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Chapter Forty-Six

last update Huling Na-update: 2025-03-31 22:31:19
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I wake up with a jolt, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The room is dark, but the nightmare lingers, burning behind my eyes like an after-image I can’t blink away. My chest tightens, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each beat a cruel echo of the fear still curling around my spine.

I can still see them. Stella’s smug, knowing smile. Daniel’s cold, detached stare. The cruel laughter of those who reveled in my humiliation. Their voices slither through my mind, sharp as glass, slicing through the thin veil between past and present. It was just a dream. But it doesn’t feel like one.

The air in my bedroom suddenly feels suffocating. I shove the damp sheets aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. Ground yourself. Breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heels of my hands against them, as if that alone could drive the memories away. But they refuse to fade, lurking like shadows just out of reach.

How l
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  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Forty-Seven

    šŒššš«šœšØš¬The harsh, sterile glow of the overhead lights bathes the operating room in an almost surreal brightness, casting sharp shadows on the masked faces surrounding the table. The steady beeping of the heart monitor fills the silence—calm, rhythmic, an ever-present reminder that life still clings beneath my scalpel.This moment, this weight of precision and control, is what I live for.I exhale slowly, steadying my grip. ā€œScalpel.ā€Dr. Harriet, standing to my right, responds instantly, placing it in my waiting palm. Her gloved fingers brush against mine, the touch lingering for half a second too long. A deliberate move? Maybe. But now isn’t the time for distractions.ā€œHere,ā€ she murmurs, her voice low, smooth, as if we aren’t elbows-deep in someone’s open abdomen.I ignore it. Focus is everything.The blade glides along the marked line, parting skin and muscle with practiced ease. The scent of antiseptic thickens as suction whirs, keeping the field clear. Beneath layers of tis

    Huling Na-update : 2025-03-31
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Forty-Eight

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe weekend has arrived once more, but this time, I’d decided to spend it with my best friend, Yemaya, at the apartment we used to share just a couple of months ago while I had worked at The Gilded Stag restaurant. I figured it was high time I returned for a visit, especially since just the week before, she had come to visit me at my parents' mansion and had spent the entire weekend there. Besides, there’s a certain comfort in being back here, in a space filled with memories of late-night gossip, spontaneous dance-offs, and shared struggles. And just to admit it, I had missed my best friend despite being doted on and surrounded by my loving family. Because no one can ever take her place in my life no matter what.And now on this Saturday afternoon, the two of us are craving something sweet, and since Yemaya is the one between the two of us who actually enjoys cooking and baking, she’s taken charge of baking us some Eccles cakes—a British pastry filled with spiced currant

    Huling Na-update : 2025-03-31
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Forty-Nine

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe memory of Harriet pressing her lips too close to the corners of Marcos' mouth replays in my mind like a bitter melody I can’t turn off. The way she clung to him, the possessiveness in her gaze, and how he hadn’t outright rejected her touch—it all festers inside me, an emotion I refuse to name. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.But it does.And that alone infuriates me.I should have known better. I should have learned my lesson after Daniel, after the years I wasted believing in a love that was nothing but a mirage. Marcos might not be Daniel, but that doesn’t mean I should entertain the idea of him any longer. The moment I saw him with another woman—saw him let her touch him like that—I should have let every foolish inclination I had towards him die on the spot.So I do what I must—I bury myself in work, throwing myself into tasks that keep my hands busy and my mind even busier. I stop going into the office unless absolutely necessary, opting for virtual meetin

    Huling Na-update : 2025-03-31
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe news is everywhere.Tabloids, newspapers, hushed conversations in hotel lobbies and high-end restaurants. My name, my face, my supposed triumph—spread across the city like wildfire.The lost daughter, now officially found. The hidden gem, finally unveiled.I try not to let it get to me.I bury myself in work, tell myself this is what I wanted—what I’ve been preparing for. And for the most part, I believe it. I tell myself I’ve moved past the distractions of Marcus and Cameron, that they no longer occupy space in my mind. That my focus is solely on the company and my role within it.But the illusion only lasts until the night of my father’s party.A grand affair, of course. My father doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. The ballroom is adorned in gold and ivory, chandeliers dripping with light, the scent of expensive champagne and wealth hanging thick in the air.Dignitaries, business moguls, and high-profile figures mill about, exchanging pleasantries, shaking hands, w

