Lies, Love, And Letting Go

By the time the clock struck seven, Caroline wrapped up her broadcast and dragged herself back to Luna Villa, every step heavy with exhaustion.

The moment she crossed into the courtyard, the sharp gleam of a Maybach's headlights cut through the dusk.

The door swung open, and Vincent's secretary, Hazel Hunt, stepped out first. Petite and soft-featured, she carried the kind of fragile beauty that looked untouched by the world. A fitted white gown hugged her delicate frame, the high heels elongating her figure, and despite the hint of travel fatigue clinging to her, she exuded an air of polished elegance.

In the back seat of the car lounged Vincent. He wore a black shirt, the hem carelessly rumpled, and the faint bite of alcohol seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

"Vince, slow down," Hazel murmured with a touch of tenderness, leaning in to ease Vincent from the car as his hand slipped instinctively around her waist.

They moved with an undeniable closeness.

When Hazel steadied him, she let out a low, lilting laugh by his ear. "You really pulled out all the stops for me tonight. One drink after another—and you even took Mr. Seymour's for me."

Caroline lingered at the gate, staying silent. She'd long known about Hazel—far more than just Vincent's loyal secretary. The girl had been a Cooper family scholarship student, rising through the ranks to work at Vincent's side right after graduation.

What most didn't know was the messy tangle of ties behind that polished facade. Hazel's elder sister, Rachael Cooper, was Vincent's stepmother, which technically made Hazel his aunt.

Whispers had long circulated about the ambiguous nature of Hazel and Vincent's relationship.

Caroline had sensed something beneath the surface, yet because they were family, she clung to the idea that trust was the cornerstone of a marriage and chose to believe in Vincent. And what had that blind trust brought her? A brazen, public spectacle. The two made a habit of parading their closeness right before her eyes. She had bitten her tongue countless times before, but tonight, she decided enough was enough.

Only then did Hazel finally notice Caroline. With that practiced, honeyed smile that never faltered, she glided toward Caroline. "Carrie, looks like you just got back too?"

Though Hazel was three years younger than Caroline, she carried herself with the easy authority of someone older, her tone light yet condescending.

"Vince really overdid it for me tonight—he's completely wasted," Hazel cooed, offering up a jacket blotched with dark red wine. "This one's custom-made. Mind hand-washing it for him?"

Caroline let out a low, humorless laugh. "And are you asking me that as his secretary or as his aunt?"

The question knocked Hazel off balance for half a beat, but she recovered with a sugary smile. "Does it make a difference? You can't seriously expect me to wash it. I still have to look after Vince—it's not exactly convenient for me."

A cool, sharp smile curved on Caroline's lips. "Seems to me you haven't quite figured out your own position. I doubt Vince wants you to take care of him."

The air between them tightened, heat and frost colliding in the charged silence.

Hazel's expression tightened with a flicker of embarrassment, but she swallowed it down and forced her lips into a brittle smile as she took a step back. "Then I'll leave Vince in your care," she muttered, her voice edged with forced lightness.

Pushing down the jealousy twisting in her chest, Hazel handed Vincent over to Caroline and turned on her heel to leave.

Caroline hooked an arm around Vincent to steady him as they crossed the threshold.

The moment they stepped inside, the stench of alcohol mixed with the faint trace of Hazel's perfume on Vincent hit Caroline like a slap, making her stomach twist.

Jaw clenched, Caroline half-dragged Vincent toward the living room, every step feeling like she was hauling a dead weight.

But before she could close the door behind them, Vincent suddenly yanked her back with surprising strength and slammed her against the wall.

Her spine jarred against the cold tile, knocking the air from her lungs. She barely managed a gasp before his wine-tainted breath closed in and his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss burned hot and chaotic, all clashing teeth and shallow breaths—neither tender nor purely lustful, but a raw, reckless surge of pent-up emotion.

Vincent's alcohol-tainted kiss scorched against Caroline's mouth, rough and consuming, as if he meant to swallow her whole.

Caroline's thoughts scattered into a blinding haze. She twisted to break free, but his grip only tightened, his long fingers clamping around her wrist hard enough to sting. His other hand moved with possessive ease, sliding over her chest and kneading through the thin fabric, each motion deliberate and unrelenting.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, shame knotting with a sharp, unfamiliar fear that left her struggling for breath.

His fingers traced the curve of her waist before slipping beneath her skirt, gliding up the sensitive inside of her thigh, and setting off a tingling surge that made her shudder.

Yet, beneath that touch, her heart chilled as if plunged into glacial depths. She ground her teeth, summoned her strength, and shoved him back. Her voice came out steady and cutting. "I'm not Hazel."