Vanessa’s POV “He didn’t drink it? Are you kidding me?” I spat, slamming the cabinet door hard enough to rattle the glasses inside. My fingers clenched the edge as though sheer force could change the outcome.The voicemail kept playing, the bartender’s voice far too casual for what he was reporting. “Miss, he barely touched the rim. Just water. He left without a sip. Looked... focused. Like he knew.”My heart thudded against my ribs like it was demanding answers.“He knew?” I muttered, jabbing the end call button so hard I almost cracked the screen. “Of course, he knew.”I yanked the cork from the bottle and poured myself a glass, watching the wine coil into the bowl like a liquid curse. The rich red shimmered under the kitchen lights—mocking me.“You had one job,” I hissed at the silent room. “One simple, foolproof, idiot-proof job.”I stalked to the window, wine in hand, and stared out over the city. The night glistened, lights blurring like smeared ink. People bustled below, bliss

Ethan’s POV“You’re telling me the bastard had them hidden all along?”Jordan’s voice snapped through the encrypted line like a whip, sharp and disbelieving.I gritted my teeth, staring at the gaping cavity in the wall behind Richard Hale’s massive mahogany bookshelf. The office smelled like mildew and rot like secrets that had festered too long beneath polished surfaces. The place was gutted, stripped of its former intimidation, but the ghosts of deception lingered in the dusty corners.“False panel,” I muttered, pacing. “He carved it out behind his first edition collection. I had to damn near dismantle the whole shelf to find it. Real classy hiding spot.”Jordan exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a whistle. “He really thought he could bury it all there? After everything?”I pulled the documents from the aged leather folio, careful not to smudge the already fading ink. Twelve sheets total. Perfectly preserved lies.“He didn’t think he had to bury it deep. He thought no one would d

Ethan’s POV A send-forth dinner was being held in Grandfather’s honor, his final bow as he prepared to retire to the countryside. I stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Sinclair Palace dining hall, surrounded by laughter, crystal chandeliers, and polished marble. The night wasn’t just his farewell; it was my coronation. A waiter floated past with a tray of aged burgundy. I took a glass, raised it half-heartedly as toasts erupted around me, then slipped toward the terrace to breathe. Inside, the speeches droned on. Cole was already on his third glass, face taut with the kind of smile that made my skin crawl. Victor barely concealed the clench of his jaw. But what could they say? The board had spoken. Grandfather had made it official. I had earned this. “Ethan!” Grandfather’s deep voice rang out. “Come, boy, they’re waiting!” I turned to him. The light hit his silver hair just right, making him look like some monarch from a time gone. But tonight, he looked more human th

Vanessa’s POV “His jaw must’ve dropped. Oh God, his face. I wish I saw it.” I burst into another round of laughter that bounced off the marble tiles, echoing through the silence of my hotel room. My legs were curled beneath me on the old suede couch, silk robe parted loosely over my thighs, a glass of wine trembling in my grip from all the laughter. “He must’ve been devastated… crushed…” I chuckled, scrolling back to the image again, then zoomed in. There it was, Olivia’s swollen belly. Round, ripe, unmistakable. Her hands rested over it protectively in that ridiculous white maternity dress. And Ethan? Oh, he wouldn’t just be heartbroken. He’d feel too humiliated. “That’s what you get for ghosting me, sweetheart,” I whispered, tapping the screen. “You deserve every ounce of that confusion. And of course, I will definitely get you out of it.” I grinned, sinking back into the cushions, wrapping the robe tighter as if sealing in the warmth of victory. The way he had ignored me way t

Ethan’s POV “It’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and I have barely had a decent sleep.” I muttered it to myself, but it sounded more like a confession than an observation. My voice scraped through the stillness of the room, hollow and gritty like sandpaper against raw skin. I sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over, palms pressed to my face, elbows digging into my thighs. My mouth was dry. My head pulsed with unrest. “Why the hell am I still thinking about her?” I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, searching for cracks or something, anything, to pull my attention away from the recurring images. Olivia. Pregnant. Olivia, smiling that soft, maternal smile. Olivia, holding her stomach like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. And beside her, that smug bastard from Paris. My fists clenched. “You’re not even in love with her, Ethan. You don’t have the right to feel this betrayed.” But the words echoed back with emptiness. They lacked conviction. I rose, pacing the r