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 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
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 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
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 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,
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