Natasha made a quick decision. She typed in B into the search bar of the contact, and a list of names filled the screen. There was B, Bee, Benny, Ben, Benita but no Bernice. Natasha quickly took out her phone from her purse and started taking pictures of the phone numbers of all the contacts that came up. She snapped the number of the number stored with the name B. She continued with Ben, and then Benny, she was snapping as fast as she could until she heard footsteps behind her. " I woke up to find that you were gone," Natasha heard Damien say. Natasha knew she couldn't let him catch her with his phone. She immediately tossed his phone into her purse and turned to face him. Natasha managed to smile as her heart pounded away, "I came to check if my sister had called. I decided to send her a message so that she wouldn't worry about me, "Natasha said with her phone in her hand. Natasha prayed that Damien wouldn't realise that his phone was no longer on the table like he had left it.
Ruby sat in the living room, her fingers trembling as she clutched the phone. She was confused, the lady sounded like Bernice. But it had been years since she had last seen or spoken to Bernice. Ruby had a lot of questions swirling around in her head, 'If it was Bernice, why would she claim she was dead? If it was someone else, who was the person and what had happened to Bernice ", Ruby asked herself as she sat quietly. Natasha paced back and forth in front of her, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She stopped abruptly and knelt in front of Ruby, gripping her hands. “Ruby, what did the person say? Was it Bernice? Tell me!” Natasha pleaded, her voice trembling. Ruby hesitated, her heart heavy with the burden of the news. She looked into Natasha’s desperate eyes and finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “They said... Bernice is dead.” The words struck Natasha like a physical blow. She gasped, stumbling back onto the couch. Her hands flew to her
Natasha watched the phone ring but couldn't bring herself to pick up the call. Her imagination ran wild. What if it wasn't really Bernice, then she was putting herself in so much trouble. The phone stopped ringing and Natasha exhaled with relief. When they had hatched the plan of her getting Bernice’s number from Damien's phone. They had not envisaged this whole drama. The phone began to ring once more and it was still the number that was calling. Natasha summed up her courage and picked up the call. "Hello", Natasha said into the phone and waited. "Hello", a female voice answered, "this is Bernice ", the voice said. Natasha froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She tightened her grip on the phone, unsure of what to say. “This is Bernice,” the voice repeated, calm but firm. “No, that’s not possible,” Natasha stammered. “Bernice is... she’s gone. That’s what I’ve been told.” A soft chuckle came from the other end. “Clearly, I’m not gone if I’m speaking to you now.”
Natasha sat at the corner table, her eyes darting to every person who walked into the cosy restaurant. The low hum of people talking and the clinking of cutlery only added to her anxiety. She placed a trembling hand on her stomach, her baby bump was not yet visible but it felt comforting. Though Natasha tried to calm herself, her heart raced, as she kept glancing at the entrance. Her thoughts swirled in a storm of doubt. What if this was a mistake? What if this "Bernice" wasn’t who she claimed to be? Once again Natasha remembered her unborn child, and she knew what was at stake. The door opened, and a tall, stunning blonde walked in, instantly drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room. She was dressed in a fitted blue gown that matched her strikingly icy blue eyes. Her heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as she strode with confidence, scanning the room until her gaze landed on Natasha. Natasha stiffened. The woman approached her table and, without hesitation,
"No, he didn't kill any of them. I took care of them, "Bernice said. Natasha gasped, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. “ So you killed them?” Bernice tilted her head, studying her. “I prefer to say I protected my brother. You understand that, don’t you? You’d do anything to keep Anastasia safe, wouldn't you ?.” At the mention of her sister's name, Natasha froze. She could feel Bernice’s gaze boring into her, as though daring her to object. Natasha’s chest tightened as Bernice’s words sank in. Her fingers trembled under the table, and she clenched them into fists, trying to steady herself. It became clear that Bernice could be more dangerous than her brother. She was even too afraid to ask how she knew about her sister. “I know what you’re thinking,” Bernice said, her voice calm, almost soothing. “You judged me by my looks —soft-spoken, well-dressed—and you assume I’m harmless. They thought the same thing.” She leaned forward, her icy blue eyes piercing. “But when
Bernice’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating Natasha as she waited for what would come next. The room felt smaller now, as though the walls were closing in. Bernice took a deep breath, her icy demeanour softening slightly, though her eyes never lost their sharp edge. “I stayed out of Damien’s life,” she began, “because I became something... something he couldn’t protect anymore. I became his weakness.” “His weakness? What do you mean?”, Natasha asked. Bernice leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped on the table. “When Damien joined the Mafia, he made enemies. Powerful ones. Men who don’t forget a grudge.” Natasha’s heart pounded. “What happened?” “For a while, we were untouchable. Damien was meticulous. But then they found out about me.” Bernice’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Natasha had to strain to hear her. “They came after me to get to him. I was kidnapped and held for weeks. Tortured. And Damien... he lost control.” Natasha gasped, her hand c
As Natasha settled into the driver’s seat, her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the steering wheel. She stared blankly at the quiet street, but her mind replayed Bernice’s words like a haunting melody: “Life on the streets was hard. Men... everywhere.” Her throat tightened, and she instinctively placed a protective hand over her belly. Her baby wasn’t even born, yet the thought of her child enduring such horrors was unbearable. A surge of nausea twisted her stomach, followed by a wave of guilt. How could any parent abandon their child like that? she thought bitterly. Her father’s face flashed in her mind—his stern but warm expression as he taught her to ride a bike, his strong arms lifting her onto his shoulders during family outings. Her chest ached with the realization of how much she had taken for granted. “Damien and Bernice deserved better,” Natasha murmured, her voice trembling. Her vision blurred as tears gathered in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away.
