Another day passed, and my phone lay silent on my desk like a forgotten promise. Three weeks. Three weeks since Logan had called me, teased me, or even bothered to send a text. At first, I’d reasoned with myself, telling myself he was just busy. Important people had business trips; they got swamped with meetings and deals. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t understand. But as the days dragged on, my patience thinned, and irritation simmered just beneath the surface. What annoyed me even more was the fact that I cared at all. I wasn’t the type to sit around waiting on anyone, yet here I was, checking my phone and getting angrier every time it stayed quiet. I hated it. Why did I feel so bothered? And, deep down, I knew. I’d let him get close enough that his silence stung, and I was frustrated with myself for letting it. With a long, steadying breath, I forced myself to set my phone aside, ignoring the pang that kept gnawing at me. Enough. I had work to do—a career to build, clients to handl
As I settled into my office, the familiar buzz of my workload surrounded me like a comforting blanket. But that comfort shattered as the door swung open, revealing Logan with a grin that felt too bright for the tension hanging between us. “Hey, Aliyah,” he called, his voice light, as if he hadn’t just dropped off the grid for the better part of a month. I didn’t look up from my computer screen. “What do you want, Logan?” I replied, keeping my tone flat and dismissive. I could feel the heat of annoyance radiating off me, but I pushed it down, focusing on the screen in front of me instead of the man standing in my office. He stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “I just wanted to explain why I haven’t been able to call,” he said, his casual demeanor faltering slightly. “It’s a long story.” “I’m sure it is,” I said curtly, refusing to give him any indication that I was even remotely interested. My heart was racing, a mix of anger and something else—something I couldn’t q
The next morning, I found myself in Logan's penthouse, standing in the center of his living room. His place was spacious, immaculate, and stylish in a way that spoke volumes about him—minimalistic yet elegant, with understated luxury. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what made me so comfortable here, but somehow, it just felt right. Well, I kind of like this feeling for some reason. Without thinking much of it, I wandered around, looking at the small details in his home—the few art pieces on the walls, the books on his shelves, the scent of his cologne that seemed to linger in every room. I opened his refrigerator, noting he didn’t keep much stocked, and made a mental note to bring some essentials over next time. Next time? Since when was I planning “next times” in his home? If there's still next time. But, of course, with this man's attitude, there would definitely be a next time.Shrugging off the thought, I helped myself to his coffee maker, rummaging through his cupboards for
As we settled into our table at the restaurant, I was glad Logan had suggested a quieter spot, away from the buzz of the main area. Lunch together felt like a small reprieve, a chance to catch up without the constant pull of work.I glanced at the menu, considering my options, when Logan’s hand slid across the table, catching mine in a warm, steady grip. His thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of my hand. For a moment, it felt like the world faded away—the restaurant, the business, the complications.But, as fate would have it, the quiet didn’t last long. Just as our food arrived, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of my eye.“Aliyah?”I froze, recognizing the voice instantly. Looking up, I met my father’s surprised gaze. He was standing just a few tables away, surrounded by a couple of business associates. I hadn’t expected to see him here, of all places.“Dad,” I said, trying to compose myself. “What a surprise.”My father’s eyes moved from me to
Aliyah was in the middle of reviewing documents when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, expecting a message from Logan or her father, maybe even a work update. Instead, her brow furrowed as she read the anonymous message:"Your father isn’t safe. Watch your back, Aliyah."A chill ran through her, but she quickly shook it off. 'Probably a prank,' she thought, forcing herself to focus on the work in front of her. But her concentration wavered, and every word on the page seemed to blur as the unsettling message lingered in her mind. It didn't make sense—who would want to threaten her father, and why?She put her phone down, taking a deep breath. 'Just focus on work,' she told herself, trying to shrug off the discomfort. But barely a moment passed before her phone started ringing, vibrating urgently on her desk.When she picked it up, an unrecognizable number flashed on the screen. She answered cautiously. "Hello?"There was a pause, and then a voice came through—low, mechanical, and ma
The call broke the quiet tension between Logan and me. I barely noticed his presence, the usual warm steadiness of him fading as my focus tunneled onto the voice coming from my phone.“Aliyah,” her voice was gentle but tense, and my stomach dropped before she even said the words. “Your father… he’s in the hospital.”Time stopped. Every sound, every detail in the room around me faded into a deafening silence, leaving only the frantic thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. I gripped the edge of my desk as if it could keep me anchored, but my mind was already spiraling.“What happened?” I barely managed, my voice thick, barely able to force the words past the dread rising in my throat. “There was an incident, but he’s stable. They’re still running some tests. Aliyah, it might be best if you come right away.”The last words were soft, but they hit me like a punch. I’d never thought I’d hear those words about my father, my strong, unbreakable dad. I dropped my phone, numb and disorient
