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
Oliver Whitmore sat at the head of the boardroom table, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in the remaining directors. The room, once buzzing with conversation and camaraderie, now felt like a battlefield. The air was tense, and the weight of recent events—the attack on Aliyah, the betrayal within the company—hung heavy over everyone present. He let the silence linger, allowing the tension to grow. It wasn’t a tactic born out of cruelty; it was strategy. He wanted to see who would break first. And as expected, Mr. Drake shifted in his seat, his bravado faltering under the pressure. "Let’s not waste any more time," Oliver said finally, his deep voice slicing through the silence. "This company has endured enough damage, both externally and internally. Now is the time to make it clear who stands for progress and who is dead weight." The directors glanced at one another, unsure of where the conversation was headed. But Oliver knew. He had been preparing for this moment since th
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
I slowly opened my eyes, the soft glow of the night light casting a warm hue over the room. For a moment, everything was blurry, and the steady beeping of the monitor was the only sound that reminded me I was still in the hospital. My body felt heavy, but I could tell I was no longer in pain. As my eyes focused, I saw Logan sitting in the chair by the window, his back to me. He was leaning forward, watching the TV intently, though the tension in his posture was impossible to miss. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on his leg. I wondered how long he’d been there. I glanced at the screen and froze. The headline flashing across the news caught my attention: *"Controversial Family Drama Involving Aliyah Whitmore, Liliana Whitmore, and Her Uncle."* My heart dropped into my stomach, and a shiver ran through me. The last thing I wanted to see was my name splashed across the news, especially tied to Liliana and my uncle. I quickly looked away from the
The next time my eyes fluttered open, the world around me was clearer. The blur of shapes and colors had sharpened into something familiar. The ceiling above me, the soft hum of machinery, the scent of antiseptic—I was in a hospital. It took a moment for the weight of reality to settle in. I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake. My body felt weak, heavy like lead, but my mind was finally lucid enough to process the world around me. “Aliyah!” The sound of my name came from a voice I recognized instantly. I turned my head, though even that simple motion felt like climbing a mountain. My gaze met my father’s. His face was a mixture of panic and overwhelming relief. His usually calm demeanor was gone; his hands trembled as he reached out but hesitated, as if afraid I might break. “Aliyah, sweetheart, you’re awake,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it. You… you’re really here.” Behind him, Logan stood frozen, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those deep,
The courtroom was tense, a battlefield of arguments and counterarguments. Logan sat beside Oliver, their presence commanding the room. Both men wore stoic expressions, though their minds were anything but calm. Logan’s focus remained outwardly sharp, but inside, his thoughts kept drifting to Aliyah. She had been his anchor amidst the chaos, and the image of her lying unconscious haunted him. Oliver, too, felt the weight of it all. His daughter’s strength had always been his pride, but seeing her so vulnerable had shaken him in ways he couldn’t express. He masked his worry with determination, knowing that showing any weakness now would only give their enemies ammunition. Together, they were a united front, an impenetrable wall of resolve, but underneath, they were just two men desperately worried about someone they loved. Back at the hospital, Diane sat in Aliyah’s quiet ward, her tablet propped up as she watched the live courtroom feed. The trial had captivated her attention, bu
The sterile scent of the hospital lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of machinery monitoring Aliyah’s condition. Oliver Whitmore sat in a stiff plastic chair next to her bed, his eyes tracing the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was a sight that both comforted and haunted him. His daughter was alive, but the memory of her attack, of seeing her lying helpless, was etched into his mind. He hadn’t left her side since Logan returned to the courthouse to deal with the fallout. Across the room, Diane shuffled through a stack of papers. Despite her composed exterior, she was visibly on edge, her glances toward Aliyah frequent and concerned. Two new bodyguards stood at the door, their presence stoic but reassuring. Logan had handpicked them, and if there was one thing Oliver trusted about the man, it was his ability to protect Aliyah. Diane broke the silence. “Mr. Whitmore, any updates from Mr. Pierce?” Oliver sighed, rubbing his temples. “He’s at the courthouse dea
Logan stood quietly in the hospital room, watching Aliyah sleep peacefully, her face a picture of vulnerability. The soft beeping of the machines monitoring her was the only sound in the sterile room, but it felt like a constant reminder of how close he'd come to losing her. It had been two days since the attack, and the anger that had propelled him to take drastic action was still simmering beneath the surface. He had taken down the people who’d plotted to hurt her, to hurt the Whitmore family, but his heart remained heavy with the weight of it all. Oliver Whitmore stood by the window, his broad back turned to Logan. The older man’s posture was stiff, controlled, but Logan could feel the tension radiating from him. Oliver was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was always deliberate. Logan knew the question was coming; he’d been preparing for it ever since he'd made the decision to act. Finally, Oliver spoke, his voice low but steady. "You're the one behind all of this, ar
The tension in the hospital room had settled slightly, but the air still carried the weight of earlier events. Logan stood by the window, his hands jammed into his pockets, his jaw clenched. Oliver sat beside Aliyah’s bed, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. The silence was heavy but comforting in its own way, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors. The door opened quietly, and the doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. Both men turned their attention to him immediately. “Good news,” the doctor began, offering a reassuring smile. “Miss Whitmore is stable, and her vitals are improving. The coma was the result of the trauma and stress, but there’s no sign of permanent damage. She should wake up soon—likely within the next 24 to 48 hours.” Logan felt a wave of relief wash over him, though his face betrayed little emotion. He glanced at Oliver, whose shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thank you, doctor,” Oliver said, his voice steady but tinged with gratitude. The doctor nodded. “Of
Oliver Whitmore sat at the head of the boardroom table, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in the remaining directors. The room, once buzzing with conversation and camaraderie, now felt like a battlefield. The air was tense, and the weight of recent events—the attack on Aliyah, the betrayal within the company—hung heavy over everyone present. He let the silence linger, allowing the tension to grow. It wasn’t a tactic born out of cruelty; it was strategy. He wanted to see who would break first. And as expected, Mr. Drake shifted in his seat, his bravado faltering under the pressure. "Let’s not waste any more time," Oliver said finally, his deep voice slicing through the silence. "This company has endured enough damage, both externally and internally. Now is the time to make it clear who stands for progress and who is dead weight." The directors glanced at one another, unsure of where the conversation was headed. But Oliver knew. He had been preparing for this moment since th
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