The two days before the board meeting had come and gone. The meeting with the private investigator had been emotional and nerve-wracking for Anastasia. As Anastasia applied her makeup, before the time set for the board meeting, the mirror seemed to blur, not from the mascara she meticulously brushed onto her lashes but from the weight of her thoughts. Her hands slowed as she remembered the day Harry's mother had caught her kissing Matthew. The memory was vivid, as though it had happened only yesterday. The whole incident replayed in her mind, transporting her to that day. She had followed Harry's mother into the sitting room, and they had begun to talk. "I don't know if Harry has told you what transpired between Matthew's grandmother Megan and me," " she had started, "Megan was my best friend. We were like two peas in a pod until Herbert came along. He was just a handsome bookworm with very big dreams, but slowly, he began to capture my attention. My friend Megan discourag
After her talk with Harry's mom, Anastasia had resolved to look deeper into her relationship with Matthew. When Paris had told her how she had found out from a friend that her best friend had drugged her fiancé and made it look like they had sex. Anastasia had also hoped that she would find out that truly the video was fabricated. When Natasha suggested employing the services of the private investigator she had used to investigate her husband, Anastasia reluctantly agreed, hoping Matthew would be vindicated. She clung to the belief that the video showing him with another woman was fabricated, as Matthew had insisted. While she waited with Natasha for the PI, Anastasia found herself replaying every beautiful moment she had shared with Matthew. She remembered how he had proposed, his eyes filled with love, and how he whispered, "I can't wait to marry you." His eagerness had been so contagious that they had rushed into a short engagement. Could the man who once seemed so perfec
When Anastasia got to the car, the chauffeur stepped out and swiftly opened the back passenger door for her. She hesitated for a moment, clutching her bag tightly, before sliding into the seat. The soft click of the door closing was almost deafening in the silence that followed. Inside, Harry sat with his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the headrest. His posture was stiff, his jaw clenched as though trying to contain an eruption of emotions. “Harry…” Anastasia began, her voice soft, almost pleading. “Not here. Not now,” Harry interrupted his tone firm but devoid of the warmth she once knew. Anastasia felt a lump rise in her throat. The distance between them in the car felt vast, as though they were strangers rather. She turned her gaze to the window, watching the city lights blur as the car started moving. The silence was heavy, each passing second amplifying her dread. Back at the office, Matthew was fuming with anger. He paced back and forth, stopping at interv
Anastasia was about to speak when the door creaked open. In strode Stephen Smith, Stephen’s eldest son and Matthew’s father, his presence commanding immediate attention. His sharp suit and the frown on his face gave him the air of someone who had walked into a battlefield uninvited but ready to fight. Stephen turned slowly to look at his first son, his disapproval was evident on his face. “Well, it’s nice of you to join us, Herbert,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I trust you’re here to fix the mess your son has created.” Herbert’s gaze landed on Matthew, whose smugness had momentarily been replaced by unease, and then on Anastasia, who stood stiffly, her fists clenched at her sides. "What mess?" Herbert asked coolly, though his expression suggested he already had an idea. Before anyone could respond, Anastasia stepped forward. Her voice was clear but the nervousness she was feeling could be felt in the tremble of her voice. "Nothing happened between Matthew and me
Stephen's booming voice sliced through the tension. "Matthew, have you lost your mind? Can someone explain what is going on here?" Herbert said as he gestured to the projector screen, where an incriminating photo of Anastasia and Matthew was frozen mid-display. He stared at everyone in the room before fixing his gaze on Matthew, who stood at the head of the table. "You see, Grandpa," Matthew began, his voice dripping with mock civility, "my dear uncle here has a very unstable home. His wife is clearly—" "Matthew, take my wife’s name out of your mouth," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing. The tension in the room reached a boiling point. Board members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "This is outrageous!", Mr. Carter, the oldest member of the board, said. He pushed his glasses up his nose, glaring at Matthew. "Do you think this is a circus? This is unacceptable and very shameful for the Smith family.", Mr Carter added. Across the table, Mrs. Green leaned forward
