Benedict sat in his office, the weight of Sabrina's words pressing heavily on his chest. With every revelation-be it his wife's pregnancy and then the tragic loss of their child-the pain didn't seem to move in any other direction in his mind; he had an ache he couldn't escape.Holding onto this pain, he took his phone and called a number he knew better than any other. His mother, Teresa, answered after the first ring."Benedict," she greeted warmly. "It's late. What's wrong?"There was a long pause before Benedict finally spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "Mother, I… I saw Sabrina tonight."Teresa's tone shifted instantly, a mix of curiosity and concern. "Sabrina? Where? How is she?""At the St. Laurent Hotel," Benedict said. "She was there for an investor's meeting. She looked… strong, confident. But…" His voice broke as he tried to find the words."But what, Benedict?" Teresa pushed, her anxiety increasing.Benedict shook out his breath shakily, his heart weighted with grief and
"Actions really do speak louder than words, Benedict. It's always hard to remember that sometimes the hardest truths are the ones we need to face. Being honest is not just about speaking your mind; it is to feel it in your bones and let that lead your actions. And let her see that you have changed, not for her but for yourself."Benedict clenched his fists, determination settling. "I'll start with honesty. But that's not an end. I'll take up a fight for myself-even if it takes forever to prove myself worthy enough."Teresa looked on at him with a pinch of pride and concern. "Then don't waste any further time, Benedict. There is no pause in the clock for any of us."As Benedict stood there, preparing to leave, the spark of purpose flickered back into him. For the first time in years, he had a direction—a chance, however slim, to make things right. And he wasn't going to let it slip away.She went inside in her beautiful Parisian abode, composure unwrapping the moment the door creaked s
Benedict sat alone in his office, the heavy burden of his decisions weighing him down. His mind was a tornado of emotions that all came from the chance meeting with Sabrina at the event of the investor. Every word she uttered, every look she flung at him felt like an open wound that would never heal. But there was even more to what caused the stir in his being: the possibility that he might have a son—his child. A feeling of regret, and longing, and hope began to stir within him.He had vowed within himself to do whatever it took to make things right, but first, he needed to know the truth. Was that child hers? Was it really his?The thought of Sabrina's son haunted him. He knew he could not change what was done; perhaps he might still be able to redeem himself, prove himself as the man she once believed in. But before any of that, he had to know where Sabrina was, and if that child was his.Tucking the restlessness in his heart, he picked up the phone and dialed his mother's number.
Sabrina sat forward, forcing herself to focus.She nodded along as Penelope talked about the details, but the words felt distant and jumbled in her mind. All she could think about was the question that kept haunting her: how would she face Benedict if he found out that Saben was really his son? Her thoughts spiralled as she tuned out Penelope's voice. She replayed every moment of her meeting with Benedict at the investor's event. His expressions, his questions, the unmistakable pain in his eyes—all of it felt too real, too fresh. Lying to him about their child was all she knew to protect Saben and herself, but now she didn't know how long she could maintain the facade.“Hey!Sabrina,” Penelope’s voice broke through her fog. “You’re not hearing a word I’m saying, are you,dear?Are you okay?”Sabrina blinked, looking a little embarrassed. She had completely spaced out. "Sorry,Penelope," she muttered in a near-whisper, heat traveling to her cheeks. “I’m just. I’m not myself today.”Penelop
The next morning, Sabrina walked into Benedict's office building with a calm yet determined air. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor. She had convinced herself that this visit was necessary—not for Benedict, but for herself. She needed clarity, if only to prepare for what might come next.As she waited at the reception desk, she overheard hushed whispers from a group of employees nearby."Did you hear? The long-lost Sabrina—Benedict's ex-wife—showed up at the investor's night," one said, her tone conspiratorial."Yes, everyone is talking about it. I heard she told him their child had died. Poor Mr. Benedict. But can you imagine? After all these years, she just reappears like that?""I wonder if she's back to win him over," another chimed in.Sabrina did not react. Her face, unbroken, held an expression that reflected her stinging hurt. She curled her fists by her sides and willed herself not to respond.Across the hall, Clara was seething with anger. Benedict's long-te
"Clara," he stated firmly, his voice unchaotic but edged with frustration, "stop this. Whatever you think is happening between us, it's not real. What happened between us.it was a mistake."Her face crumpled at his words, tears streaming freely now. "A mistake?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "How can you say that, Benedict? After everything we've shared?"He shook his head, softening his tone slightly but remaining resolute. "I told you before, Clara. I don't love you and that is reality. Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but you deserve to be given someone's whole heart, and that's not me."Clara took a step closer, desperation written across her face. "You are lying to yourself! I have seen the way you look at me when no one is around, Benedict! You feel something for me—I know it! And Sabrina? She has a child with someone else! What can she possibly offer you now?"Benedict's jaw clenched over her words, but he forced himself to be composed. "Clara, it isn't about Sabr
