SARAHI was still trying to wrap my head around what Marco had just done. He had walked into the manager’s office and walked out with a smile, declaring he’d bought the café. Part of me was skeptical, wondering if this sudden kindness would come with some sort of backlash when we got home. Was this just another way to control me, to keep me under his thumb? Or was it possible that he genuinely wanted to make things better?As I sat there, more relaxed now, I started to appreciate the beauty of the café. The warm lighting, the cozy seating, and the soft hum of conversation created an inviting atmosphere. I looked around, my eyes landing on a couple playing with their little daughter at a nearby table. They seemed so happy, their laughter light and carefree.“Daddy, catch me!” the little girl squealed as she darted around the table, her tiny feet padding softly on the floor.Her father chuckled, pretending to reach for her but missing on purpose. “Oh no, she’s too fast for me!” he excla
SARAHI couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. Marco had actually shown care, and it was throwing me off. My mind kept replaying the moment our hands touched. It was weirdly intimate, and it made me shy to look up at him.I poked at my meal, trying to focus on the food. Marco broke the silence, his voice warm. “So, do you love the meal?”I looked up quickly, trying to clear my head. “Yeah, it’s really good. Thanks for picking it out.”He smiled and leaned back, looking more relaxed. “You know, this place used to be one of my favorites. My grandma used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid.”I blinked, surprised. “Really? I didn’t know you had such good memories of this place.”“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “She always said their risotto was the best. We’d come here for special occasions, and she’d make a big deal about the food. I loved it.”He laughed softly, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “She was really into food. We’d have these long dinners where she’d tell stor
SARAHThe waitress came back, carrying a bottle of vintage port and two glasses. She set them down with a polite smile and asked, “Shall I pour for you?”Marco shook his head. “No, we’ve got this. Thank you, though.”The waitress gave a slight nod. “Very well. If you need anything else, just let me know.”Marco turned his attention back to me with a playful glint in his eyes. “You ready for this?”I nodded, feeling a mix of nerves and resolve. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”He chuckled, picking up the bottle. “Alright then. Here goes.”As he began to pour the wine, I glanced at the waitress, who was still hovering nearby. She seemed curious about our exchange, her eyes darting between us.“Looks like you’ve got an audience,” I said to Marco, tilting my head towards the waitress.Marco looked over and grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”The waitress smiled again, a bit more genuinely this time. “Enjoy your evening,” she said, finally turning to leave.Marco poured the rich, dark wine into
SARAHI woke up with a pounding headache, the kind that felt like someone was hammering inside my skull. Groaning, I opened my eyes and blinked against the bright light filtering through the curtains. It took a moment for my vision to clear, and when it did, I realized I was in my room. But how did I get here?Panic bubbled up as I tried to piece together the fragments of last night. I sat up slowly, my head throbbing with every movement. I looked around, searching for any clues that might explain how I ended up here.The last thing I remembered was being at the café with Marco, the bet, and the wine. But everything after that was a blur. I couldn’t recall how I got from the café to my bed.“Marco?” I called out, my voice hoarse. There was no response. “Marco?”I waited, but the silence was deafening. Yelling made my headache worse, so I decided to calm down and think. I took a deep breath and tried to focus.That’s when I noticed my clothes. I was wearing something different from wha
MARCOI sat in my study, the morning light filtering through the large windows, casting shadows across the room. The newspaper lay on my desk, and I picked it up, skimming through the headlines. It was the usual mix of political drama, business failures, and celebrity scandals. Nothing particularly interesting, nothing that couldn’t be solved with a few well-placed threats or a strategic buyout.“Idiots,” I muttered, shaking my head at the ineptitude of the so-called leaders in this city. They always managed to screw things up, no matter how easy the solution seemed. Setting the paper down, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath. The world outside might be chaotic, but in here, I controlled everything. Or at least, I liked to think I did.But then my thoughts drifted, and I found myself thinking about Sarah again. More specifically, about that bastard Cain, the one who had dared to lay a hand on her at Lemuel’s party. The thought of it made my blood boil. I could still see th
MARCOI narrowed my eyes, taking a step closer to Cain. His words replayed in my mind, over and over, like a broken record. Marcel. I couldn’t afford to take this lightly.“Where did you hear that name?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. I needed to know if this scum had any real connection to Marcel or if he was just trying to save his own skin.Cain’s eyes darted around the room, wild with desperation. “Everyone in the dark side of society knows the name Marcel,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “But I… I can lead you to him. Just… please, spare my life.”For a moment, I said nothing, weighing his words carefully. Then I signaled to Tony to put his gun away. The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I turned to Tony and Carlos, searching their faces for any sign of what they thought.“What do you think?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Is he bluffing?”Carlos didn’t hesitate. “He could be faking it, boss. Trying to buy himself time. For all we kno
