She couldn’t possibly be talking about Richard… could she? I blinked, my confusion growing. Was she mistaking him for someone else? "I think you're mistaken," I said, shaking my head. "The Richard I’m talking about is rich, yeah, but not that rich." Vivian stopped mid-blabber, her eyes narrowing. "I don’t understand," she admitted. "Me neither," I muttered. "I’m talking about Mr. Anthony—the man who hired me, the man who paid for your sister’s bills," she clarified, and I nodded. "Right. And I’m talking about Richard. His father’s name is William," I emphasized. Why was I even explaining this? Did she have so many clients that she didn’t even know who had hired her? Vivian didn’t respond right away. Instead, she raised a finger, wordlessly telling me to wait as she dug into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She typed something quickly before turning the screen toward me. "This man," she said, showing me a picture of Richard. "Mr. Anthony, yeah?" I stared at t
My fingers clenched around my phone as I reread the words on the screen. Missing. Suicide or murder? I snapped my head up, my eyes locking onto Vivian. “Richard was married?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. Vivian shifted in her seat, her expression uneasy. “Yes,” she muttered. “What happened?” I pressed, my throat suddenly dry. “To his wife, I mean.” She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered, a little too quickly. “Just… try not to listen to the rumors. It’s just a bunch of bitter people making up stories.” Her voice dipped, almost as if she was angry at the mere mention of them. “What rumors?” I frowned, catching the way her body stiffened. “If you go online, you’ll see. It’s everywhere,” she muttered. But I hadn’t seen anything. There were no outrageous conspiracy theories, no wild accusations. Just articles asking the same question: What happened to Laura Smith? Apparently, she had disappeared—vanished without a trace. I glanced bac
"I know exactly what will make you feel better!" Jessica’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she grabbed the restaurant menu from the table beside her. "They have all sorts of things to eat!" Her face lit up as she skimmed the options. "Ice cream, pizza, cake!" she squealed in delight. "The doctor said I could start eating today," she continued eagerly, "and I want to try everything!" I nodded, glancing briefly at Vivian, who was smiling but also watching Jessica with mild apprehension. "Can she really eat all this?" I wondered aloud. The last time I checked, she had only been allowed warm fluids. "I think so," Vivian admitted, her voice thoughtful. "Her nutritionist did say she could start solids today, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be all at once—just baby steps." I noticed the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, as if she didn’t want to dampen Jessica’s enthusiasm. "But Dr. Jake said I could eat anything I wanted!" Jessica protested, crossing her arms. Vivian let o
"What is going on here?" Richard's voice was sharp, his piercing gaze locked onto me. My heart sank. "I…" I stammered, stealing a nervous glance at Jake. "Mr. Anthony!" Vivian suddenly jumped to her feet. "Good morning, sir," she and Jake echoed in unison. Richard’s eyes flickered over them briefly before settling back on me. "I thought this was a hospital, not some dating center," he said coldly, his gaze unwavering. Then, without breaking his stare, he turned to Jake. "And you," he continued, his voice laced with quiet authority. "Aren't you a doctor? On the clock? Don’t you have better things to do than flirt with a patient’s family?" Jake paled. "O-Oh, no, sir, it's not like that—" "I don’t want to hear it," Richard cut him off sharply. "Get back to work." Jake hesitated, his eyes flickering toward me, but he didn’t dare protest. With a small nod, he quickly left the room. As soon as he was gone, Vivian stepped forward, her eyes practically glowing with admirat
A Month Later. It had taken weeks, but I was finally starting to get used to Richard’s routine. He still assigned me ridiculous tasks, but I’d come to realize that half of them were utterly pointless. It was almost as if he was inventing new ways to humiliate me—ways to ensure I stayed around, lingering just within his reach. Like now: "I like it slightly burnt," Richard instructed, perched on a stool by the kitchen counter, his laptop open on the marble surface. His gaze barely flickered from the screen as he dictated his latest demand. "Twenty perfectly round pancakes," he said, as if that was a completely reasonable request. It should have been reasonable—except he wanted them made in a square pan. A brand-new square pan that I was certain he had bought just to torture me. I huffed but got back to work, biting my tongue as I carefully poured the batter, trying my best to mold them into something resembling perfect circles. It was almost impossible—but Richard didn’t car