My father’s face turned grave, the lines around his eyes deepening as he looked at me with an intensity I’d only seen a handful of times. By just doing that, I know hw has something to tell. He has something that he should tell me. I could tell that he wasn’t just worried; he was afraid, and that was new territory for both of us. My father was the kind of man who stood tall against anything, who laughed in the face of danger. But now, here he was, his eyes fixed on mine, holding a caution that sent a chill through me. Him being in danger is something not new to him but when I am involved, it's different story for him. Every since my mom died, there's only me and him and I know how scared he is. So do I. "Aliyah," he began, his voice rough but steady, "I need you to listen closely, alright? I wouldn’t ask you to get involved in something like this unless I felt I had no choice. This— it’s serious." I could feel my heart beating si fast as I could feel the heaviness of this. "More se
As I left my father’s hospital room, the weight of his words still lingered in my mind. I felt his warning pulsing like a heartbeat—constant, powerful, and impossible to ignore. It was one thing to be prepared for corporate sabotage or the usual family business drama, but this was something darker, something personal. An enemy inside our own circle. That thought alone made my skin prickle. Stepping into the hallway, I saw Logan waiting just outside, leaning casually against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. The moment he saw me, he straightened, his gaze focused, reading every flicker of emotion on my face. There was a comforting familiarity in that look. It was as if he could understand everything I was feeling without me needing to say a word. "All good?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that somehow managed to reach me over the hum of the hospital corridor. I nodded, but my mind was racing with the details of what my father and I had discussed. The enemy, the plan
Special Chapter: A Day at the Mall It was a typical Saturday afternoon, and Logan, Ethan, and I were out for a little family time at the mall. We’d just finished a fun round of window shopping and were now heading toward the food court to grab a bite. Ethan, of course, was more interested in the giant stuffed animals at the toy store, tugging at Logan’s hand as he pointed toward a huge bear. “Daddy, look! Bear!” Ethan exclaimed, his little voice full of excitement. Logan grinned and ruffled his son’s hair, nodding along. “I see it, buddy. We’ll check it out after lunch,” Logan said with a chuckle. As we strolled down the crowded walkway, a woman, tall, with platinum blonde hair and a tight-fitting dress, caught sight of Logan and smiled. She was clearly giving him the once-over, her eyes lingering a little too long. I raised an eyebrow, already sensing the energy shift around us. Ethan, oblivious to the woman’s intentions, tugged harder at Logan’s hand. But I couldn’t help but n
It was a quiet Sunday morning when I woke up to the sound of soft laughter and the rustling of blankets. My eyes fluttered open to see Logan, sitting by the edge of the bed, his hand gently brushing through our son Ethan’s hair. Ethan, barely three years old, was squirming around in the bed, his little feet kicking and giggling as Logan tried to wrangle him into a proper sitting position. “Come on, buddy,” Logan chuckled, his deep voice full of warmth. “You’ve got to let Mama sleep a little longer.” Ethan’s small, chubby fingers gripped the blankets, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he looked up at his dad. “No, Daddy! I want Mama!” he declared, a pout forming on his face. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Ethan was already a little ball of personality, full of energy and opinions. He had Logan’s eyes—bright, bold, and full of curiosity—and my smile, which he flashed every time he did something mischievous. I stretched, letting out a soft yawn before rolling over to face
One month after Logan proposed to me, we had both found our rhythm. We were deeply in love, and though the months had passed quickly, everything between us felt as though it was meant to be. Logan was exactly the kind of man I had always dreamed of, and now we had a future together—a future that started with that beautiful, unforgettable proposal by the lake.The months leading up to our wedding were a whirlwind of planning, excitement, and of course, some typical stress. Logan, surprisingly, took an active part in planning. I had always expected him to be the type to let me handle everything, but no. He was there, involved in every decision—from choosing the venue to selecting the color of the napkins. Every little detail mattered to him because, to him, it was all about making our day perfect.And finally, a year later, the day arrived—the day I had waited for all my life. Our wedding.The morning of our wedding, I was a bundle of nerves. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening.
