LOGINHe swore I was his forever, but he stood at that altar, put a ring on another woman’s finger, and left me pregnant like I was nothing, and our baby meant nothing. I was twenty. Young, stupid, and poor enough to think love could win against his family. It couldn’t. They crushed me, and Sebastian let them. So I ran and buried the crying, broken girl who loved him and turned myself into someone colder, harder, someone who doesn’t break so easily anymore. Now I’m back after five years. Successful, untouchable, and ready to hurt him the way he hurt me. He looks at me like he’s seeing a ghost, eyes full of regret, telling me he never stopped loving me, that he wants me back… and that he wants his daughter. Too bad because sorry doesn’t fix the nights I cried alone. The only thing I want from Sebastian Hale now is revenge.
View More“It's a start.” Those two words carried everything I still couldn’t say aloud. He knew it, and I knew he knew it. And for now, we were both okay with the weight of what remained unspoken.He answered with a single word: “Good.”No pressure or rush to turn the start into something bigger before it was ready. Just “good”, spoken in that quiet, certain way of his that needed nothing more.I set my phone down and made breakfast, my hands steadier than they had any right to be.Things didn’t leap forward in grand declarations. They built, quietly, in small accumulations that felt dangerously real.Tuesday dinners became a rhythm. Not planned, not labeled—just something that kept happening because one of us would suggest it and the other would say yes. By the third week, Isla no longer treated his arrival like an occasion. She treated it like a Tuesday. When that shift settled in, I had to pause at the kitchen counter, gripping the edge for a second while something tight and hopeful twis
He was staying, and he was building, and hoping I’d want to be around him, and I sat there in the room I built from nothing, thinking that after everything we’d been through, we were finally speaking the same language.I had I’m around. Always. Nothing else. Not because I was pulling back—I was past that, or at least I was trying like hell to be—but because it was nearly midnight, I just ran a gala that lost its catering four hours before the doors opened, and I was sitting there in an emptying venue on nothing but adrenaline, exhaustion, and the heavy, bone-deep weight of a day that had asked for everything I had left to give. Something that big didn’t deserve a decision thrown together in a room like this at an hour like this.He heard it. I could see it land in him, quiet and careful, the way he let it settle without trying to grab for more than the moment was ready to offer. His shoulders eased just a fraction, like some tight thing inside him had finally been given permission t
Sebastian moved across the room toward me with clear purpose, like a man who had already decided exactly whose side he was on and was ready to stand there no matter what happened next.He reached me without any rush. That was how Sebastian always moved through a space—he never performed urgency or drama. He walked with the steady confidence of someone who knew where he wanted to be, and the room seemed to shift around him instead of the other way around. When he stopped beside me at the edge of the gala, he first looked over at Victor for a long moment, then turned his eyes to me."Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and genuine."Yes," I said, and this time I truly meant it. Not the careful, managed answer I usually gave, but the real one. I was standing in a room I built from nothing, and Victor Hale was there on the edge of it, looking smaller and more diminished than I had ever seen him before. He tried to stop all of this from happening, but here it was—more complete an
Someone tried to pull my catering four hours before my biggest event. I had a contact list, an emergency plan, and zero intention of letting it break me."Priya," I said, voice tight. "Phone out."She already had it in her hand.I called my secondary catering contact—a smaller firm I worked with twice before, sharp on execution. The kind of owner who answered on Saturday mornings because he knew events didn’t wait for Monday. He picked up on the third ring."Ms. Reed.""I have a situation," I said, the words steady but my pulse hammering. "Gala tonight. The primary vendor pulled this morning. Can you cover it?"A short pause. I could almost hear him weighing risk against loyalty."Guest count?" he asked."Two-eighty confirmed. Possibly three hundred.""Menu?""Sending it now. Some items will need adjusting based on what you can source in—" I glanced at my watch, stomach twisting—"three and a half hours."He didn’t deflect. I heard the quiet calculation in the silence, a professional d












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