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
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 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
Herbert’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, re
ANASTASIA My makeup artist had just finished my makeup, and very soon, I would be walking down the aisle. It all seemed like a dream, Matthew Smith would be my husband. I couldn't believe I would be marrying the most eligible bachelor. I just couldn't contain my joy as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. My engagement to Matthew had been on gossip blogs and magazines. It was a very romantic engagement. We had attended the Super Bowl together, and just as the halftime started, the camera landed on us, and I turned to Matthew, and there he was with a beautiful diamond ring. I accepted it with a continuous "yes." I had come into my hotel room to speak with Matthew. "In an hour, you'll be mine," Matthew had said, and I just couldn't wait. After talking to Matthew on the phone, I sprawled out on the bed and fantasised about our honeymoon. Images of us making love on the beach sent shivers down my spine, I was going to make sweet love to Matthew, and I just couldn't wait for the w
MATTHEW After more than twelve years away, my uncle Harry Smith was finally coming back home, and my grandfather was throwing a ball to honour his return. I didn't really care because very soon, I would have a bigger celebration of my own. Dressed in a black velvet suit and trousers, my white shirt spoke volumes, and it made my rich maroon velvet bow tie stand out. I looked in the mirror, and I saw a man ready to command attention at the ball, I was a vision of sophistication. Entering the beautifully decorated arena a few minutes later, I observed men coming in, dressed in tuxedos, each accompanied by a woman in their arms. The ladies wore elegant evening gowns, their makeup meticulously applied, and their hair impeccably styled. Surprisingly, I was remarkably calm. A year ago, this situation would have sent me into a panic. My grandfather had declared that ninety percent of his shares in all his companies would be transferred to my uncle if he was able to get married bef
ANASTASIA After three long years, Matthew hadn't changed a bit. He was still very handsome. Those once captivating blue eyes, which I used to get lost in now, looked at me with so much surprise. As I stood before him, uncertainty gripped me. I hadn't known how I would feel seeing him again after I ran just hours before our wedding. Yet seeing him made all my feelings for him to return. The scent of him brought back a lot of memories, I remembered the times I ran my fingers through his beautiful hair. For years, the only way I kept tabs on him was by reading about him from gossip columns in magazines, social media, and financial magazines. Standing just a few feet away, the truth hit me – I was still in love with him. He had this sophistication and sexiness that made me giddy and wet. Dressed in a navy blue tuxedo, he exuded timeless elegance, a sight that made my heart ache. "Anastasia," he whispered as he stared into my eyes. "What is she doing here?"Matthew asked as he sp
ANASTASIA "Anastasia," I heard my name again. I opened my eyes and found Harry in my room. "I am sorry," he mumbled and quickly walked out. I sat up and wiped the beads of sweat that had dripped all over my body. "It was a dream," I whispered to myself. Feeling aroused and a little bit ashamed, I descended from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. Glancing at the wall clock, I realized I had overslept; it was already eight o'clock. I ran a warm bath, adding my rose-scented shower gel and a few drops of my favourite essential oils. I removed my nightwear and slipped into the bathtub. An hour later, I was dressed and seated at the dining table, ready for breakfast. The maid, Maria, who had introduced herself earlier, informed me that Harry was in a virtual meeting and would be joining me soon. I wasn't looking forward to seeing him, not after what had just happened that morning in my bedroom. "Why did he even come into my bedroom without my permission?" I mumbled to myself.
Herbert’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, re
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
"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
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,
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.”