machines kept beeping the same way. Monotonous. Cold. Consistent.My fingers stayed laced with his. Even though he couldn’t squeeze back.The door creaked open again.Footsteps. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just... steady.I turned, and there she was.Lena.Smith's mom.She looked like she’d driven straight from hell to get here. Hair in a bun that had long since given up. Dark circles under her eyes. Clothes wrinkled, boots dusty. Her eyes locked on me, then flicked to Cole. Her jaw clenched."Is he…?" she didn’t finish the question