Spencer King has everything-except the one thing he truly wants.
As the head of a multi-million dollar empire, Spencer enjoys power, prestige, and a stunning view of New York City. But behind the success lies a lingering ache-he's alone. The woman h...
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BROOKLYN
Time doesn't ask for permission.
It doesn't stop to see if you're okay, if you've figured things out, or if you're even ready. It just moves. Forward. Steady. Relentless. You blink and it's next week. You breathe and it's next month. Suddenly you're staring at a calendar wondering how entire years slipped through your fingers like sand.
It's been a couple of weeks since the text from Elijah. The one that made my blood run cold.
Since then, everything's gone quiet. Too quiet. No more anonymous messages. No suspicious calls. Just silence. On the surface, life has returned to normal—or at least, the illusion of it. But the anxiety never really leaves. It just lingers in the background, like a low hum you can't shut off.
I still haven't met Elijah. I only know what Spencer and Tristan have told me: he's dangerous, he's calculating, and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to get what he wants. Maybe Spencer's being dramatic. Maybe I'm overthinking. Or maybe... Elijah really is just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
That fear follows me everywhere, even here.
Today I'm at a florist, finalizing the flowers for the wedding. Something that should be beautiful and fun. But even now, while surrounded by color and fragrance, I can't stop glancing over my shoulder.
The flowers are breathtaking. Vibrant lilies, delicate peonies, bright sunflowers. But it's the roses that draw me in. Deep red and velvet-soft, they remind me of passion, of first kisses, of love that runs too deep to forget. They remind me of—
Spencer.
I shake the thought away and lean in to inhale the scent of a rose. It's comforting. Familiar. For a fleeting second, the worry melts away.
"Red roses are my favorite," a deep male voice says behind me.
I open my eyes and turn. A tall man stands a few feet away. His dark brown hair is thick and curly, and his suit looks like it costs more than my car. But it's his eyes that make me freeze.
Green. Familiar. Too familiar.
He's handsome. In an intimidating sort of way. But there's something off—something that makes my skin crawl beneath the surface of his polite smile.
"I love roses," I say politely, trying not to show how uneasy I feel. "They smell divine."
"Getting married soon?" he asks, his eyes drifting to my ring.
I stiffen. "Yeah."
"Sorry. Just saw the ring. Beautiful stone," he says with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
I nod and start to walk away, hoping he gets the hint. But he follows me.
"Your name's Brooklyn, right?"
My stomach drops. "Yeah..." I say cautiously.
"I recognized you from the news. You're the new co-owner of King Enterprises?"
"Yes," I mumble, moving toward a display of sunflowers.
He follows again.
"So, are you planning to move to New York? Seems like a natural next step."
"No. I'm signing my share over to Duane's son," I reply, sharper than intended.
His smile falters for a split second. "Interesting. Why not Elijah King? He is the other partner, after all."
My pulse quickens. The way he says Elijah's name. The way his questions keep circling the same point—it's not casual curiosity. He's fishing. And now I'm done playing nice.
"I've never met him," I say flatly, keeping my expression unreadable.
As I casually pull out my phone, I text Spencer: I think I just met Elijah. At the florist. He's asking about the company.
The reply is almost instant. On my way. Don't leave.
The doorbell chimes a few minutes later, and Spencer steps into the shop like a storm in motion. His hoodie is wrinkled, and his joggers tell me he wasn't expecting to leave the house today. His eyes land on the man beside me, and something shifts in his face. His jaw clenches. Shoulders square. Anger simmers beneath the surface.
"Let's go," he says in a low, gravelly voice.
Before I can respond, his hand closes around my wrist—not roughly, but with a force that says you're coming with me.
As he pulls me toward the exit, I glance back at the stranger. He's watching us, amused. Like he expected this. Like he enjoys it.
"Bye, Brooklyn," he calls after me with a smile that makes my blood run cold.
