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,
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 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
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 for
I stood in front of my mirror, adjusting the sleek black dress that I’d picked out after trying on at least six others. It wasn't really my thing to attend this kind of grand party. After all, I am not the type of person who likes this luxurious event. I would rather lay on my bed, wearing sweatshirts, and watch a movie. I sigh. Tonight’s charity gala wasn’t something I was looking forward to, but it came with the territory of my job. Why does she have to get sick at this time? Why? I wanted to smack my friend's head for getting sick at times like this, but what would it do? I sighed, smoothing a stray lock of auburn hair behind my ear. These events always felt like a chore—a room full of people pretending to care about each other while secretly calculating how they could get ahead. I really hate this. Just now I feel so tired; I haven't been to that party yet. “Alright, Aliyah, let’s get this over with,” I muttered to myself as I grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. T
The next morning, I woke up with a slight headache—a reminder that I’d had one too many glasses of champagne at the gala. I groaned, rolling over in bed and burying my face in the pillow. I really regret going to the gala. Even though that wasn't in my plan, now it won't happen again. That's right; I won't let it happen again. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it with one eye open. I frowned because, in the morning, people were going to crash into my sleep. Won't they give me a break? I just got back from last night's gala, and I'm exhausted. It was a message from Marianne, filled with emojis and exclamation points, talking about how amazing the night had been and how Logan Pierce had actually talked to me. Isn't this woman losing energy? She was like this last night. He insists that I am lucky that one Logan Peirce spoke to me. Why am I lucky? Maybe Logan is even luckier. I almost rolled my eyes at what I was thinking earlier. It has been confirmed that Mari
The following week passed in a blur of meetings, deadlines, and the usual grind of work. I purposely did a lot to get Logan out of my mind. It's hard for me to get this person out of my mind. I tried to put Logan Pierce out of my mind, focusing on the work I was running. But no matter how hard I worked or how late I stayed at the office, he kept creeping back into my thoughts. Why can't I get Logan out of my mind? What is wrong with that man? His offer to collaborate lingered, tempting me even as I tried to convince myself that getting involved with someone like him was a bad idea. But sometimes things are really scary. Logan is not an ordinary person. He's a powerful man and it's really scary to fight him but I don't intend to be afraid of him either. It just makes me think. By Friday, I was running on caffeine and willpower alone. The office was mostly empty, with only a few stragglers finishing up their work before the weekend. I'm not used to leaving early. Not because of the a
The Monday morning air was thick with anticipation. I arrived at the office early, hoping to get a jump start on the week and focus entirely on the project at hand. I wanted to star m day as busy as I could since I have a lot of things I really needed to finish things up in my plate. However, I got distracted when my phone vibrated. Well, I usually have it as loud as I could but since I am in my work, I make it in silent mode. Of course, Logan Pierce lingered at the edges of my thoughts like an uninvited guest. I really have this something that I couldn't shrug. Why would this man wouldn't stop contacting him. Yes, I felt something too but somehow, this man, he's too persistent. Our night at the bar had blurred the lines between work and whatever was beginning to simmer beneath the surface. Well, it wasn't a big deal but it was also kind off not easy to be involved. It left me unsettled, off-balance, and I hated feeling that way. I liked control. I needed it. But with Logan, contro
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 for
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