Clara could not believe her assignment that had just been passed on to her. Between all the events she could be assigned to report on, it had to be the fashion show of Sabrina Ultra—a brand associated with the elegance of success and more importantly, Sabrina Auburn, the woman she loathed with all her being.Clara curled her fingers into fistfuls as she read the details. "It has to be a joke," she whispered to herself. It wasn't. And her editor had been quite clear on that level: this was the biggest event of the season, and Clara was supposed to bring an exclusive story.This could be my chance," Clara thought darkly, her lips curling into a sly smile. "My chance to expose her and finally put her in her place. Everybody sees her as this perfect, untouchable woman-but I know better. She is just as flawed as the rest of us-and I will make everybody know it.Clara's mind started racing with possibilities as she stared at the invitation to Sabrina Ultra's fashion show. There had to be so
Sabrina nodded somewhat with her relaxed posture, yet vigilant, "Thanks. Like I said at the start, we expand, yet focus on maintaining the good quality and integrity of our brand. The vision is definitely clear, and we just have to work hard with great people who can bring our vision into reality. If you want to hear more about this, I'd be so happy to give you an insider's view of our soon-to-be-released collections.".Clara nodded, finally moving the conversation to business, though she couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't quite finished with Sabrina just yet. She had made her point clear, but there was still something about Sabrina's calm exterior that Clara was determined to crack. She would wait for her chance—after all, the truth was only a matter of time."Your work is certainly impressive," Clara said, her tone neutral now. "I'll be sure to feature your brand prominently in our upcoming issues. I'm sure our readers will love to hear more about your designs and your journ
Ramos squinted. He digested the picture unfolding before him. His stomach writhed in knots, but not at what he saw here. Rather, it was because of what was inside of him: a searing feeling of betrayal that churned up through his core. He trusted Morales, treated him like a brother. Now, though, his former brother stood before him—a man with blood on his conscience, guilty because he'd torn his oath of protection apart to kill another person.It was then that Ramos' voice pierced the heavy stillness, cold and impassive. "Morales," he said, as if his words carried with them the sentence of an executioner. "You are placed under arrest for having aided and abetted Clara Thompson in her escape and for concealing her whereabouts.Morales didn't blink, didn't budge. His head stayed bent forward, his eyes fixed on Clara's lifeless body as if he could resurrect her with one look. His fingers still grasped the gun, quivering as if they couldn't let go of the cold metal even in the face of inevi
Clara's face curled into something almost dark—unrecognizable."Yes, I do. You don't know what it feels like to be in love that much, have it consume and destroy you. Benedict was the dream, was the future, and then that woman came around and took all of it back."Her lip curled up and curled with contempt."She does not deserve him. She shouldn't even draw the same oxygen as he did."Morales clenched his fists. "And if you do this? So what? They will hunt you. You will have to run for all eternity."Clara moved closer, her voice becoming a snake venom whisper. "That's why you are here, Brother. To protect me. To clear up my mistakes. That's what family does, isn't it?" Clara spoke, her voice dripping with cold resolution.Morales swallowed hard at the sight of her. His little sister-he had no one, really-increasingly sinking into the night."Clara, I'm scared to death of you. I don't want to lose you. For Christ's sake, please … let go of Benedict," he implored, begging her as if sta
The ballroom continued the birthday celebration of Saben. The grand ballroom glowed with a warm golden light, casting over the laughter-filled space. The blue and silver balloons danced near the ceiling as Saben's classmates ran around the superhero-themed decorations, giggling. In the middle of it all stood Saben proudly in his blue suit, the tiny red bowtie slightly askew as he grinned up at his father.Benedict knelt down to fix it. "There. Now you're the handsomest boy in the room," he declared, tousling his son's hair.Saben chuckled at that and peeked over to Sabrina who stood by, her flowing white dress moving across the floor in a graceful elegance as she watches them with absolutely pure adoration in her eyes."You say that all the time, Dad," Saben teased. "Are you sure you're not just saying this because I'm your son?"Benedict grinned. "Absolutely not. You could walk into any room and still be the most handsome kid there."Saben raised an eyebrow in jest. "Even in a room f
