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.
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
Richard's Point of ViewI was bored. Bored to death. The club had a beautiful ambiance, but apart from that, nothing else was amusing—not the women dancing in front of me, nor the cheap wine I struggled to sip. "You enjoying yourself?" Maxwell asked, leaning closer. I shot him an annoyed look. "Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?" I spat, leaning back into the leather chair. The seat let out a sharp squeak under my weight, worsening my irritation. If Maxwell hadn’t stolen my keys and dragged me to this cheap strip club, I would have spent my night doing something a thousand times better. "C'mon, Richie Rich," Maxwell teased, his grin widening as if he enjoyed my discomfort. "You've been celibate for three years. Look around this room. There are plenty of women here—women who would happily help you forget about that—" He stopped himself, swallowing his words. Laura. He’d almost said the name I couldn’t stand hearing, I gave him a warning glance, and he raised his hands in surre
Elizabeth's point of view "Your sister's condition is critical. If we don't operate on her soon, I'm afraid you may lose her," the nurse's words hit me like a sledgehammer. 'Lose her' The phrase echoed in my mind as I stared at Jessica's still form lying on the bed, her frail body plugged into various machines like a puppet. "Is there any way you can help me? Just do the operation before I get the money," I pleaded, even though I knew it was futile. "I'm sorry, we can't. Not without at least a deposit," she responded, her words making my legs feel weak. Jessica was the only family I had left. I couldn't afford to lose her. But where was I supposed to find fifty thousand dollars? I had no money, and the bank had only offered me a fifteen-thousand-dollar loan on the condition that I had a white-collar job. "Ms. James, I can only give you three days to bring the money. If not, I'm afraid we’ll have to discharge her. Our hospital can't be responsible for what happens to her," the n
Elizabeth's point of view: The next day."Are you Ms. Elizabeth James?" the receptionist asked, her voice cutting through my haze. After what happened yesterday at the club, I spent the rest of the night applying for a white collar job, anything that would make me eligible for a loan from the bank, "Ms. Elizabeth James," she repeated, her tone sharp with impatience. "Ah, yes, that's me," I stammered, realizing too late she’d been addressing me all along. My heart raced as I stood, silently berating myself for zoning out at the worst possible moment. "The CEO will see you now," she said, giving me a look that screamed she had better things to do. 'Calm down, Elizabeth. You’ve got this,' I tried to give myself a little pep talk, this was my last interview for the day and I had spent the whole day listening to the routine, "we would get back to you". After this I had no backup plan, no safety net. 'Please God, help me get this job" I prayed silently as I stepped into the offic
Richard's point of view: "I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was I dreaming? Was this a nightmare? It felt like déjà vu—Laura on her knees in front of my father, all over again. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ I roared, my voice echoing through the office as my fists clenched at my sides. ‘Richard!’ my father exclaimed, springing to his feet. The woman remained where she was, kneeling on the floor, her head bowed. ‘What is going on?’ I demanded again, stepping closer, my eyes narrowing on the woman in front of me. ‘Elizabeth came for an interview,’ my father stammered. ‘She accidentally spilled water on my—’ His words faltered. Elizabeth? My gaze softened briefly as I waited for her to look up. Slowly, she rose, her face partially obscured by her jacket. But it didn’t matter—I knew her. The woman from the club. The memory of last night surged forward. I’d gone out of my way to ensure no man touched her, yet here she was, standing in my father’s office. Did she come to sell
Elizabeth's point of view; It all became a blur. The last thing I could register was the CEO’s son yelling through the door before everything else faded to blankness—the misunderstanding, his insults, none of it registered in my head until I was in the cab. As soon as I settled into the cab, his words echoed in my mind. How could he talk to me like that? What did he mean when he said he knew me? I wondered, trying to recall his face. I had no idea who he was, but I had seen him before. “We’re here, ma’am,” the taxi driver said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I paid him and stepped out of the cab. As I got out, my phone buzzed with a notification. I pulled it from my purse and saw an email from Scarlet Tech. My heart raced as I opened it: "Dear Elizabeth James, We are pleased to inform you that, after careful consideration, you have been selected for the position of Project Assistant at Scarlet Tech International. Your official offer letter will be available for collection t
“What?” I exclaimed, trying to ensure I’d heard correctly. Wasn’t this the same man who had insulted me in his father’s office? What was he doing here? Was he following me? “Mr. Richard,” Rose began to stammer, “b-but you just…” She was about to say more when Richard cut her off. “I said I would pay for it, Rose. Are you going to stand here arguing with me, or are you going to start preparing for the treatment?” His tone was commanding, and I noticed Rose jump slightly as he spoke. Rose turned to the nurse, who was already near the machine. “You heard Mr. Richard. Get her the consent form and inform the doctor,” she barked. I stood there, confused, watching them scatter across the room. Taking a deep breath, I felt a small wave of relief wash over me as I turned to the man, a warm smile on my lips. “Thank you,” I whispered to Richard, who wore a smug smile. “Don’t thank me yet. This is not free,” he replied. I sighed. Why was I not surprised? He seemed nothing like his kin
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
I noticed Margaret’s expression shift instantly. Her once-warm demeanor hardened into something unreadable as she narrowed her eyes. "I don’t know," she said, her words clipped, almost defensive. "Neither does Richard. No one knows what happened to her." Her gaze locked onto mine, searching, as if trying to decipher my intentions. "I hope you’re not asking because you believe the rumors—that Richard had anything to do with her disappearance," she added, her tone sharp, her words almost like a warning. I shook my head immediately. "No… I was just wondering what happened to her," I stammered. Margaret studied me for a second longer before her face gradually softened. "Well, like I said, no one knows. She just woke up one day and disappeared," she said, turning back toward the television. And just like that, she shut the conversation down. "Ooh! My show is starting!" She cranked up the volume—so loud that any attempt to continue our discussion would have been pointless.