Mag-log inLaura’s POVWhen I woke up, the ceiling was spinning.Not metaphorically. Not in the poetic, dramatic way people described when they were dizzy.Actually spinning.I blinked several times, hoping my vision would settle, but that only seemed to make things worse. The ceiling swayed above me, the edges of the room blurring into one another until I had to squeeze my eyes shut.My head hurt.God, my head hurt.What happened?I slowly opened my eyes again and immediately regretted it.The guest room.My father’s estate.I pushed myself upright, only for the entire room to tilt violently to the left.“Whoa.”I grabbed the edge of the mattress before I could fall over.Why was I still here?I remembered the wedding. The reception. My father laughing at that disgusting comment about my weight. I remembered walking away from him, my head pounding, my body feeling strange.Then nothing.I swallowed.I was supposed to be leaving.Quinn and I were supposed to leave last night.I tried standing.B
Laura's POVI hadn't spoken to my father all day.I didn't intend to.As far as I was concerned, the sooner this wedding was over, the sooner I could get back to my real life. My lawyers could handle every ridiculous demand he planned to make. If he truly believed he was entitled to my earnings, he could argue that in court instead of pretending to be a loving father.That bridge had burned years ago.Today's ceremony wasn't going to rebuild it.The wedding was exactly what I expected.Grand.Extravagant.Every corner of the estate overflowed with white flowers, glittering chandeliers, and decorations expensive enough to buy a small house. Famous producers, actors, politicians, musicians, and business executives filled nearly every seat. Cameras flashed every few seconds, capturing smiles that felt rehearsed and laughter that sounded just a little too polished.Everything sparkled.Everything looked perfect.Everything felt fake.As I watched my father stand at the altar beside Eliza,
Quinn’s POVI chased after Laura until we reached the guest room, and the second she stepped inside, she spun around and slammed the door. I pushed it shut behind us and locked it, needing a moment where there were no distractions, no George, no Eliza, no damn garden, just the two of us. Laura turned away from me immediately, her shoulders stiff and her arms folded tightly across her chest.“Laura, listen. I don't know what you're thinking, but nothing happened,” I said, stepping toward her.“I don't know what to say to you, Quinn,” she muttered, refusing to look at me.I reached for her and pulled her closer.“Laura.”She immediately tried to pull herself free, and I held on for a second longer than I should have.“You're hurting me,” she said.I released her instantly.The guilt hit me hard.“I'm sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn't mean to.”She walked toward the bed and sat down, crossing her arms again as she stared at the floor. I remained standing for a moment, trying to figure ou
Quinn’s POVI had never seen Laura this upset.She had gotten pissed at me more than once since we had met. I had seen her angry, frustrated, annoyed, and even downright furious, but this was different. This wasn't the sharp irritation she usually threw at me before eventually cooling down. This was something deeper, something that had settled beneath her skin and made her entire body seem tense.I had already known she didn't have a good relationship with her father. The first time I met George, I could practically feel the resentment radiating from Laura whenever he spoke. But tonight, it was as if he had deliberately picked at every wound he knew she had.And I couldn't understand why.I walked back into the dining room and pulled out my chair, dropping into it heavily. Eliza was still seated beside George, looking considerably more uncomfortable than she had earlier.“Did you try to calm her down?” George asked, reaching for his glass as though we hadn't just watched his daughter
Laura’s POVBy the time we reached Bellmere, I had already regretted agreeing to this weekend at least twelve times.Bellmere was the kind of quiet coastal city where wealthy people went when they wanted to disappear without actually giving up their private chefs, security teams, or enormous houses. My father had one of his vacation estates here, tucked away behind tall iron gates and rows of perfectly trimmed hedges.Quinn’s hand rested over mine as we drove through the gates.I stared through the window.Nothing had changed.The house was enormous, almost ridiculous in size, with tall windows, white stone walls, and balconies overlooking the ocean. It was beautiful.And somehow, the moment I stepped inside, I felt like a child again.The polished floors. The expensive paintings. The endless rooms that seemed to exist solely to impress people who weren't me.I remembered growing up in houses like this, constantly looking for my father's attention and constantly discovering that there
Quinn’s POVTwo days later, I was beginning to suspect that every answer we found only managed to create three more questions.I sat behind my desk, staring at Devon across from me while he leaned back in his chair like he had absolutely no idea that my patience was hanging by a thread.“So,” I said, folding my hands together. “Tell me what you know.”Devon blinked. “About what?”I stared at him.He grinned.“Right. Sorry. The kidnapping investigation.”“I'm glad we're on the same page.”He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I've been talking to Elena.”I immediately narrowed my eyes.“Just talking?”“Talking. Going out. Eating. Watching her glare at me while I annoy her. Normal things.”“Have you learned anything useful?”“Not exactly.”My jaw tightened.Devon lifted both hands. “I'm getting there.”“You've been getting there for weeks.”“And Rome wasn't built in a day.”“Don't compare my investigation to the Roman Empire.”“Fine. The empire was significantly less comp
LauraThe first thing I felt was the scent. It didn't smell like the sterile, bleach-heavy air of a hospital. It smelled like expensive oud, aged whiskey, and something dangerously masculine.I blinked my eyes open. The ceiling was charcoal grey, accented with soft, recessed LED lighting."You're a
LauraThe beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the sterile VIP suite.I stared at the white ceiling, my side burning with a dull, throbbing ache. It had been three days. Three days since the surgeons took a piece of my liver and put it into my husband’s body.The door clicked open. I
Hold still, Laura. You’re wrinkling the lapel."Hemsworth slapped my hand away from his chest. His touch, which used to send butterflies erupting in my stomach, now just left a stinging coldness."Sorry," I mumbled, stepping back.He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror of our penthouse, a
Laura’s POVI must have fallen asleep because I couldn’t conjure up any more thoughts in my head.At some point, exhaustion finally dragged me under.That was until I heard a sound.My brows furrowed immediately.Footsteps.For a second, my sleepy brain tried convincing me it was nothing. Maybe one







