---- Chapter 7 Kingston Koch POV: The world had dissolved into a blurry, amber-colored haze at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. My penthouse, once a symbol of my success, now felt like a prison. The sprawling views of the city skyline only served to remind me of how high | had climbed, and how far | had to fall. | replayed our last conversation in my head, a continuous, torturous loop. | just wanted a brother. And | don't have one anymore. Her words were slivers of glass in my gut. Every time | moved, every time | breathed, they twisted deeper. | had sent Finn. A pathetic, cowardly move. I'd hoped he could reason with her, that the offer of half my empire would be enough to lure her back. But when he returned, his face was a mask of grim finality. "It's over, Kingston," he'd said, standing over me as | sat slumped on my thousand-dollar sofa. "She's not coming back. She's happy." Happy. The word was an insult. How could she be happy without me? | was the one who found her. | was the one who was supposed to give her everything. | was her brother, her ---- only connection to the family we'd lost. My shaking hand reached for my phone. | scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over her name-the new number one of my P.I.s had dug up. | pressed call. It rang once, twice, three times. | held my breath. "Hello?" Her voice. It was cautious, hesitant, but it was her. A wave of something-relief, desperation, grief-crashed over me, and | couldn't speak. | could only breathe, the sound ragged and torn from my lungs. The ice in my glass clinked, a stark, lonely sound in the suffocating silence. "Kingston?" She knew. Even through the silence, she knew it was me. A tiny, foolish spark of hope ignited in my chest. She hadn't forgotten me. | tried to form words, to articulate the chasm of regret that had opened up inside me. But all that came out was a sob, a raw, ugly sound of a man who had lost everything. "Hope," | managed to slur, the single word containing a universe of apology. "I'm sorry." The line went dead. She'd hung up on me. A guttural roar of fury and despair tore from my throat. | hurled my glass across the room, where it shattered against ---- the panoramic window, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the reinforced glass. Whiskey dripped down the windowpane like tears. | was losing my mind. Driven by an impulse | didn't understand, | stumbled to my safe and pulled out a small, velvet box. Inside was the one thing of my mother's | had kept. A delicate, silver locket. | opened it. On one side was a faded picture of my parents on their wedding day. On the other, a tiny, smiling baby. Hope. My mother had given it to me the day we adopted Everly. "Never forget her," she had whispered, her eyes filled with a sadness that never truly went away. "Never stop looking for your sister." And | hadn't. | had spent a fortune, hired the best people. Finding her became my obsession, a way to atone for the guilt that had haunted me since childhood-the guilt of losing her hand in the chaos of the hurricane, of being the one who was found while she was swept away. When | finally located her, eight years ago, she was twenty years old, working as a vet tech and living in a rundown apartment. She was so much like our mother-the same quiet strength, the same kind eyes. Seeing her was like looking at a ghost. And | had treated her like one ever since. My guilt had been replaced by a different kind of poison: fear. ---- | was afraid of the disruption she represented. | had a new sister, a new family, a life built on the ashes of our old one. And Hope, in her quiet, unassuming way, was a living, breathing reminder of my failure. So | kept her at a distance, managing her with gifts and false promises, convincing myself it was for her own good. The memory of Everly flashed in my mind, her face twisted in a sneer at the party. She's trying to ruin my night! It had always been about Everly. Protecting Everly's feelings, securing Everly's position, indulging Everly's every whim. | had let a cuckoo into my nest, and in my desperation to make her feel like she belonged, | had pushed my own sister out onto the ledge. A new thought, cold and sharp, cut through the alcoholic fog. What if Hope never forgave me? What if | had to spend the rest of my life alone, haunted by the ghost of the sister | had found only to lose again through my own selfish cowardice? The thought was unbearable. | grabbed my car keys from the bowl by the door. | didn't know where | was going, but | had to move. | couldn't stay in this glass cage another second. As | drove aimlessly through the glittering, indifferent city, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Unknown: Stay away from her. She has a family that loves her now. You had your chance. ---- Jaxon. A primal rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. He had no right. Hope was mine. My sister. My blood. | slammed my foot on the accelerator, the powerful engine roaring in response. | would not let some grease-stained mechanic steal my sister from me. | would find her. | would drag her back if | had to. | would make her see that she belonged with me. | would fix this. It never occurred to me, not even for a second, that what | was trying to fix was already shattered beyond repair. In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. As their romance blossoms, Hector grapples with concealing his true identity to capture Jane's heart. 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