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 before his thirty-fourth birthday. Despite the anticipation and rumours, no news of Harry's engagement or marriage had surfaced, so I knew I would soon succeed my grandfather. I would soon be in charge of a multi-million business empire. I didn't know much about Harry Smith, and since he was no longer standing between my grandfather's wealth and me, I was open to seeing him. I took my seat at the closest table, and not long after, I heard the voice of Jim Moore, my grandfather's trusted Personal Assistant. He announced the presence of my grandfather and his wife, and a round of applause followed. The pair walked over to their reserved seat, and my uncle was announced. "....Put your hands together as we welcome Harry Smith," Jim said. A tall, slim man walked in and shook hands with Jim. He was a remarkably handsome man. Harry Smith combined the features of my grandfather and his former supermodel mother beautifully. He smiled and waved and took his seat beside his father. The rest of the celebration went on smoothly. The following morning, I woke up to an email calling for a board meeting. As I prepared for the meeting, I had a feeling I would be named the director of the 'Smith and Smith group of companies. While the rest of the board waited for the arrival of my grandfather. My nonchalant father was not present. He was probably somewhere in a yacht or a luxury hotel in the company of a supermodel or social media influencer. My father was the typical example of an entitled person. He spent money recklessly and couldn't be bothered to work for it. His father was a billionaire, and that was enough for him. My grandfather finally arrived in the company of his PA and Harry, my uncle. I have been the one working and toiling for the company, so I waited with a smile, my celebratory champagne already cooling off in a refrigerator in my office. "I have some important information I need to pass to the board," my grandfather said. I nod smiling, 'this was my moment ', I thought to myself. Stephen's voice, though firm, carried a tremor of emotion. "I am so happy to have worked with all of you. And I hope you will give the next director the same support you have given me all these years. Effective immediately I will be stepping down from the helm of this company, a legacy I built with every one of you. it's time for a new chapter." Stephen paused. Everyone listened intensely. He gestured towards Harry, who sat beside him, I could see the genuine pride on my grandfather's face, "With immense faith, I introduce your new Director – Harry Smith." "I hope the same support you have given me will now be extended to the new Director of this company," Stephen said. Thunderous applause erupted, echoing in the boardroom. All eyes turned to Harry, who rose, a shy smile gracing his lips. As he addressed the board, I looked at his lips moving, but I wasn't listening anymore. I was angry. Frozen in shock, I felt the weight of the announcement hanging heavily in the air. I couldn't believe it. My grandfather had picked his son over me. Surrounded by an atmosphere charged with suppressed rage, I realized every calculated move I had made, every dedication to the company, was tailored for this very moment – to inherit the legacy my grandfather had painstakingly built. Now, my dreams lay shattered, replaced by the foundation of another. My blood pounded relentlessly, drowning out the congratulatory messages and backslaps Harry received. A bitter taste lingered in my mouth as our eyes met, and at that moment, a battle line was drawn. The air hung heavy in the boardroom. I got up abruptly, "Grandpa, this is unacceptable," I blurted out, rising abruptly from my seat. My voice, usually composed and measured, trembled with suppressed anger. "How can this be?" I continued, ignoring the surprised stares of the board members. "I thought Uncle Harry's 'grace period' ended last year. You promised..." My grandpa, looking disappointed and frustrated, raised his hand, telling me to stop before I could say more. "Matthew," he said, sounding firm but tired, "let's talk about this at home. It's not good to share our family problems in front of others." Then, he turned and gave me a serious look before taking Uncle Harry out of the room. The door closed behind them, and I was left alone in the quiet room. The celebratory atmosphere had vanished. I felt robbed. I needed an explanation as to why my uncle was announced as the person taking over Grandfather's companies instead of me. The wait for dinner felt like an eternity. I paced my room, each hour stretching into an agonizing minute. Every tick of the clock mocked my shattered dreams and shattered trust. To numb the sting, I poured myself a glass of wine, then another, the warmth doing little to soothe the turmoil within. When I got to the house, they were already seated. My grandfather's wife was seated beside him while he was at his position at the head of the table. I was surprised to see my father at the table. My mother was probably somewhere in a luxurious hotel nursing a champagne flute enjoying the wealth she gold dug herself into by giving birth to me. I noticed my uncle was not in attendance, 'it's best', I thought to myself. I needed to air my grievances to my grandfather, and it was best that my uncle was not around to hear it. After the desert was finished, I knew it was time to speak, "Grandpa, you gave Harry up to the end of last year to get himself a wife or forfeit the company. You gave him two years to do so, and he failed to do that. I have been here slaving for you while everyone else enjoys the wealth, "I stated. My grandfather was quiet, so I continued, "I thought you were a man of your word. Is it because I am a product of your bastard's son's fling with the maid? "I asked. He cleared his throat and looked up at me, Stephen Smith was a handsome man even for his age. At seventy-three, he looked like a man in his late fifties. " I keep telling you to observe more than you talk," Stephen said and sank back into the chair. My father got up and walked out, I wasn't surprised that he walked out. He had never cared or ever stood up for me. Paris Smith, my grandfather's wife, practically raised me alongside my uncle, her son, until things took a different turn for her. "Your uncle is married," my grandfather said. "What did you say?"I asked. "They will both be with us shortly. They were supposed to be part of this dinner, "he said calmly. I couldn't believe my ears. A thousand questions ran through my mind. When did he get married? Who did he get married to? How long have they been married? How long did my grandfather know? I heard footsteps, and I turned to see my uncle walk in. "Good evening Dad, Good evening Mom," he greeted. "Hello Matthew", He said to me as he took a seat beside his mother. "Where is this beautiful wife of yours, we are all eager to see her," my grandfather said, I could hear the eagerness in his voice. "She was taking a call, she will be with us shortly," Uncle Harry said. A few seconds after, footsteps approached, "Here she is," Harry said. I looked up and in walked Anastasia.Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she scrolled through her phone. The images of Harry and Camille were everywhere. Pictures of them coming out of a restaurant. Anastasia could not help but see how Harry held the beautiful actress. Anastasia felt sick to her stomach. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The pain was physical, a sharp stab that made it hard to breathe. " No, this can’t be real," Anastasia kept muttering to herself as she struggled to breathe. She had spoken to Harry just last night. He had told her he was busy and had an early meeting. And yet, here he was, on the front page of every gossip blog, wrapped up in another woman. Tears blurred her vision, and her body got weaker. The phone slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the marble floor. A wave of dizziness hit her like a storm, and before she could even cry out, the darkness consumed her. Miriam, one of the domestic staff, knocked lightly on Anastasia’s bedroom door. "Madam, y
Anastasia stretched lazily under the soft sheets, her body still heavy from exhaustion. The previous night had been a blur of discussions, strategy, and whispered theories with Natasha. They had spent hours poring over security footage, trying to make sense of who could have betrayed her. She had hoped to speak to Harry—to hear his voice, to feel some semblance of reassurance. But he hadn’t come home. She had waited. And waited. At some point, her eyes had grown heavy, and sleep had claimed her before she could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway. With a sigh, Anastasia pushed herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stripped off her lilac-coloured nightwear and stood before the full-length mirror. The reflection staring back at her was different. Her waist was still trim, but her breasts—fuller than before—hinted at the new life growing inside her. A slow smile curled her lips. She was going to be a mother. Excitement coursed through her veins, but it w
The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft flicker of candlelight casting golden hues across Camille’s face as she sipped her wine, her gaze locked onto Harry. The tension between them was thick, like a velvet rope pulling them together. Harry, slightly tipsy, leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He was fully aware of Camille’s game—she had always been a master of flirtation, using her beauty and charm like a finely honed weapon. “You’ve done a good job staying out of my reach,” Camille murmured, setting her glass down as she leaned in, her voice was as soft as silk. “Even when you know how much I’ve been dying to have you.” Harry smirked, shaking his head. “Camille, we’ve never seemed to be single at the same time.” Camille let out a soft, sultry laugh, her eyes gleaming as they travelled over him with deliberate slowness. “Oh, Harry…” she purred, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You’re being coy. That’s not the real reason.” Harry arched
Anastasia sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she absently scrolled through her phone. She wasn’t reading anything—her mind was too clouded to focus. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the screen, the only sound in the vast, quiet living room. The clock on the wall ticked away, marking each second that passed as she waited for her sister, Natasha, to arrive. Anastasia had called her the moment Harry stormed off, demanding answers she didn’t have. How had Matthew heard about the divorce? The only two people she had confided in were Natasha and Britney, and she trusted them both with her life. Her chest tightened as she replayed Harry’s furious words in her mind. "Why did you tell your lover that we were getting a divorce?" Matthew. The man who had used her over and over again. There is no way she would have betrayed Harry like that. But somehow, he knew and that was what Anastasia was confused about. How did he know? A car door slammed outside, pulling her
Anastasia paced the length of her living room, her fingers gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and her heart pounded in her chest as the moment Harry had walked out replayed in her head. She had rushed up to him the second she heard his bedroom door open, desperate to speak to him, to explain, to beg—but he had walked past her as if she didn’t exist. No glance, no words, not even the flicker of an emotion in his eyes. She had watched from the window as he got into his car and drove away, leaving her standing there, crushed, shattered, and abandoned. Tears blurred her vision as she dialled Natasha's number. The call barely rang twice before Natasha picked up. “Anastasia?” Natasha’s voice came through the speaker, filled with concern. Anastasia couldn’t even respond—only a choked sob escaped her lips. “Stasia, talk to me. What’s wrong?” More sobs. “Anastasia! What is going on?” Natasha’s voice was sha
Anastasia lay still, her body wrapped in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner. Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, but she didn’t say a word. Harry shifted uncomfortably, his arm draped loosely over her waist as he studied her face. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. “Anastasia,” he began, his voice trembling, “I need you to know… I love you.” Her expression didn’t change, and her gaze was still fixed on him. Harry’s heart ached at her lack of response. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I know i have already professed my love for you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I promised to wait. But my heart yearns for you, " he paused, swallowing hard—"I thought tonight meant something. But if it doesn’t, I understand.” Anastasia turned her head away