Elizabeth's point of view: I couldn’t imagine living under the same roof as this man. Why in God’s name was he even suggesting it? "That’s final!" I hated those words. I hated how he gave me no choice, how he acted as though his word was law. My glare burned into him as he returned to his computer, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just demanded the most ridiculous thing ever. "If you keep staring like that, your eyes might fall out," he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Look at it this way," Richard continued, his tone light, almost persuasive. "I’m saving you the time and stress of taking the train all the way here every day. I’d drive you to work and back, so you wouldn’t have to stay out late, and you’d save money." I narrowed my eyes. Was he… negotiating with me? Trying to make this sound like a reasonable, even beneficial arrangement? He wasn’t wrong. It would be more convenient. But none of that mattered—I didn’t want to live with him. Who knew what insane d
Elizabeth's point of view: At first, I thought I could handle it—that I could calm Jake down and de-escalate the situation. But the moment I realized he was drunk, fear gripped me. "Get off me!" I shouted, struggling to push him away as he was now trying to force a kiss on me. "Please, stop!" My heart pounded. He was stronger than I expected, his grip like iron. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel his weight pressing me against the door. I frantically looked around, hoping someone would see us—hoping someone would help. But my apartment was at the far end of the block, and at this hour, the street was deserted. "Stop being difficult, Elizabeth," Jake slurred, his voice thick with liquor. "I'm not! I don’t want this!" I cried, shoving at his chest. "Just one kiss," he insisted, using his other hands to hold my face, and using his fingers to dig into my jaw, as he tilted my face toward him. I twisted and fought, but he was too strong. My body tensed, my mind ra
Richard's point of view: "She is insufferable!" I muttered, stepping into my office and switching on my computer. I had an app to design, deadlines to meet, and yet, somehow, Elizabeth had taken over every damn thought in my head. I opened my laptop, determined to work, but my mind refused to cooperate. 'What kind of person is she?" I leaned back in my chair, recalling her tantrums, her stubbornness, her ridiculous innocence. She wasn’t like anyone I had ever met—not even Laura. And that was the problem. I snapped my laptop shut and grabbed my phone, and dialed Maxwell. The second he picked up, I got straight to the point "I'm firing that guy." There was a pause before his groggy voice came through. "What guy?" I frowned, glancing at the time. Just past eleven. "Are you seriously sleeping at this hour?" Maxwell was a club guy. He didn't sleep this early. "Yes, and now I'm awake," he grumbled. "Who are you talking about?" "The nutritionist—the one you vouched for. He’s
"What do you say?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost casual.I didn’t answer. Instead, I just stared at her, trying to read the room, trying to understand why. Rich people were strange, but this? This was something else. It wasn’t just that she was offering me money—it was how she did it. Like it was a simple transaction. Like I had a price tag. And considering her son already thought I would do anything for money, this was more than suspicious. Had Richard put her up to this? Was this some kind of test? The thought made my jaw tighten. But why would he even bother testing me? He knew I was around him because I had to be. But...what if I was wrong? What if this wasn’t a test, and I was about to walk away from the offer of a lifetime? "Fine! You drive a hard bargain—two million," Mrs. Williams said, and I blinked. Before I could react, she waved a manicured hand in the air, like she was already growing bored of the conversation. "This is my final offer, and I’m not moving
I followed Richard to what looked like an auditorium, then into an elevator that led to a VIP box overlooking the stage. As soon as we stepped out, I noticed three people seated with their backs to the elevator, their attention fixed on the stage. Richard moved forward, his hand slipping from my back as he took another step toward the chairs. "Mum!" His voice was sharp, directed at a silver-haired woman sitting in the first chair. She turned instantly, a warm smile flashing on her face. "Richard!" Her soft voice rang out as she rose gracefully and walked toward him. This is Richard’s mother? I stared at her, taking in her beauty. She looked young and elegant, and she carried herself with effortless grace. Her nude-colored dress complemented her flawless skin, and the diamond necklace around her neck screamed money. "What are you doing here, Mum?" Richard asked, his body tensing as she pulled him into a hug. "Did you really expect me to miss this?" she said. She had a bea
Elizabeth's point of view: We got down to the parking lot, where a pure white Cadillac Escalade limo sat waiting just in front of the elevator. As soon as we stepped out, the driver rushed forward, fumbling to open the door for Richard. But Richard stopped him, "The lady first." Richard instructed. And the driver nodded redirecting his efforts to me. I tried not to blush as I stepped inside, my breath hitching at the sheer luxury surrounding me. The interior was sleek, with plush leather seats, a TV screen, and crystal-clear wine glasses arranged neatly beside a fully stocked mini fridge. It was the kind of car that screamed wealth, the kind I had only ever seen in movies. I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but as beautiful as this dress was, it wasn’t exactly made for sitting. The fabric clung to me, suddenly feeling too tight, my knees pressed together in a way that made breathing a conscious effort. The leather squeaked as I adjusted, my frustration growing.
