Emily’s POVThe sound of the gunshot still rang in my ears, but my brain struggled to process what had just happened.My father…Richard Hart…lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor. Blood spread from his chest, soaking into his once-neat suit. His eyes were open, but there was no life left in them.He was dead.I stared at his body, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. My chest felt tight, like something heavy had settled on top of it, making it impossible to breathe.A strange, choking noise left my throat before I realized it was me.Mateo chuckled, spinning the gun on his finger before handing it back to one of his men. "Well, that was dramatic," he muttered, wiping his hands on his pants like Richard’s death had somehow dirtied them.My head snapped up."You…" My voice cracked, raw with fury. "You son of a bitch!"Mateo barely spared me a glance. "Oh, don’t act like you cared, Emily. The man treated you like trash your whole life."I jerked forward, but the ropes held me back.
Cole’s POVFew hours earlier.The second my phone rang, I knew something was wrong.I was already on edge, my gut telling me that something didn’t sit right. Emily was supposed to be safe at the cabin. It wasn’t a permanent place, just a temporary stop while we figured out our next move. But the second I saw the name flashing on my screen…one of my men guarding her…something inside me tensed.I swiped to answer. “Talk.”Heavy breathing. Then a voice, rushed and strained. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”My grip tightened around the phone. “What kind of problem?”A pause. Then, “Two of our guys are dead. Execution style. Emily was taken.”Everything around me blurred. The chatter in the car, the hum of the engine, even the weight of my gun resting on my thigh…it all faded.“What?” My voice was low, deadly.“We didn’t see them coming. It was clean, professional. They hit fast and hard. Emily’s gone, and we’ve got no idea where they took her.”I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep my ang
Emily’s POVThe rain was everywhere. In my hair, in my eyes, soaking through my clothes like a second skin. The wind howled so loud it felt like the whole world was screaming, but nothing was louder than the storm inside me. My pulse pounded in my ears, my breathing was uneven, and my body ached from the bruises and cuts Mateo had left on me.But none of that mattered.Because right now, all I saw was my father’s blood on Mateo’s hands.His grip on my arm was tight, his fingers pressing into my already sore skin as he dragged me toward the edge of the cliff. My boots struggled against the wet ground, slipping on the mud, but he yanked me forward without care.“Fucking hell, you are the most difficult young woman I’ve ever dealt with,” Mateo growled, his voice strained with frustration. His grip tightened painfully, his breath ragged. “Never in my life have I gone through this much shit just for a pussy.”I saw red.I twisted in his grip, my free hand swinging up. Slap. The sound crack
Cole’s POVThe church was packed.Rows of people, all dressed in black. The men in expensive suits, the women in elegant dresses that screamed wealth and power. It wasn’t just a funeral…it was an event. The kind only reserved for men like Richard Hart.Billionaire. Business mogul. Ruthless strategist.And now, a dead man.White lilies surrounded the altar, their scent thick in the air, almost suffocating. The coffin sat in the center, gleaming under the dim lights of the church. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, polished to perfection. Everything about this funeral was excessive, grand, like Richard had planned it himself.I kept my eyes on Emily.She stood at the front, beside her mother, her back straight, her jaw tight. She wasn’t crying. She hadn’t cried once since her father died. Not at the wake. Not today. Not in the days leading up to this.But I knew her.I knew what restraint looked like.She was holding it all in.She wore a long, black dress, the fabric hugging her figure in
Cole’s POVThe post-funeral reception was held at Richard Hart’s estate…a massive, sprawling mansion that screamed wealth and power.The kind of place where every corner had been meticulously designed to impress.Expensive art lined the walls. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, their lights low to match the somber mood. Waiters in black suits moved silently through the crowd, offering glasses of aged whiskey and champagne.But no one was here to drink.They were here to watch.Richard Hart was dead. And now, the question that lingered in the air, unspoken but loud, was…what happens next?I kept my eyes on Emily.She stood near the grand staircase, her posture rigid, her hands clasped together. The funeral had drained the color from her face, but there was still a fire in her eyes. A sharp, unyielding fire that dared anyone to challenge her.She wasn’t grieving like a daughter who lost a father.She was calculating.Because Emily Hart knew better than anyone that grief wasn’t
Emily’s POVIt had been a few days since Smith came into my life, and I was already starting to realize something…being a big sister was hard. Like, really hard.I had no idea what I was doing.I was used to handling powerful men in business meetings, shutting down corporate sharks who thought they could intimidate me, and standing my ground in rooms full of people waiting for me to fail. But a four-year-old? That was an entirely different battlefield.Smith was quiet, too quiet. He hardly spoke, and when he did, it was short, simple sentences that left me scrambling to figure out what he was thinking. He wasn’t scared of me, not exactly, but he watched me like I was an unpredictable storm…like I could do something crazy at any moment, and he needed to be prepared.Which, fair. I was unpredictable.And I had no idea how to be soft.I never had siblings growing up. I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like. Was there some kind of switch that flipped inside you? Some natural insti
Emily's POV.It had been a good week, or at least, as good as things could be when you were trying to figure out how to be a big sister while still managing your life. Smith and I had started to settle into a rhythm. It wasn’t perfect…hell, half the time, I still had no idea what I was doing…but we were getting there. He talked a little more, asked me things, and even reached for my hand when we crossed the street. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.So when Lena showed up to take him back, I wasn’t ready.She stood at the door, her designer sunglasses perched on top of her head, arms crossed, watching as Smith clung to the hem of my jacket. There was something stiff in the way she held herself, like she was measuring her words, careful not to say the wrong thing. Her eyes flickered between me and Smith, hesitating before she spoke.“I told you I’d be back today,” she said, her voice smooth, but I caught the careful edge to it, like she was choosing her tone wisely.I knew she
Cole's POV.I stood outside Emily’s bedroom door, one hand braced against the frame. I had knocked. I had called her name. I had waited. But all I got was silence.She was in there. I knew it. I could hear the occasional rustle, the shift of footsteps, the creak of the bed. But she wouldn’t answer me.Smith had clung to her the morning he left. He had turned back three times before Lena had finally ushered him into the car. And Emily? She had just stood by the window, watching. Her face was unreadable.I had expected her to break down afterward. Maybe cry. Maybe scream. Maybe throw something. But she didn’t. Instead, she shut down completely.Now, it had been two days. Two days of her not coming out. Two days of her refusing to eat.I exhaled sharply and leaned my forehead against the door. “Emily,” I said, my voice lower this time. “I know you’re in there. And I know you’re not okay.”Nothing.I raked a hand through my hair. Fine. If she needed space, I would give it to her. But that
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