From Ocean's Grave To Queen

building our empire from nothing. On the night he was supposed

t, Hayleigh, who then framed me for violent att

s edge, where our rival forced

reamed h

naires who had only just found me, cho

nd. Why would the man I built a life with, and the

er, I walked back into Miami, ready to take ba

pte

nor

est neighborhood to an empire that stretched across the city. Blake and I, we were a force. An unbreakable unit. He was about to ask, publ

nor, you need to get down to the wat

preceded chaos when Blake was involved. But this

rt student. Brock Hawk

ed to spring on him later that night-still heavy in my pocket. The drive was a blur, my mind racing, trying

s on the ground, a growing crimson stain spreading on his pristine white shirt. Blake stood over him, fists clenched, a wild, protect

ask of terror. Or was it something else? I watched as Brock, despite his injury, sp

elf be humiliated, publicly, for her. I had taken countless slights, endured endless rumors, st

ing, just to keep our first bar from being firebombed. Blake had been there, supporting me,

"Blake!" My voice was quiet,

a flicker of something that looked like gui

d, my voice flat. "

etween me and the whimp

t of here." My heart felt like a lead weight in my che

per. He walked away without another word, leaving me to deal with the aftermath, t

s. He drove to our first apartment, the place we' d poured every drop of

ated. Stripped of every memory, every trace of us. He'd erased me. He'd erased us. For her. The report

apter of my life. I lit a cigarette, the smoke bitter in my lungs, just like the taste of betrayal. I

ll for Mysterious Art Student." The headlines screamed, portraying me as the discar

s" but now felt hollow. The next morning, I had already contacted my lawyers. I want

"Eleanor will come back. She always does. She knows she needs me. And honestly, Hayleigh...

ds echoed in my head, a final, brutal confirmation. He d

f my half of the properties-my entire life's work-crumpled in my hand. He looked up

ween us like fallen snow. My voice was a whisper, but it cut through the

raining of color, as I turned an