2025-06-27 16:27:14
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332. Sweet Space
The breeze rolled in early, lifting the white curtains of the balcony and carrying with it the soft scent of the sea. Isadora sat cross legged on the floor with her sketchpad resting against her knees, charcoal smudges on her fingertips, the image of Brandt — walking ahead of her down the village path — slowly emerging in strokes and shadows.He wasn’t in the room.She liked it that way, sometimes.Solitude wasn’t something she feared anymore. But she still hadn’t told him that part. That she often needed space the way others needed touch — not as rejection, but as breath.She’d planned to explain it this morning.But when Brandt returned from the café downstairs, holding a small paper bag with two guava pastries and a thermos of coffee, her chance slipped through her fingers.“You weren’t there when I woke,” he said lightly, setting the pastries down. “Thought you vanished.”His tone was teasing. Warm. But there was something behind his smile — a flicker of something she couldn’t qui
331. The Shape Of Tomorrow
The soft hush of the Cuban morning was already curling into the room, warm and gentle, when Isadora woke.She didn’t open her eyes right away. Brandt was still asleep beside her, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped across her stomach, his hand loosely curled against her ribs like a weightless promise.They hadn’t stayed out late after the club. But something about dancing with him under strings of golden lights had left her feeling full. Saturated. Like every quiet chamber in her heart had been seen and touched.Still, there was something else now — a question she’d tried not to name the night before.What happens when paradise ends?She opened her eyes.The ceiling fan spun lazily above them. A bird trilled in the tree just outside their balcony. Brandt shifted slightly, pulling her a little closer in his sleep.Isadora swallowed.She’d never been good at keeping good things. That was part of why she always ran first.But maybe — just maybe — this time could be different.★★★L
330. Cuba and Love
The curtains swayed in the lazy breeze spilling through the balcony doors, and golden sunlight crept slowly across the hotel room floor.Isadora was already awake.She lay on her side beneath the cool sheets, her face turned toward the man beside her. Brandt slept with one arm sprawled across the bed, the other bent near his chest, face slack with the deep, peaceful kind of sleep that came only when life had finally slowed down.It had been a week since they arrived in Cuba.Seven days since she’d stepped off the plane, into humidity and color and air that tasted like freedom. Seven days since she’d said goodbye to everything complicated — family politics, heavy silences, long stares. Seven days since she let herself admit it: she was in love.And he was still here. Still beside her. Still steady.Brandt stirred, blinking awake, his blue eyes finding hers instantly. A soft smile curved his lips.“Are you that in love with me?” he teased, his voice rough with sleep.Isadora didn’t blu
329. The Decision
The city had shifted since the truth came out.The media storm faded into murmurs. The Everest name was no longer a weapon or a wall — just a name, worn honestly now, like a coat patched at the elbows but loved all the more because of it.Four months had passed since Van stood at that podium. Four months of quiet reconstruction — not of buildings or wealth, but of meaning. Of mornings filled with pancakes and messy art projects. Of therapy and transparency and apologies that turned into routines.And now — in the golden haze of a Sunday morning — life was blooming again.Literally.“I've decided on what I want the first thing I want to do.” Isadora suddenly announced as they had drinks together. “Really? And what's that?” Van was very happy that she felt with living with them and the kids, but deep down he always wished she would venture out into the world and do things, experience new things. But he didn't know how to tell her that without it sounding like he was chasing her out
328. After
The news didn’t just echo—it thundered.Within hours of Van’s press conference, every major media outlet had his name front and center. “Everest Legacy Shaken by Scandal— CEO Comes Clean.” “Van Everest Uncovers Father’s Secret Past, Declares Full Transparency.” “Truth Over Empire: The CEO Who Refused to Hide.”Some outlets praised him. Others questioned his motives. A few called it performative. But all of them agreed on one thing:He had done something no other Everest had ever done.He told the truth.The mansion phones rang nonstop the next day. Journalists. Board members. Old family “friends” who hadn’t called in years.Ivy watched Van pace the study with a quiet tension in his jaw, fielding questions with poise but no warmth.“No, we didn’t plan a rebrand,” he said to the receiver. “We planned a reckoning. There’s a difference.”She stepped in gently, touching his arm. “You need a break.”He met her eyes— and for a moment, all the strength he’d carried cracked. His shoulders sagg
327. The Reveal
The Reveal The auditorium was silent when Van stepped up to the podium. Cameras clicked instantly. Flashes burst like lightning. Phones were already streaming; reporters leaned forward, pens and recorders in hand. The Everest family name had always drawn attention — but today, the crowd wasn’t there for power. They were there for confession. Van adjusted the microphone and took a breath. Not to steady himself, but to acknowledge the weight of what he was about to say. No cue cards. No teleprompter. Just a man standing in front of the world with everything to lose and everything to gain. “My name is Van Everest,” he began, voice strong, steady. “For more than a year and half, I’ve served as CEO of the Everest Group. I'm still pretty new in the business world, but I'm sure few of you know me as a businessman, a philanthropist, and the son of Marcus Everest.” He let the name hang in the air. The room responded with perfect stillness. “I’ve spent the last few months digging through
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