The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft clink of plates being stacked and the occasional hum of the refrigerator. We had just finished breakfast, the warm aroma of pancakes and coffee still lingering in the air. I glanced at Logan, who had pushed his empty plate away, his eyes already shifting toward the clock. It was time for him to get ready for work. I felt a dull ache in my body, a reminder of the night before. But it didn’t stop me from feeling a warmth in my chest as I cleared the table. Logan and I shared a soft smile, the kind of smile that said everything without needing words. There was something so simple and comforting about mornings like this—just the two of us, taking things slow, enjoying each other’s presence before the world outside pulled us in different directions. Logan stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I’m gonna get ready,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “Don’t overdo it, okay?” I smiled at him, shaking my head. “I’l
I woke to the soft light of the morning creeping through the edges of the curtains. For a moment, everything felt hazy—the kind of foggy morning when you know you’ve had a good night but still feel the remnants of it in your body. The soreness hit me first. It wasn’t painful, more like a gentle ache, a reminder of last night. My skin was warm with the lingering sensation of Logan's touch, and as my hand brushed against the sheets, I could feel the marks he left behind—his hands, his lips, his warmth. It was funny, in a way. I should’ve been groaning and rolling back over to go to sleep, but instead, I felt a sense of contentment that I hadn’t realized I needed until now. The room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Logan’s soft breathing filled the space beside me, and I glanced over at him, still sound asleep, his tousled hair falling over his forehead, the covers tangled around his body. He looked peaceful—completely at ease, and it made my heart swell.
The dinner had been a tense affair, with Aliyah's father dominating the conversation, his deep voice filling the cozy dining room. Logan, sitting across from his girlfriend, Aliyah, felt a simmering impatience as he politely engaged in small talk with her father. He longed for the moment they would be alone, away from the scrutinizing eyes of her parent. Aliyah, with her dark, sultry eyes and full lips, seemed to sense his restlessness, a mischievous smile playing on her face throughout the meal. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aliyah's father stood, his tall frame towering over the table. "Well, I should be heading off. You two enjoy the rest of your evening." He gave a warm smile, seemingly oblivious to the electric tension crackling between the young couple. As soon as the front door clicked shut, Logan was in motion. He rounded the table in a swift stride, his eyes locked on Aliyah. Her heart raced as she watched him approach, knowing what was to come. With a swift,
The sun filtered through the hospital blinds, painting the walls with soft streaks of gold. It was my discharge day, and I couldn’t be happier. After days of recovering in the sterile environment of the hospital, I was ready to feel the fresh air on my face and return to normal life. Logan had been by my side throughout, his steady presence a source of comfort, and my father had dropped by regularly, bringing a mix of concern and teasing to keep me grounded. I was halfway through packing my belongings when the door opened, and in strolled my father, Oliver Whitmore, with his usual air of authority. His sharp suit, as always, was impeccable, but the warmth in his eyes softened his otherwise commanding demeanor. He stopped near the bed and gave me a once-over. “Well, look at you, Miss Whitmore,” he began with a mock-serious tone. “Out of bed, moving around, looking like you’re ready to conquer the world again.” I smirked as I folded the last of my things. “It’s about time, don’t y
It had been a few days since I’d gotten out of the hospital, and I was slowly regaining my energy. The fog in my head was clearing, and for the first time in a while, I felt like myself again. The tension that had been hanging in the air between me and Logan had faded, and I could sense a familiar comfort returning between us. Logan had barely left my side since the incident. He was always there—whether it was bringing me food, keeping me company, or making sure I had everything I needed. I could tell he was worried, but he never said a word. His presence alone was enough to make me feel safe. That evening, a few of my friends stopped by to check on me. Perlas, Iris, and even Ben made an appearance, bringing laughter and warmth to the room. We spent hours talking, reminiscing about old memories, and catching up. But through it all, I couldn’t help but notice Logan sitting quietly beside me, his eyes always on me, making sure I was okay. At one point, I caught him staring at me f
The soft rustling of the hospital room faded as I sat up in bed, slowly peeling back the covers. I hadn’t realized how much the weight of everything had been hanging on me until now—how long it had been since I felt like I could finally breathe easy. As I was idly stirring my breakfast, lost in thought, the door creaked open. My head snapped up, expecting to see one of the nurses, but instead, I was met with the familiar sight of my father. I blinked, not sure if I was imagining things. My heart leapt in my chest at the sight of him. It was a rare thing to see him drop the composed act, and yet, there he was, standing in the doorway, his face a strange mix of concern and relief. “Dad?” I said, my voice catching in my throat. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He just stood there, looking at me with those tired eyes of his, his lips parted like he was trying to find the right words. It hit me then—how much he must’ve been worrying, how much he must’ve felt helpless, and the realizat