    Huling Na-update : 2025-03-31
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-One

    šŒššš«šœšØš¬She walks away without looking back, her spine straight, chin up, that fire still burning in her eyes like a challenge.I should be annoyed.But I’m not.I’m fascinated.There’s something about the way Aretha holds herself—unyielding, deliberate. Like the world’s tried to break her a thousand times, and she’s still standing, daring anyone to come closer. Or try again.I watch her disappear into the crowd of guests, then exhale slowly, adjusting the cuffs of my tux. This time, I’m the one left standing alone. And damn if it doesn’t feel different.I turn and head back into the golden-lit room where the rest of the party buzzes. The room’s thick with perfume, laughter, and clinking glasses. Chandeliers drip crystals from the ceiling, casting the entire space in a soft, opulent glow. Everyone here is dressed to impress—politicians, moguls, heirs, and more. But the moment I step back in, I feel eyes trail after me. Always do.It doesn’t take long to spot Cameron and Nathaniel

    Huling Na-update : 2025-04-06
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Two

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe mall is buzzing with energy as Alfie and I walk hand-in-hand past the storefronts, our steps matching in rhythm. He’s practically bouncing beside me, excitement fizzing off him like a shaken soda.ā€œI want to check out the new Nintendo games!ā€ he exclaims, tugging my arm like he’s trying to drag me there himself.I laugh, adjusting my sunglasses as I glance around. ā€œWe’ll get there, little man. Let’s start with shoes first. You’ve outgrown yours—your toes are probably screaming.ā€ā€œMy toes are fine,ā€ he mutters dramatically, but he doesn't protest when I guide him into the kids’ footwear store.He slips onto a little bench as the attendant brings options in his size. I sit beside him, watching his nose wrinkle as he examines a pair of lime green sneakers.ā€œThese are loud,ā€ he declares. ā€œLike, even the birds would hear me coming.ā€I snort. ā€œIsn’t that the point? So the entire house can hear when you try to sneak cookies after bedtime?ā€He flashes me a mischievous grin. ā€œ

    Huling Na-update : 2025-04-07
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Three

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe hospital air is cold—too cold. It seeps through my skin and settles deep into my bones, making me feel like I’m walking through a fog. I sit on one of the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting area, hands clasped tightly in my lap. I must’ve checked the time on my phone a hundred times in the past hour, each glance bringing no new relief.Where are they? Why hasn’t anyone come out yet?I chew on the inside of my cheek, my mind replaying the accident in a relentless loop. The sickening thud of her body brushing the jeep’s front grille, the sharp scream that tore from my lips, the way Alfie clutched my hand so tightly as we rushed out of the car. That little girl—so small, so fragile—just darting across like life was a game of tag.I’ve tried to breathe. I’ve tried to pray. Nothing sticks. I feel like I’m going to break apart, right here in this freezing corridor.Then I hear footsteps. Sharp. Hasty. Unforgiving.My eyes lift just in time to see a woman charging toward me

    Huling Na-update : 2025-04-08
  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Four

    šŒššš«šœšØš¬I stand rooted to the cold, polished hospital floor, my mind reeling as Aretha’s words echo like a chime struck in the deepest part of me."I know very well what it feels like to lose a child."She says it so softly, so simply, like it’s just another sentence in a long list of things that have happened to her—but it lands like a gut punch. I don’t move as she turns and walks away, her back straight, her head high, but her shoulders… her shoulders tremble the slightest bit.I’ve seen death on the table. I’ve watched people code right in front of me, seen mothers scream over sons and children collapse into the arms of nurses. But this? This is different. This is the kind of pain that doesn’t bleed on the outside.The mother of the injured girl stands silently beside me, unsure now—maybe ashamed. Her anger drains the moment Aretha disappears around the corner. She says nothing more, just quietly returns to the waiting area, clinging to the hope I gave her minutes ago.I take

    Huling Na-update : 2025-04-09

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  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Nine