Taylor Elite Hotel's grand ballroom became a wonderland for Saben's 8th birthday. Balloons in shades of blue and silver floated near the high ceiling, cascading ribbons adding a playful touch to the elegant space. A massive cake, shaped like a superhero fortress, stood at the center of the buffet table, drawing excited gasps from Saben's classmates.There were giggles in each corner of the room; children running around playing tag near the decorated tables. The room was full of freshly baked pastries and chocolate fountains, and everybody could enjoy such a feast in a view of great-moving music.Saben was dressed in a sharp blue suit with a little red bow tie. He darted across the room, his eyes shining bright with excitement. His energy was infectious. Every few minutes, he would take a friend by the hand, leading them to a different corner of the party, eager to explore everything that his great-grandmother Wendy had prepared.Benedict stood near the entrance, his arm resting on Sab
Delacruz nodded. "We have been monitoring Clara's bank accounts and any possible activity. She has not been using her main account, but we found something else. She accessed an offshore account a few days ago. Small withdrawals, nothing large, but it's enough for her to stay off the radar."Vargas sat forward, his interest piqued. "Could she be preparing something? Something big?""Could be," Delacruz said. "We do not know what exactly she's up to, but that's enough to give me concern. We even tracked her being close to some private jet hangar."Ramos raised his eyebrows. "A jet? She's flying the country?"Possibly, Delacruz answered cautiously, "But she's smart. She could plan here, wait for the right time to make the move."Vargas stood up, the weight of their failure hanging over him. "Then we need to move fast. We can't afford to wait. Every second we lose, she gets closer to whatever it is she's planning."Ramos slammed his hand on the table. "Alright, let's pull everything we've
Clara's eyes turned icy, a fire burning in her chest. "I'll make them regret ever crossing me."He gave her a slow, almost reluctant smile. "Okay then. I'll keep collecting the pieces. But remember, don't go rushing this. If you do, you're walking straight into their hands. Take it slow. Wait for the perfect moment.Clara nodded firmly. "I'm not leaving until I've done what I came for."The man stayed a moment, his eyes furrowed to study her as if trying to read her deeper. "You're not some woman to underestimate. But tread carefully. Those kinds of people don't just fall."Clara said lowly, saying it more to herself than the man. "I'm not afraid of them. They will not know what hit them.He gave her one last glance before he was out the door and leaving, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Clara stood by the door, gazing after him. The quiet in that room had become deafening, but it wasn't the silence that bothered her. It was the wait.But waiting didn't scare her. Clara knew th
Her mind was already racing ahead, thinking about the next steps. The safe house was just a temporary stop, a place to regroup. She couldn't stay there forever. She needed to plan, to figure out her next move.But one thing was clear. She wouldn't be stopped. Not by anyone.The van veered hard onto a quiet dirt road and down from view, where city eyes and noise wouldn't see. Clara felt her heart ease some but didn't calm at all; it settled and hung inside, weighing against the pain. It cost a great deal to what she was to do. Clara was uncertain whether she had been ready to take that risk of its coming result. Yet, there was no backing down. She could not retreat at this point. She had gotten this far.As the van came to a stop, the man glanced over at her. “You’ve made a dangerous choice, Clara. Don’t forget that.”Clara met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve made my choice. And I’m not going to regret it.”The man sighed, opening the door to the small, dimly lit building in front of
In one swift motion, she lunged forward, swinging the keys in a tight arc toward his face. Morales instinctively ducked, but Clara wasn't aiming for his head-she was aiming for his side, for the pocket where he kept his gun.Keys reached out, Morales grunted in surprise, taking a stumbling backward step. Clara's heart pounded in her chest, her veins full of adrenaline, she did not hesitate to use the moment to her advantage. She pushed herself forward swiftly and dodged around Morales's receding back to make a beeline for the gate.But just as she stretched out to the gate, a strong grasp closed around her arm. Morales regained his balance far quicker than Clara had permitted herself to let herself think."Not so fast, Clara," he snarled, twisting her arm behind her back with a jerk that sent a shock of pain through her shoulder.Clara gritted her teeth, refused to let the pain show. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. She kicked backward, aiming for his shin,
The secret, she was certain, lay in the pattern of the guard's rounds—when he passed by her cell, he inevitably stopped on that farthest corner. He never gave her much attention, thinking her just another condemned prisoner with no choice. Clara was not like the others. She was waiting for this one, single chance.She reached up to the small grate above her cot, the one she had secretly loosened during the last few days. It was a tight fit, but Clara had managed to create a small opening large enough to slip through, using pieces of cloth and the thin, wiry metal she'd managed to pry loose.She drew herself up, using the makeshift rope she had prepared, her hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She was almost there.Footsteps approached again, closer this time.Her pulse was racing. This was the moment she had been waiting for.Clara gave one final glance over her shoulder, to ensure that Dolores was still asleep. With gritted teeth, she heaved herself up thr