Elizabeth's point of view: "Fine!" Richard sighed. "I won't touch you without your permission... but if your eyes beg me to, I just might." His teasing tone sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Also, would you accompany me to the award dinner? It’s important, and I wouldn’t want to leave you alone in this house in case you decide to go snooping again,"Ah. There it was—the real reason he wanted me out tonight. "What do you say?" he asked. It wasn’t how I wanted him to ask but it was a win nonetheless. "Fine. I’ll go," I sighed, "'I'll pick something from the collection. Thank you." "Good. See you at seven," Richard said, and I nodded instinctively—forgetting, for a moment, that he couldn't see me. As I hung up, my lips curled into an involuntary smile. A small, fluttering sensation stirred in my stomach, but I quickly shook my head to rid myself of the ridiculous feeling. "He’s so infuriating", I thought, though I couldn't deny the thrill of having had the upper hand fo
Elizabeth's Point of View; The cupcake was worth it. Margaret had magic hands. Even though I had planned to take just one, I devoured an entire box of ten before I even realized it. "This is lovely! Thank you," I said, wiping the last crumb from my lips. Margaret smiled warmly, clearly pleased with herself. "Listen, my shift is over. Want to go dress shopping together?" she asked. I glanced down at my clothes. They were new—I had bought them with my first paycheck—and I thought they were pretty decent. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, frowning. Margaret chuckled. "For the award ceremony tonight. Richard said you two are going." I rolled my eyes. "I’m not going anywhere." Richard wasn’t the boss of me. Well… maybe technically he was, but that didn’t mean he could summon me to his events just by commanding it. Margaret gave me a knowing look, but I stood my ground. "Don't worry about any dress shopping, ma'am. I’m not going anywhere tonight," I
Elizabeth's point of view: Richard was insufferable. And Margret—what was taking her so long? I found myself glancing toward the kitchen, wondering what she was doing. With how long she was taking, she might as well have been baking a whole new batch of cupcakes. "I told you already, I’m not going to see any therapist. I don’t need one," I spat, my patience running thin. Richard smiled, unaffected. "You are," he stated firmly. I shook my head, seeing this as an opportunity to bring up Jake. "About yesterday..." I started, then hesitated. I remembered how angry Richard had been the day before, and it made me skeptical. "I... spoke to..." I stopped again, suddenly aware of the way he was watching me—focused, his full attention on me, smiling. It was unsettling. Then, as if sensing my discomfort, his expression shifted, growing serious. "What is it, Elizabeth? Talk to me." His deep voice was calm, soothing, and for some reason, it made my heart flutter slightly. "Your e
Richard's perspective: (point of view): "Martin, cancel all my appointments for the day. I don’t think I’ll be coming in," I said, feeling an unexpected pull to stay home. "Understood, sir. But if I may remind you, the award ceremony is today. You’ve been nominated for Philanthropist of the Year again," Martin informed me. "Would you like me to send a representative to accept it on your behalf?" I leaned back in my seat, exhaling. "I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know before the event." Another award. Another ceremony. I’d received so many over the years that I was starting to lose count. The whole thing felt exhausting—endless speeches, handshakes, and hollow congratulations. None of it truly mattered. But this time, something felt different. For the first time in years, I was actually considering going. That is, if I could convince Elizabeth to come with me. "Should I inform your family?" Martin asked. I sighed. My mother and Beatrice always made sure to attend on my
Elizabeth's point of view: "Richard!"My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I thought he was at work. "Answer me, damn it!" he roared, eyes blazing with anger. He lifted his foot as if to step inside but stopped midair, hesitating like something invisible was holding him back. "I... I got lost trying to find my room," I stammered. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Get out," he ordered, his voice low at first. But before I could gather myself to move, his voice rose sharply. "I said get out, Elizabeth!" I flinched, scrambling past him into the hallway. "Don't ever come in here again," Richard muttered as I rushed by. I barely had time to catch my breath before realizing—I was lost again. My room could have been anywhere. Richard must have noticed because he pointed to a door at the corner of the hallway. "There," he said, his voice quieter now, almost drained. I nodded quickly and hurried toward it. But just as I reached my door, I glanced bac
Elizabeth's point of view: Inside the room was a nursery—an old, abandoned nursery with two baby cradles in the middle. The room was covered in dust, cobwebs stretched from corner to corner, making it clear no one had stepped foot in here for years. I took a step inside, and the moment I did, a sharp crack echoed through the air. I looked down to find shattered glass scattered across the floor, pieces of picture frames mixed with ripped-up notes, torn apart as if someone had wanted to erase them completely. If it wasn’t so old and dusty, the nursery would have been the most beautiful thing ever. It had promise once. Now, broken toys littered the floor—ripped bears missing their button eyes, cracked dolls with their stuffing spilling out, and pink star mobiles still hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly. But this place wasn’t just abandoned. It was ruined. Someone had deliberately trashed it. I found myself walking further, my curiosity pulling me in as I took everything in