The sunlight streamed through the large windows of Logan’s penthouse as I stepped inside, clutching a to-do list in one hand and my phone in the other. The familiar scent of his cologne lingered in the air, wrapping me in a sense of comfort. I had spent countless days here, and it always felt like a second home. Today, however, it felt different—transitional. This wasn’t just about packing; it was about closing a chapter. Our new house was waiting, full of potential and excitement, but first, we needed to decide what to bring with us and what to leave behind. After dropping my bag on the kitchen counter, I called Diane to confirm our plans. “Diane, can you and Marla coordinate with someone to handle the larger furniture pieces? Logan mentioned we could donate most of it, and I think it’ll be a meaningful gesture.” “Of course, Aliyah,” Diane replied promptly. “I’ll have Marla reach out to a few organizations. Do you need help packing today?” “I do, actually,” I admitted. “Logan
The penthouse was unnervingly quiet when I walked in, carrying a small suitcase and a determined mindset. Most of Logan’s things were already packed and sent to our new home, but there were still a few stragglers left behind. The once bustling, luxurious space now felt hollow, a mere shell of what it had been. But I wasn’t here for nostalgia. Sure, this place held memories—our first late-night movie marathon on the couch, the impromptu dance in the kitchen after a stressful day, and countless mornings where Logan brewed coffee while I teased him about his bedhead. But that was all they were—memories. Our future awaited us elsewhere. I set my bag down and walked toward Logan’s closet, mentally ticking off the things I still needed to pack. Just as I was about to get started, a knock at the door broke the silence. My brow furrowed. Diane and Marla weren’t supposed to be here today, and Logan hadn’t mentioned anyone coming over. Curious, I made my way to the door and opened it, onl
As Aliyah stepped through the front door of their new house, she felt an almost overwhelming sense of calm. The faint scent of fresh paint mixed with the clean, crisp air that flowed through the wide-open windows. She stood there for a moment, taking it all in. This house wasn’t just another place to live—it was a tangible representation of a new chapter in her life, one she was building with Logan. The living room stretched before her, a picture of warmth and simplicity. The minimalist aesthetic she had envisioned came to life in every detail. The walls were painted a soft, creamy white, complementing the hardwood floors that gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the large windows. A cozy, overstuffed couch sat against one wall, its soft beige fabric accented with muted throw pillows in earthy tones. A simple but elegant coffee table sat in front of it, topped with a small vase of fresh flowers she’d had delivered earlier that day. Aliyah ran her fingers across the smooth
I stepped into the lobby of Whitmore Company, my heels clicking against the marble floor with purpose. It was a busy morning, and I had no time for interruptions, though I could feel the stares of a few employees as I passed. My tailored blazer fits perfectly, my strides confident. Everything about my demeanor said one thing: 'Don’t mess with me.' But, as if summoned by fate—or bad luck—there she was. Liliana. Logan’s ex-girlfriend, the woman who had already disrupted my day once before. She stood in my path, hands on her hips, her expression a mix of surprise and smugness. “Well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “What are 'you' doing here?” I stopped in my tracks, raising a brow. “Good morning to you too,” I replied, my tone polite but cold. “I’m here to work, obviously. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” Her scoff cut through the air. “Work? Here? Please,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “You’ve got to be joking. Do you even know where you are? This is
As I walked into the boardroom beside my father, Oliver Whitmore, the buzz of murmured conversations instantly quieted. It was as though someone had pressed the mute button on the room. The directors who had survived the restructuring we initiated stood up, their greetings a mixture of respect and apprehension. I scanned the room, my eyes landing on the potential candidates for directorial positions seated at the far end of the table. Among them was a face I had no difficulty recognizing: Liliana Drake. Logan’s ex. My brow arched slightly, though I schooled my features into neutrality. This was not the time for personal distractions, though I already knew this meeting would test my patience. Diane handed me a neatly compiled folder of candidate profiles as I took my seat at the head of the table. My father sat beside me, exuding his usual quiet authority. He nodded at Diane, who efficiently distributed copies of the profiles to everyone. "Shall we begin?" my father asked, his
As I walked toward the exit of the building, the hum of the lobby's conversations filled the air, blending with the rhythmic click of my heels. Just as I reached the large glass doors, a delivery man stumbled inside, struggling under the weight of what could only be described as a botanical masterpiece. It was the kind of bouquet you saw in magazines—roses, lilies, peonies, and even orchids, all arranged in a cascade of colors so vibrant that it made the entire lobby pause and look. "Excuse me," the delivery man called out, scanning the area with a clipboard in one hand and the massive bouquet balanced precariously in the other. "I'm looking for a Ms. Aliyah Whitmore?" I stopped mid-step, one eyebrow arching as my name echoed across the space. Almost instantly, I felt the weight of every gaze turn toward me, and among them, one particular pair of eyes burned the hottest. I didn’t even need to look directly to know it was Liliana. I pivoted slowly, letting the delivery man's wo
I had just stepped out of my condominium, inhaling the crisp morning air, when a familiar yet unwelcome sensation crawled over my skin. It wasn’t cold, but I felt a chill nonetheless—like eyes were on me. I glanced around casually, keeping my movements composed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, I wasn’t one to ignore my gut feelings. I clipped my brooch onto my blazer, its discreetly hidden camera now recording. Call me paranoid, but with the kind of people circling my life lately—*cough, Liliana, cough*—I wasn’t taking any chances. A couple of hours into work, I found myself craving something indulgent. I needed my favorite iced coffee with whipped cream to shake off the unease. Deciding a walk might clear my head, I grabbed my bag and headed to the little coffee shop a few blocks away. The smell of roasted beans hit me as I walked in, instantly soothing my nerves. The barista smiled warmly at me, already reaching for the iced coffee ingredients. “You’re my h
Logan’s mind raced as he sat in his hotel room, the documents in front of him suddenly feeling unimportant. He had planned to stay another two days to finish work before heading back home, but none of that mattered now. Aliyah was the only thing on his mind. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a message from Diane, his trusted assistant. *Logan, we’ve received some alarming news about Aliyah. She’s been stabbed.* The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at the message, trying to make sense of it. *Aliyah... stabbed?* His heart raced, panic setting in as he quickly dialed Diane. “Get me a flight home. Now,” Logan’s voice was urgent, sharp with emotion. “Sir, your flight isn’t until the day after tomorrow. I can’t—” “I don’t care,” Logan interrupted, his voice thick with desperation. “Book me a flight. I need to be there.” There was a brief pause before Diane replied, “Understood, sir. I’ll arrange it immediately.” Logan ended the call and
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