The Love I Begged For Was Never Real novel Chapter 128

She had watched him stand on podiums accepting the awe of everyone below, watched him seize control of The Hayes Group with a ruthless, iron fist.

She had dedicated ten years of her youth watching the aloof teenager in the photograph mutate into the terrifyingly powerful man he was today.

She thought she had witnessed every monumental moment of his life, thought she was the one who understood him best.

Nora turned and walked toward the massive solid wood desk by the window.

The desk was utterly immaculate, every item aligned with mathematical precision, perfectly reflecting Gideon's obsessive need for control. Her gaze landed dead center on a wooden picture frame.

In the photo, an eighteen-year-old Gideon, dressed in a crisp white shirt, looked strikingly handsome and aloof. Giselle, wearing a pink dress, was leaning intimately against his shoulder, smiling so brightly her eyes formed little crescents.

Gideon's eyes were fixed on the girl beside him, his gaze impossibly soft.

Nora's eyes drifted to the space next to the frame.

Right beside a neatly stacked pile of original German business textbooks sat a few glaringly out-of-place items. A pink ceramic mug shaped like a cartoon rabbit. A fuzzy hair tie with a sequined bow. And a transparent glass jar filled with brightly colored fruit candies.

These obviously belonged to Giselle.

In a room entirely defined by cold, masculine severity, these brightly colored, girlish items looked violently intrusive. Yet they proudly occupied the most prominent real estate on his desk.

Nora stared at the pink hair tie.

Giselle clearly spent an enormous amount of time in this room. She was allowed to sit brazenly at his desk and eat candy, allowed to casually toss her hair accessories next to his highly confidential documents.

Before Nora could pull her arm back, the heavy, dark wooden box lost its balance.

The box plummeted from the high shelf and crashed onto the floor.

Its contents spilled violently outward, scattering across the dark cashmere rug in front of the mahogany shelves.

Startled, Nora immediately crouched down to gather the scattered items.

But the second her palm brushed against the objects on the floor, her fingers froze entirely.

Laying in plain sight were several thick, custom-made photo albums. A stack of black leather diaries fastened with combination locks. And a pile of brightly colored, hand-drawn greeting cards.