    š‚ššš¦šžš«šØš§Everything about this meeting screams a trap.I sit in the backseat of a nondescript black SUV, eyes trained on the quiet stretch of road as we drive out of the city. The address I was given isn’t the Barsamian mansion where we had the last meeting—it’s a guesthouse tucked into the outskirts of a neighboring city. That alone is a red flag. But what makes it worse is that I was explicitly asked to come alone.Of course, I’m not that foolish.A second vehicle trails behind, discreet and distant—my hired security detail, professionals I trust with my life. I keep my phone in my hand the entire ride, fingers tapping idly against the screen, sending occasional location updates to my manager just in case.Because this? This feels like the kind of story that ends in a disappearance headline.The guesthouse is impressive in a quiet, understated way. Rustic wood beams, a sweeping stone terrace, and tall windows that reflect the gray morning sky. Inside, it smells like lavender a

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Eight

    š‚ššš¦šžš«šØš§The moment I shut the door to my suite, I loosen my collar and finally let the smile fall from my face.I’ve been wearing it like armor all day—through the suffocating politeness, the backhanded compliments, the curt dismissal of logic from a spoilt heir with too much money and too little sense. The matriarch was composed, yes. Graceful even. But her silence when her son spat that sexist garbage…That silence said more than I liked.I sink into the armchair by the window, the city of Yerevan sprawled beneath me like a glittering mosaic. I should let it go. But the tension stays, coiled tight between my shoulder blades.With a sigh, I reach for my phone and dial.ā€œHey,ā€ I say when my marketing manager answers. ā€œI need you to pull up alternatives. If the Barsamians don’t get back to us, we need other options for that stone.ā€ā€œYou’re thinking they’ll back out?ā€ā€œI’m thinking their prince of a son might poison the whole deal. I just want to be ready.ā€We talk logistics, pro

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Seven

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe car ride back to the hotel is quiet.Not awkward. Not tense.Just… still.Cameron alternates between texting on his phone and staring out the window, one of his arms draped over the backseat with his fingers tapping out a silent rhythm against the leather. I watch the landscape blur by—stone buildings and narrow alleyways, ancient churches perched atop hills. The sky is beginning to burn orange at the edges, and for the first time all day, I feel the adrenaline ebb from my body like a tide retreating after a storm.I messed things up. I know I did.But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.We enter the hotel lobby without a word, both of us nodding politely to the concierge who greets us. The golden glow of the chandeliers bathes the space in warmth, but I feel anything but. My shoulders are still tight, my hands still restless.We step into the elevator together, side by side. The polished gold doors slide shut, enclosing us in a gentle hum of silence.I glance at him. ā€œYo

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Six

    š€š«šžš­š”ššBy the time we arrive, the estate looks like something out of an oil painting—ornate gates, lush grounds, cobblestone paths winding toward a home that could easily double as a museum. The sky has softened into a lazy afternoon haze, and I still haven’t fully shaken the image of that gun pointed at our driver. But Cameron and I are both dressed in our game faces now, and like good little liars, we smile.A housekeeper ushers us into a sitting room where the matriarch waits.She’s nothing like I expected.Older, yes, with the kind of face carved by time and quiet power, but there’s nothing soft about her. Her posture is steel, her eyes sharp behind thin, gold-rimmed glasses. She wears a high-necked black dress and sits with the kind of stillness that makes you feel like you’re the one being examined.ā€œMr. Lancaster,ā€ she says to Cameron, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. ā€œAnd Missā€¦ā€ā€œHawthorne,ā€ I offer with a polite smile, extending my hand. She doesn’t take it. She j

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Five

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe door slams shut behind him.Cameron is gone.And I’m frozen.My pulse hammers so loud I can barely hear the silence that follows. That kind of silence that only exists when something horrible is about to happen. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your lungs forget how to breathe.I press a hand to my chest, trying to ground myself, but the cold leather of the seat beneath me feels more surreal than comforting.Outside, I can see them—Cameron’s tall frame moving like a slow fuse toward a man with a gun. A gun. Pointed directly at our driver, who still stands with his hands raised, eyes wide and pleading. The wind catches the hem of the driver’s jacket, and for a second, he just looks so human. So fragile.I curse under my breath and lean forward to get a better view. My fingers grip the edge of the headrest so tight they ache.What the hell is going on?This was supposed to be a business trip. Silk deals, rare jewels, Cameron flirting too much and me pretending