The boardroom was bathed in natural light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp contrasts on the polished oak table and leather chairs. A large projector screen at one end of the room remained dormant, one of the assistants came in and turned it on and connected it to a computer, prepping incase it was to be used for a presentation. Anastasia sat stiffly beside Harry, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her notepad. Across from her, Matthew reclined in his chair, an air of smugness clinging to him like a second skin. The room buzzed with murmurs as board members shuffled papers and exchanged polite nods. Paris, Harry's mother, sat at the far end of the table, her hawk-like gaze scanning the room. She was impeccably dressed, her navy blue suit perfectly tailored, her hair was pinned back in an elegant chignon. She radiated authority, her presence commanding silent respect from everyone in the room. Anastasia avoided Matthew’s gaze, but she could feel
Paris sat frozen in Blake’s car, her tears drying against her cheeks. Blake’s words hung heavy in the air. "Herbert never betrayed you," Blake said softly, her hands trembling on the steering wheel. Paris blinked, her mind struggling to process the words. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I saw them… together. I saw it with my own eyes.” Blake exhaled sharply and turned to face Paris. Her expression was a mixture of guilt and determination, as though she’d been carrying this truth for far too long. “Paris, listen to me,” Blake began, her voice shaking. “What you saw wasn’t what you think it was. Herbert didn’t betray you. Megan… she planned everything. She drugged him.” Paris recoiled as though she’d been slapped. “What?” Her voice rose, disbelief lacing her tone. “You’re saying Megan—my best friend—did this intentionally? That she… drugged Herbert?” Blake nodded, her eyes brimming with regret. “Yes. Megan was jealous of you, Paris. She envied e
The two days before the board meeting had come and gone. The meeting with the private investigator had been emotional and nerve-wracking for Anastasia. As Anastasia applied her makeup, before the time set for the board meeting, the mirror seemed to blur, not from the mascara she meticulously brushed onto her lashes but from the weight of her thoughts. Her hands slowed as she remembered the day Harry's mother had caught her kissing Matthew. The memory was vivid, as though it had happened only yesterday. The whole incident replayed in her mind, transporting her to that day. She had followed Harry's mother into the sitting room, and they had begun to talk. "I don't know if Harry has told you what transpired between Matthew's grandmother Megan and me," " she had started, "Megan was my best friend. We were like two peas in a pod until Herbert came along. He was just a handsome bookworm with very big dreams, but slowly, he began to capture my attention. My friend Megan discourag
As Natasha settled into the driver’s seat, her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the steering wheel. She stared blankly at the quiet street, but her mind replayed Bernice’s words like a haunting melody: “Life on the streets was hard. Men... everywhere.” Her throat tightened, and she instinctively placed a protective hand over her belly. Her baby wasn’t even born, yet the thought of her child enduring such horrors was unbearable. A surge of nausea twisted her stomach, followed by a wave of guilt. How could any parent abandon their child like that? she thought bitterly. Her father’s face flashed in her mind—his stern but warm expression as he taught her to ride a bike, his strong arms lifting her onto his shoulders during family outings. Her chest ached with the realization of how much she had taken for granted. “Damien and Bernice deserved better,” Natasha murmured, her voice trembling. Her vision blurred as tears gathered in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away.
Bernice’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating Natasha as she waited for what would come next. The room felt smaller now, as though the walls were closing in. Bernice took a deep breath, her icy demeanour softening slightly, though her eyes never lost their sharp edge. “I stayed out of Damien’s life,” she began, “because I became something... something he couldn’t protect anymore. I became his weakness.” “His weakness? What do you mean?”, Natasha asked. Bernice leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped on the table. “When Damien joined the Mafia, he made enemies. Powerful ones. Men who don’t forget a grudge.” Natasha’s heart pounded. “What happened?” “For a while, we were untouchable. Damien was meticulous. But then they found out about me.” Bernice’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Natasha had to strain to hear her. “They came after me to get to him. I was kidnapped and held for weeks. Tortured. And Damien... he lost control.” Natasha gasped, her hand c