**Laila's POV**
I stepped out of the company, needing a breath of fresh air and a brief respite from the constant chaos. The sun was warm on my face, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside me. As I headed back towards the entrance, I caught sight of him—Daniel. My heart skipped a beat, not out of love or affection, but from the rush of anger that surged through me like wildfire. His usually confident demeanor was replaced with frantic movements. His tie hung loose, his hair disheveled, and his face was etched with desperation. He looked like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff, and I knew I was the one who had pushed him there.Good. He deserved it.I kept walking, my heels clicking against the pavement, my head held high. I wouldn’t let him see even a flicker of emotion. I had caused his misery, and I had no regrets. After all, he had caused mine first. I was the one who had called the authorities. I was the one who had ensured he faced th**Desmond’s POV** The day had started with a glimmer of hope, however faint. I had driven to Miss Leila’s house, swallowing my pride to beg for mercy. I hated every moment of it—groveling before a woman who thrived on others’ misery. But I had no choice. My company was crumbling, my clients had abandoned me, and the penalty fees she demanded were far beyond what I could pay. Still, I had hoped that a sliver of humanity would emerge from her cold, calculating heart. Her response, though, was a brutal reminder of the kind of person she truly was. “No refunds, Desmond. And no, I won’t lower the penalty,” she had said with a twisted smile, arms crossed as if relishing my despair. I had begged, my voice cracking with desperation, “Please, Miss Leila, just reduce it a little. I’ll fight to pay the rest. I just need a chance to save my company!” Her expression didn’t falter. “That’s not my problem. You should have thought about this be
### Miranda’s POVThe night was unusually quiet as I drove home, the streetlights barely illuminating the long stretch of road ahead. My body ached from the exhausting day at work—dealing with the embezzlement of company funds, fielding calls from lawyers, and dodging relentless reporters. The air in my car was cool, the gentle breeze brushing against my skin, offering a small reprieve from the day’s chaos. It was almost 8:00 p.m. when I left the office, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed. But as fate would have it, peace was the last thing the night had in store for me. I was crossing the bridge that divided the city from the suburbs when something unusual caught my eye. A figure was squatting near the riverbank, his silhouette illuminated by the dim moonlight. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I squinted to make out the details. From his posture, I could tell it was Desmond. But why was he out here, alone, at this hour? What could he possibly b
**Desmond’s POV** The chill of the cell crept into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in my mind. I sat hunched on the cold, hard bench, my head buried in my hands, trying to make sense of it all. Homicide. The word echoed in my skull like a death knell. Did someone see me that night? Did someone see me throw Brenda into the river? My heart hammered against my ribcage as a thousand possibilities flashed through my head, each one worse than the last. The clinking sound of keys snapped me out of my thoughts. One of the officers approached, his face a mix of indifference and authority. “Mr. Desmond, someone wants to see you,” he said curtly, unlocking the cell. I frowned, confusion tightening my features. Someone wanted to see me? Who? My mind reeled as I was led out of the cell and down the dimly lit hallway. My stomach churned, not just from hunger—I hadn’t eaten since morning—but from the growing dread in my chest.
**Laila’s POV** The past few weeks had been nothing short of a whirlwind. Between the legal battles over Miranda Inc., court appearances, countless hours spent at the police station dealing with Desmond’s embezzlement case, and managing the mountain of work at my office, I was stretched thin. Stress had become my constant companion, yet somehow, through sheer determination, I pushed forward. The day I finally reclaimed Miranda Inc., my late father’s beloved company, was nothing short of victorious. After months of being robbed of what was rightfully mine, the judge’s gavel struck, and the courtroom erupted in applause. Relief surged through me like a tidal wave, and for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of hope. I held onto that feeling tightly as I left the courthouse, the company once again bearing my name. The next day, as I woke up to the soft golden light filtering through my bedroom curtains, I allowed myself a moment of
### Laila's POVOne thing about me is that I keep records—meticulous, detailed records. My company is my life, my fortress, and my legacy. I know I have enemies, a long list of them. People who want me dead. People who want to see me fail. But what they don’t realize is that I am always prepared. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of vigilance. It’s why I’ve made sure no stone is left unturned when it comes to my company’s security. A week ago, Clara—my trusted assistant and confidante—accompanied me to the supermarket under the guise of buying office supplies. What we really purchased were state-of-the-art CCTV cameras. I had them discreetly installed in the most inconspicuous places, embedded in ceilings and hidden from plain sight. No one would know they were there—no one except Clara and me. This afternoon, as I was engrossed in some paperwork in my office, Clara burst in, her face pale and her hands trembling. I immediately put my pen down, sensi
Laila's pov The tension in the air was almost palpable as I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Clara’s words from earlier still echoed in my mind, her paranoia about the loan, her relentless warnings that things could spiral out of control. She had been restless, pacing my office like a caged lioness, her eyes darting with worry. "Clara," I had said, my tone firm but calm, "you need to trust me on this. I anticipated this mess a long time ago. That’s why I insisted on installing the CCTV cameras. It’s all under control." She wasn’t convinced, not entirely. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her brows furrowing deeper as she leaned against my desk. "Ms. Lila," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "you’re always so composed, but this... this could ruin everything." I had smiled at her then, a small, knowing smile. "Clara, you worry too much. Sometimes, you have to let people dig their own graves." The polic
**Laila’s POV**Weekends. Oh, how I loved weekends. Those were the only days I didn’t have to think about work, deadlines, or the stress of daily life. It was my sanctuary, my time to rest and rejuvenate. This particular Saturday, I had no plans except to curl up in bed and let the world pass me by. I was in the middle of a blissful dream when the shrill ring of my phone jolted me awake. Groaning, I reached for it on the nightstand, my eyes barely open. **Nolan’s name flashed across the screen.** Why is he calling me so early? I wondered, yawning. “Good morning, Laila,” Nolan’s deep, cheerful voice greeted me. I stifled a yawn and replied lazily, “Good morning, Nolan. How can I help you?” His chuckle was warm, almost teasing. “Help me, I help you, huh? Well, I wanted to ask if you’re free this evening. Let me take you out for dinner—just a casual hangout. You don’t relax enough, you know?” I wanted to decline,
Chapter One ^ELENA^I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hands with mixed feelings.Two dark pink lines. Although the result is undoubtedly positive, I'm still not sure what was the appropriate reaction for me– should I be happy or sad?In the eyes of the world, I was married to the love of my life– at least that’s what I used to think previously. But in the three years of our marriage, Lucas Brown has always treated me like a stranger.Beep!The shrill sound of a message alert broke through my thoughts. “Elena, I just sent you $500k. Please come to the hospital immediately. Aurora needs blood.”Aurora…I clenched the phone, my nails digging into my palm till the extent of drawing blood; but that was nothing compared to the pain I was going through.I felt like I had been pierced in the chest with a knife. The message was sent by “Hubby”, and that's what hurts the most.Right now, it feels like even his contact name is taunting me with its hollow meaning. In reality, our
**Laila’s POV**Weekends. Oh, how I loved weekends. Those were the only days I didn’t have to think about work, deadlines, or the stress of daily life. It was my sanctuary, my time to rest and rejuvenate. This particular Saturday, I had no plans except to curl up in bed and let the world pass me by. I was in the middle of a blissful dream when the shrill ring of my phone jolted me awake. Groaning, I reached for it on the nightstand, my eyes barely open. **Nolan’s name flashed across the screen.** Why is he calling me so early? I wondered, yawning. “Good morning, Laila,” Nolan’s deep, cheerful voice greeted me. I stifled a yawn and replied lazily, “Good morning, Nolan. How can I help you?” His chuckle was warm, almost teasing. “Help me, I help you, huh? Well, I wanted to ask if you’re free this evening. Let me take you out for dinner—just a casual hangout. You don’t relax enough, you know?” I wanted to decline,
Laila's pov The tension in the air was almost palpable as I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Clara’s words from earlier still echoed in my mind, her paranoia about the loan, her relentless warnings that things could spiral out of control. She had been restless, pacing my office like a caged lioness, her eyes darting with worry. "Clara," I had said, my tone firm but calm, "you need to trust me on this. I anticipated this mess a long time ago. That’s why I insisted on installing the CCTV cameras. It’s all under control." She wasn’t convinced, not entirely. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her brows furrowing deeper as she leaned against my desk. "Ms. Lila," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "you’re always so composed, but this... this could ruin everything." I had smiled at her then, a small, knowing smile. "Clara, you worry too much. Sometimes, you have to let people dig their own graves." The polic
### Laila's POVOne thing about me is that I keep records—meticulous, detailed records. My company is my life, my fortress, and my legacy. I know I have enemies, a long list of them. People who want me dead. People who want to see me fail. But what they don’t realize is that I am always prepared. