Novels by Ben Fred

Chapter Thirty-Two **At Anderson’s House…** Agnes paced back and forth in the lavish living room, her mind racing with possibilities. She knew she had to move quickly if she wanted to secure her position and ensure Anderson remained powerless. Now that she had control of his company, she needed to solidify her hold over him in a more personal way—by making him marry her. It was a risk, but Agnes had always thrived on calculated risks. She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that Anderson would be home soon. She needed to come up with a plan that would leave him with no choice, a scenario that would push him to the brink and force him to take the only option she offered. An idea formed in her mind—a scenario so unexpected, so perfectly crafted, that Anderson would have no way out. When Anderson finally arrived, his face was drawn, his eyes clouded with exhaustion and disbelief from the recent events. He barely acknowledged Agnes as he tossed his keys on the table and collapsed

Chapter Thirty-One Wanda lay unconscious in the hospital bed, the room filled with the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the quiet hum of the machines keeping her stabilized. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a pale glow across her face, highlighting her closed eyes and the faint bruises on her neck where Michael's hands had been. Michael sat in a chair beside her, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. His eyes were fixed on her face, a mixture of anger and frustration playing across his features. He had expected to feel relieved seeing her alive and breathing, but instead, a seething bitterness welled up inside him. The memory of their fight replayed in his mind, and instead of feeling guilt, he felt a surge of resentment. “Why do you make everything so difficult, Wanda?” he muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told

Chapter Thirty Wanda’s heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted through the streets, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She knew she didn’t have much time before Michael realized she was gone. Her mind raced with only one thought—she needed to get back to the house, grab her things, and disappear before he could find her again. She made it to the house in record time, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the door. She slipped inside, listening carefully for any sound that might signal Michael’s return. The house was eerily quiet, the only noise her own breathing, heavy and frantic. She rushed up the stairs to their bedroom, her heart racing as she grabbed a small suitcase from the closet. Wanda quickly threw in a few pieces of clothing, toiletries, and any cash she had hidden away. Her hands moved fast, adrenaline fueling her every motion. She was almost done, almost ready to leave, when she heard the sound of a car door slamming outs

Chapter Twenty-Nine The dim room was silent after the chaotic confrontation. Michael's hand trembled slightly as he let go of Wanda's wrist, his eyes still locked on hers. He could feel the fire of defiance in her gaze, a challenge that both infuriated and intrigued him. Martha’s grip on his arm tightened, trying to pull him back, to calm the storm that was raging inside him. "Michael," Martha whispered, her voice low and steady. "You need to control yourself. This isn't helping." Michael turned sharply to Martha, irritation flickering across his face. "You don’t tell me what to do," he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. Wanda’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched them. She could feel Michael's conflicted emotions, the tension between his need for control and his uncertainty about what to do next. She knew she had to act quickly before his rage solidified again. “Martha, just leave,” W

Chapter Twenty-Eight The room felt colder than before, the walls closing in on Wanda as she sat on the floor, trying to calm her trembling body. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts—frantic and jumbled—as she listened to the muffled sounds of Michael’s footsteps outside the door. She knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. The small, windowless room felt like a cage, and Michael was the captor who held the key. She glanced around, looking for anything she could use—a weapon, a tool, something that might give her a fighting chance. Her eyes landed on a broken piece of wood in the corner, part of an old chair that had been left to rot. She crawled over to it, her hands trembling as she picked it up, feeling its weight in her hands. “Stay calm, Wanda,” she whispered to herself. “Stay calm and wait for the right moment.” She knew that Michael wouldn’t leave her alone for long. He thrived on control, on making her feel small

Chapter Twenty-Seven Wanda awoke to the sound of footsteps pacing back and forth outside her bedroom door. Her heart quickened, a familiar dread settling into the pit of her stomach. She knew it was Michael—knew the sound of his agitated steps like the back of her hand. She remained still, her breath shallow, hoping that if she didn’t make a noise, he would pass by and leave her in peace. But the footsteps stopped abruptly, and the door swung open with a sharp creak. Michael stood in the doorway, his expression severe, his eyes hard and scrutinizing. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. Wanda swallowed, slowly sitting up. “What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously. Michael didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to the window, yanking the curtains open to let in a harsh stream of sunlight. “I need you to come with me,” he said finally, his tone brokering no argument. “We have somew