SARAHMartha had already started trimming the hedges when I joined her in the garden. The sun was warm, not too harsh, and a light breeze made the leaves dance gently around us. I watched her for a moment, admiring the precision of her work. But there was something about just sitting around doing nothing that drove me insane, especially lately. I needed to keep my hands busy, to feel like I was contributing something, anything, to this place.“Martha,” I called out, walking over to her. “Let me help you with that.”She looked up, startled, and immediately shook her head. “Oh no, Miss Sarah. Please, you shouldn’t trouble yourself with this. It’s my job. I can handle it.”I smiled, trying to reassure her. “I know it’s your job, but I’m bored out of my mind. I need something to do, and helping you here seems like a good way to pass the time.”Martha’s eyes widened in alarm, and she stepped in front of the hedge clippers as if to guard them from me. “No, Miss Sarah. I couldn’t possibly al
MARCOI sat in my office, spinning a pocket knife between my fingers, the faint glint of the blade catching the dim light. The motion helped me think, a small distraction from the conversation we were about to have. Tony, Carlos, and Luis stood before me, waiting for my signal to start. “Alright, Tony, what have you got?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the blade.Tony cleared his throat, stepping forward slightly. “According to Cain, this Marcel guy works as a mercenary for various families. That’s about all he knows. Why Marcel’s interested in us or what he’s doing in New York? No clue. Cain wasn’t much help beyond that.”I stopped the blade mid-spin, gripping the handle firmly as I looked up. “So, we’re dealing with a ghost, huh? No clear motives, just someone lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.”Carlos chimed in, trying to downplay the situation. “Look, Marco, we don’t have to get worked up over this. We pop in, take the small fry out, and go about our
SARAHShowing up at the hospital to investigate felt unreal. I couldn’t shake the irony of it all—hospitals were supposed to be places of healing, sanctuaries of truth, where people put their trust in tests and results. Yet here I was, convinced that something as crucial as Marco’s DNA test had been tampered with, and the trail of deception had led me straight to the doors of this institution.Every step toward the entrance felt heavy, like I was dragging the weight of my doubts and fears behind me. This wasn’t just about Marco or Isabella anymore. It was about the truth, about justice. If someone had tampered with his test results, they had played with his life—and mine.Tony walked beside me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, his expression neutral but sharp. He always had this way of staying calm, of making me feel like we weren’t walking into the lion’s den. But I couldn’t help the nerves twisting in my stomach.“This is a big risk,” I muttered, breaking th
SARAHI couldn’t shake the unease in my chest, the gnawing sensation that something sinister was at play. Those messages I’d found on Isabella’s phone were like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit. Marcel—the same man who had nearly killed Marco—was texting her. Why? What was the plan? I’d spent the better part of the day wracking my brain, going over every possible scenario, but none of my conclusions gave me any comfort.Was she working with Marcel? Was this about money? Revenge? Control? My thoughts circled back to the vague instructions in those texts—keeping Marco distracted, causing turmoil. But to what end? And why was Isabella still here, moving through this house like she belonged, when every fiber of my being screamed that she didn’t?I sighed heavily, putting down the crochet hook I’d been using to try to calm my nerves. The yarn sat limp in my lap, a testament to how little I’d managed to accomplish. I wasn’t going to get anywhere sitting here and stewing in my own thoughts
SARAHThe rhythmic motion of my hands moving the crochet hook through the yarn was oddly soothing. It was one of the few things that could keep my mind calm these days. I sat on the living room couch, determined to finish the little blanket I’d started weeks ago. The soft, repetitive motion allowed me to focus on something other than the chaos that had become my life.Across the room, Isabella was lounging on another couch, scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t said a word to me since she’d entered the room, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. The silence between us was sharp, almost suffocating, but I preferred it over whatever fake kindness she’d try to throw my way. I kept my eyes fixed on my work, ignoring her presence entirely.Every now and then, I’d hear her let out a soft laugh or the click of her nails tapping against the phone screen. It was infuriating how comfortable she seemed, sitting there like she owned the place. I tightened my grip on the yarn, forcing myse