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Four

    š‚ššš¦šžš«šØš§The next morning, we hit the road.Our driver, an older man with warm eyes and an encyclopedic knowledge of Armenian history, doubles as a tour guide. As the SUV glides through the countryside, he tells us about the Barsamians—how their lineage traces back centuries, how they built an empire from silk and spice and sheer force of will.Aretha listens, chin resting in her palm, her gaze drifting between the window and me. I catch her watching me from the corner of her eye for the fifth time.ā€œWhat?ā€ I ask, smiling. ā€œYou’re staring.ā€ā€œI’m calculating.ā€ā€œCalculating what?ā€ I stretch my arm along the back of her seat, not touching her but close enough that her hair brushes my fingers.ā€œWhether this trip is worth enduring your company for another forty-eight hours.ā€ā€œOuch.ā€ I clutch my chest with exaggerated pain. ā€œYou wound me. And here I thought we were starting to bond.ā€ā€œI don’t bond with trouble.ā€ā€œYou sat next to me. That makes you complicit.ā€She snorts and turns back

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Three

    š€š«šžš­š”ššYerevan greets us with a soft haze over the mountains and the thick warmth of afternoon sun pressing against the tarmac. The capital feels like a secret whispered between the ancient and the modern—a city made of stone, sky, and silent stories.Several hours after we land, I expect we’d be whisked straight to our client. That’s what I signed up for. Business. Strictly business.Instead, we end up checking into a hotel nestled in the city center—a luxury boutique place that smells faintly of rosewater and cedar. I wheel my suitcase into a suite that could easily host a cocktail party, then march back out toward Cameron’s room, irritation simmering just under my skin.He opens the door already dressed in a crisp linen shirt and slacks, smelling like something expensive and maddening.ā€œWhy are we here?ā€ I demand, arms crossed. ā€œI mean—here, at a hotel? Shouldn’t we be heading to the client’s estate or... at least contacting them?ā€Cameron’s smile is entirely too relaxed for

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Two

    š€š«šžš­š”ššThe airport is already buzzing when I arrive—suitcase in hand, coat slung over my arm, and a knot of mild anxiety sitting in my chest. I barely slept last night. My thoughts kept circling back to Cameron’s smug face, the glint in his eyes when he said ā€œI’ll take that as a yes.ā€ It irritated me more than I care to admit.Still, I’m here. Against my better judgment, I’m here.I pull out my phone to check my itinerary again when a sharp ding draws my attention. A new notification.My brows knit together as I stare at the screen.A credit alert?The amount is exact—down to the cent—of my flight ticket.What the…?I spin around and march to the nearest cashier window. ā€œHi, sorry—can I ask about a refund I just received? I don’t remember requesting one.ā€The woman behind the glass taps a few keys on her terminal, blinking at her monitor. ā€œYes, ma’am. It says here the refund was requested and approved on your behalf.ā€ā€œBy who?ā€I hear it before I see it.ā€œWell, well,ā€ comes a dr

  • Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-One

    š€š«šžš­š”ššI’m still in Marcus’s arms, chest to chest, as the crowd roars around us in a frenzy of triumph. My pulse hammers in time with the chant echoing through the stadium. His hands are firm against my waist, anchoring me, while mine are curled around his shoulders, refusing to let go. It should be awkward—hell, it is—but in this bubble of noise and adrenaline, nothing else exists. Just us. Just this moment.Then I feel it.A shift.My eyes flicker down to his lips. They’re parted, breathless from cheering. There’s a softness there. A dangerous invitation. And I—I’m not thinking pure thoughts. At all. I want to kiss him. God, I want to kiss him.But his voice breaks through the haze, low and amused, ā€œWe’re just friends, remember?ā€It’s like cold water on heated skin. My smile is tight, reluctant as I pull away. ā€œRight. Just friends.ā€We fall back into our seats, cheering as the team does their victory lap, but the electric charge between us doesn’t fade. Not entirely. Every bru

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