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of vigilance. It’s why I’ve made sure no stone is left unturned when it comes to my company’s security. A week ago, Clara—my trusted assistant and confidante—accompanied me to the supermarket under the guise of buying office supplies. What we really purchased were state-of-the-art CCTV cameras. I had them discreetly installed in the most inconspicuous places, embedded in ceilings and hidden from plain sight. No one would know they were there—no one except Clara and me. This afternoon, as I was engrossed in some paperwork in my office, Clara burst in, her face pale and her hands trembling. I immediately put my pen down, sensi
**Laila’s POV** The past few weeks had been nothing short of a whirlwind. Between the legal battles over Miranda Inc., court appearances, countless hours spent at the police station dealing with Desmond’s embezzlement case, and managing the mountain of work at my office, I was stretched thin. Stress had become my constant companion, yet somehow, through sheer determination, I pushed forward. The day I finally reclaimed Miranda Inc., my late father’s beloved company, was nothing short of victorious. After months of being robbed of what was rightfully mine, the judge’s gavel struck, and the courtroom erupted in applause. Relief surged through me like a tidal wave, and for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of hope. I held onto that feeling tightly as I left the courthouse, the company once again bearing my name. The next day, as I woke up to the soft golden light filtering through my bedroom curtains, I allowed myself a moment of
**Desmond’s POV** The chill of the cell crept into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in my mind. I sat hunched on the cold, hard bench, my head buried in my hands, trying to make sense of it all. Homicide. The word echoed in my skull like a death knell. Did someone see me that night? Did someone see me throw Brenda into the river? My heart hammered against my ribcage as a thousand possibilities flashed through my head, each one worse than the last. The clinking sound of keys snapped me out of my thoughts. One of the officers approached, his face a mix of indifference and authority. “Mr. Desmond, someone wants to see you,” he said curtly, unlocking the cell. I frowned, confusion tightening my features. Someone wanted to see me? Who? My mind reeled as I was led out of the cell and down the dimly lit hallway. My stomach churned, not just from hunger—I hadn’t eaten since morning—but from the growing dread in my chest.
### Miranda’s POVThe night was unusually quiet as I drove home, the streetlights barely illuminating the long stretch of road ahead. My body ached from the exhausting day at work—dealing with the embezzlement of company funds, fielding calls from lawyers, and dodging relentless reporters. The air in my car was cool, the gentle breeze brushing against my skin, offering a small reprieve from the day’s chaos. It was almost 8:00 p.m. when I left the office, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed. But as fate would have it, peace was the last thing the night had in store for me. I was crossing the bridge that divided the city from the suburbs when something unusual caught my eye. A figure was squatting near the riverbank, his silhouette illuminated by the dim moonlight. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I squinted to make out the details. From his posture, I could tell it was Desmond. But why was he out here, alone, at this hour? What could he possibly b
**Desmond’s POV** The day had started with a glimmer of hope, however faint. I had driven to Miss Leila’s house, swallowing my pride to beg for mercy. I hated every moment of it—groveling before a woman who thrived on others’ misery. But I had no choice. My company was crumbling, my clients had abandoned me, and the penalty fees she demanded were far beyond what I could pay. Still, I had hoped that a sliver of humanity would emerge from her cold, calculating heart. Her response, though, was a brutal reminder of the kind of person she truly was. “No refunds, Desmond. And no, I won’t lower the penalty,” she had said with a twisted smile, arms crossed as if relishing my despair. I had begged, my voice cracking with desperation, “Please, Miss Leila, just reduce it a little. I’ll fight to pay the rest. I just need a chance to save my company!” Her expression didn’t falter. “That’s not my problem. You should have thought about this be
**Laila's POV**I stepped out of the company, needing a breath of fresh air and a brief respite from the constant chaos. The sun was warm on my face, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside me. As I headed back towards the entrance, I caught sight of him—Daniel. My heart skipped a beat, not out of love or affection, but from the rush of anger that surged through me like wildfire. His usually confident demeanor was replaced with frantic movements. His tie hung loose, his hair disheveled, and his face was etched with desperation. He looked like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff, and I knew I was the one who had pushed him there. Good. He deserved it. I kept walking, my heels clicking against the pavement, my head held high. I wouldn’t let him see even a flicker of emotion. I had caused his misery, and I had no regrets. After all, he had caused mine first. I was the one who had called the authorities. I was the one who had ensured he faced th
### Desmond’s POV The world around me seemed to collapse in slow motion, like the weight of my sins was pulling me into an abyss I couldn't claw my way out of. My breath hitched as I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. The reporters outside my company were a sea of chaos, their voices melding into an indistinct roar that made my pulse race. Cameras flashed, questions were shouted—each one a dagger aimed at my already fractured soul. I couldn’t face them. Not now. Maybe not ever. Taking a sharp turn, I headed to the one place I thought I might find solace—my aunt’s house. The road stretched endlessly before me, my mind replaying every poor decision, every moment of weakness that had led me here. *How could I have been so stupid?* Shame burned hot in my chest, but beneath it simmered fear—raw and unrelenting. When I arrived, I felt like I was barely holding myself together. My aunt's house was just as imposi