MARCO I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the ledger before me. The columns of numbers blurred into one another, mocking me with their impenetrable logic. No matter how hard I tried to focus, to force my mind into the calm precision I was known for, it felt like grasping at smoke. The harder I tried, the more elusive it became. I leaned back in my chair with a sharp sigh, running a hand through my hair. The scattered papers, the quiet hum of the office—it all felt like a testament to my failure. I’d been sitting here for hours, pretending to work, trying to keep my mind from going where it always went. But nothing worked. The numbers refused to make sense, and my thoughts refused to stay in line. This wasn’t me. I was always in control. Always sharp. But lately, it felt like control had slipped through my fingers. Like the more I tried to hold onto it, the faster it unraveled. I hated the feeling. Hated that I couldn’t snap my fingers and make it all go away. I pushed back my ch
SARAH“Where did you find my bracelet?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended, trembling with the anger that had been bubbling inside me all day. My gaze locked onto the bracelet on Isabella’s wrist—a charm bracelet I could never mistake. My bracelet. The one I had been searching for like a lunatic all morning, tearing through every corner of the house only to find it here, now, dangling mockingly from her wrist.Isabella’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile, as if my frustration amused her. “Sarah,” she said softly, in a tone so calm it only fueled my fury, “there’s no need to get so worked up. It’s just a bracelet.”“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I spat, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I shot to my feet. The sharp sound echoed in the room, but I didn’t care. My anger had its own momentum now, unstoppable. “Where the fuck did you find it? I’ve been looking for it all day, tearing this place apart, and now it’s just c
SARAHBy the time dinner rolled around, I felt more settled. The small victories of the day—reorganizing the spaces Isabella had claimed and setting some quiet boundaries with Martha—gave me a sense of control I hadn’t felt in weeks. It was almost laughable how reclaiming a few drawers and shelves could make me feel so accomplished, but after days of feeling like I was drowning in chaos, I would take every win I could get.As I made my way downstairs, I mentally ticked off everything I had rearranged earlier. The bookshelf in the living room? Back to its original setup. The vase Isabella had moved to the coffee table? Returned to its rightful place on the mantle. Even the pantry had been sorted, with labels that made sense to me instead of her haphazard system. Nothing seemed out of place. Good.When I entered the dining room, the familiar, comforting scent of roasted vegetables and seasoned chicken greeted me. My dinner was already set on the table, just like always. Martha, ever tho
SARAHI woke up feeling a little lighter, the tension from yesterday not completely gone but dulled enough to let me breathe. I stretched, letting the faint morning light seep into my room before heading to the bathroom. A warm shower was exactly what I needed to set the tone for the day.After drying off, I opened my wardrobe to pick out a dress, only to freeze. Something was off. The neatly arranged rows of clothes I’d spent time organizing were disheveled, with hangers out of place and garments folded in ways I would never fold them. My brow furrowed as I scanned the wardrobe again.“What the hell…” I muttered under my breath.I pushed aside a row of dresses, checking the back for anything missing. My eyes landed on an empty spot where one of my scarves used to hang. Confused, I stepped back, trying to recall the last time I’d used it. Shaking my head, I moved to the drawers and opened the one that held my jewelry.That’s when I noticed it—my bracelet was gone.I stared at the empt
SARAHAs I walked down the hallway, the house felt different—like someone had been here, touching things that didn’t belong to them. It was subtle at first. A throw pillow on the couch was slightly off-center, its crisp lines disturbed. The vase I had carefully placed on the mini table in the living room was now perched on the corner of the mantle.I frowned, stopping mid-step to glance around. I hadn’t moved it. No one ever moved anything in this house unless I told them to. The staff knew better than to tamper with my things.Who was behind this?I shook my head, forcing myself to keep walking, but the unease stayed with me. By the time I reached the kitchen, I was determined to find some kind of distraction. I'd rather be hanging around in the kitchen than seeing him. Avoiding him right now felt far more important.Martha was there, wiping down the counters with practiced efficiency. She turned as I entered, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she greet
SARAHI stood in the middle of my room, staring at the slight mess I’d made over the past few days. Clothes were draped over the chair in the corner, some hanging halfway to the floor, and a stack of books leaned precariously on my nightstand. It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t neat either. Still, cleaning seemed like the best way to keep my mind from spiraling. Anything was better than sitting here and stewing over Isabella and her smug, self-satisfied attitude—or Marco, with his infuriatingly calm demeanor, like nothing in the world could touch him.I grabbed a shirt off the chair and folded it with a little more force than necessary, tucking it into the drawer. The movement was brisk, almost aggressive, but it felt good. At least this, I could control. Folding clothes, organizing, tidying—it was simple and didn’t come with strings attached.“The Isabella situation,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed another shirt. That’s what I’d been calling it in my head. It sounded clinic