2025-07-29 23:25:24
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Always...
Fifteen Years LaterThe Colton estate had changed in fifteen years ... more trees, more glass, and more laughter echoing through the halls. But the heart of it remained the same.Warm light spilled over polished wood floors and high windows, framing the sprawling garden below, where silver lights glimmered from hedges and floral archways. The house buzzed with preparations .... tonight, Duke Morgan was hosting a gala on Colton grounds, and the world’s sharpest minds were flying in just to toast the future.Upstairs, two girls twirled in front of a mirror.It was looking like the manifestation of the dream come true, because this was exactly how dreams looks like in reality.One was tall, with Julius’s calm eyes and Miley’s sculpted cheekbones. The other had dark curls, slightly shorter, but always louder, grinned as she fastened a sapphire clasp behind her friend’s neck.“Solene, you look like you’re about to give a speech at the UN,” the curly-haired girl teased.Solene rolled her ey
Legacy
The sun broke across the glass atrium like a quiet promise. Inside the newly unveiled Easton Hall of Innovation, a crowd had already gathered. Suits, scholars, students with lanyards. Photographers poised behind velvet ropes. Near the entrance, a sleek white wing gleamed, its walls curved like circuitry, polished floors reflecting a mosaic of motion. But all eyes turned toward the front stage, where a wide silver plaque was draped in silk. Miley stood before it, a pair of golden scissors in her hand, her fingers steady despite the storm of flashbulbs. She wore dove-grey, strong, elegant and by her side stood Julius, tall and still, in a black suit without a tie. His hand rested lightly against the shoulder of their daughter. Sasha was five now. All curls and fire. She wore tiny white sneakers under a tulle dress and was gripping her mother’s free hand like a sword. The emcee’s voice rang out over the mic: “It is with great honor we dedicate this permanent wing, a living archive o
Safe now?
The old office sign was the first to go. Miley stood barefoot in the center of her home workspace, a box cutter in one hand, the brass nameplate in the other. COLTON & FUTURE, bold serif font, laser cut, once hanging proudly above the glass doors of her corporate floor. She set it down without ceremony. The new plaque leaned against the windowsill: The Emberline Group, named for the mentor who taught her how to rise without cruelty. The woman who once told her, “You do not need to scream to set the world on fire. Just be the match.” Across the living room, sunlight flooded in through unfiltered glass. No security film. No blackout drapes. The city buzzed far below, but inside the apartment, it was silent. But not dead.Just finally… at peace. A soft knock echoed from the hallway. “Come in,” Miley called, still kneeling beside the donation boxes. The door opened, and Lila.. her former intern, now Head of Product, peeked in, holding a tray with two mugs of coffee. “I brought the
Lullaby baby
The town courthouse stood whitewashed against the gray morning sky, framed by salt-blown pines and the echo of the sea. Despite its modest exterior, inside the chamber pulsed with the gravity of decisions that could shape entire lives.Miley sat with the infant in her arms, her blazer dusted with rain, her expression still and unflinching. Julius stood behind her, unreadable as ever. On the opposite end of the room, Quella sat in a restraint chair behind a glass panel, her wrists cuffed loosely, her eyes darting from one official to the next.She had been sedated the night before. Now, stripped of eyeliner and bravado, her face looked younger, but no less dangerous.A child welfare officer stood at the center podium.“After reviewing the incident at the hospital, and evaluating the psychiatric assessments conducted over the past twenty-four hours, we submit our recommendation: Quella Jenkins, also known as Quella Garcia, is unfit for parental custody. Her actions pose a direct threat
Pawn
“We’re not here for your consent,” Julius said quietly.Miley’s eyes dropped to the child. Her expression didn’t shift.“I said—” Quella’s voice cracked, rising into panic. She backed up against the wall, clutching the baby tighter.“She’s mine. You can’t take her!”Miley didn’t flinch. Her voice remained even. “We’re not here to take her today, Quella. We’re here to talk. About next steps. Custody options. Legal protection. Mental fitness—”“You think I’m unfit?” Quella’s tone turned sharp, almost gleeful in its outrage. “Oh, that’s rich. Says the woman who had a boardroom breakdown three years ago and clawed her way back with blood under her nails. Spare me the concern.”Julius took one measured step forward. “You’re not doing yourself any favors.”“I don’t care what you think,” Quella spat, eyes flashing. “You’re here to steal her from me. I can see it. I can smell it all over you. You came here with a plan. You always do.”“She’s not a bargaining chip,” Miley said softly. “She’s a
The Last Escape
The rain fell steadily outside the private hospital, fogging the glass and muting the crash of waves beyond the cliffside. Nestled in a sleepy coastal town where secrets passed like fog and nothing made the news unless it bled, Quella had found a hiding place, at least for now.Room 304 was dim, hushed, and warm. The bassinet beside the bed creaked gently as Quella rocked it with one hand. Her daughter—unnamed still—slept without noise, a small miracle in the chaos of a collapsing world.It had been thirty-six hours since the delivery. Thirty-six hours since she had touched something pure.And for thirty-six hours, Quella had clung to a lie tighter than she ever clung to truth.She was no longer Quella Garcia, heiress and businesswoman. She was Clea Jenkins, age 31, widowed, overwhelmed, and recovering from an emergency C-section. A woman with pain in her eyes, blood under her nails, and no one waiting to pick her up.The nurses bought it. The admin staff, too. The baby quieted whenev
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