[Arella]"Aren't you going to give your grandpa a hug?"A smile blooms on my lips at the familiar warmth in his voice, the deep timbre laced with a fondness that tugs at something deep inside me. I let the door close behind me with a soft click, stepping further into the vast expanse of his office. The room is grand—polished mahogany, shelves lined with leather-bound books, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city skyline. But none of it commands my attention as much as the man sitting behind the imposing desk.His suit is sharp, crisp, and perfectly tailored, the deep navy fabric accentuating his formidable presence. Even with age tracing fine lines across his features, he remains a force of nature—unyielding, powerful, the kind of man who could silence a room with just a glance."Grandpa," I say softly, the word holding emotion.He stands, his movements steady, though my eyes catch on the walking stick propped beside his chair. He doesn’t lean on it t
[Arella]The soft hum of chatter fades the moment we step into the vast conference room, the shift in atmosphere almost tangible. The air is thick with a mix of expensive colognes, fresh paper, and the faintest hint of coffee, a testament to long hours spent behind these polished oak tables. Rows of leather-bound chairs line the glossy mahogany surface, the gleaming crystal chandelier overhead casting fractured light across the vast space.As we move further inside, I feel their eyes on me—sharp, assessing, some curious, others downright hostile. Their scrutiny presses against my skin, heavy and probing, like invisible fingers tracing every inch of my face. It all feels eerily familiar, yet foreign at the same time, as if I’ve walked into a place I should remember but don’t quite belong."Welcome, President Harold," a chorus of voices greets my grandfather, their reverence clear in the way they address him. His presence commands the room effortlessly, decades of power and authority w
[Arella]A ripple of murmurs spreads through the room, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm. Some board members nod, their wary gazes flicking between my grandfather and me, uncertainty evident in their furrowed brows."Second Master Silas is right, President Harold," one of them finally speaks, his voice hesitant but firm. He adjusts his cufflinks, eyes darting around as if seeking approval. "She needs training to be qualified for this job. How do we know—""With all due respect," I cut in smoothly, my voice slicing clean through the air, commanding enough to draw every eye back to me.Silence.I let it linger for just a breath, allowing the weight of my words to settle before continuing, my posture straight, my expression unwavering."As for experience," I state firmly, "I have spent years in Ames Finances, actively involved in its rise, and more recently, I contributed to the success of Chanax Enterprise. These are not mere words—they are verifiable facts." My voice rema
[Arella] The soft ding of the elevator signals its descent, the polished steel doors sliding close with a quiet hiss. The air inside is cool, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering from previous occupants."Hello, Arella," he greets smoothly."Hello, uh…" I trail off, my brows pulling together. I don’t even know his name."Ryder. I'm Ryder."I nod, offering a polite—if not slightly wary—response. "Hello, Ryder. A pleasure to meet my first cousin."He's First cousin, right? This family tree was an absolute nightmare, and if I tried to untangle it any further, I’d probably end up with a migraine. Who even decides these complicated bloodlines? Heaven knows what’s waiting for me next—second cousins? Twice-removed aunts? Some secret sibling I never knew existed? Nothing seems impossible anymore. The air between us grows thick, a weird sort of awkwardness settling in. This wasn’t what I expected. I’d braced myself for hostility, maybe even a dramatic accusation—So you think you
My eyes roll back playfully, a chuckle slipping past my lips. "Ha ha, very funny, guys" . I reply sarcastically, shaking my head as I take them in.Sasha, ever the one with a sly smirk, tilts her head. Bridget, on the other hand, has that easygoing grin that always feels like home."You're hereee" I quip, and before I know it, we’re wrapped in a tight group hug. The warmth of my best friends seeps into my bones, grounding me in a way nothing else can. For the first time today, I feel like I can breathe.I pull back slightly, raising a brow at Sasha. "I thought you said you didn’t have time?"She exchanges a look with Bridget, that familiar mischief dancing between them before turning back to me."We wanted to surprise you," they say at the same time.I swear, these two must have been twins in another life.Before I can respond, a loud, aggressive growl cuts through the air, vibrating in my stomach. My eyes widen as heat rises to my cheeks.Perfect. Just perfect.Sasha and Bridget star
[Arella]"No way."Sasha’s eyes widen, all her usual mischief gone in an instant, replaced with something rare—genuine disbelief."Yes way." Bridget grins, the corners of her lips twitching with amusement. "I’d rather run this company alone than have a VP who isn’t you. And I was always going to make it official right here anyways," She gives a playful wink, tilting her head slightly, her golden-blonde curls catching the dim overhead lighting of the restaurant. "You know, officially use this method to fire our city’s youngest president."A sharp snort escapes me before I turn to Sasha, who is still sitting there, blinking like we'd just told her the sky is green."Are… are you sure?" she stammers, her brows furrowing as her dark eyes flick between Bridget and me. "I don’t think I’ll be as great as Ella, though. Why don’t we—"Before she can start doubting herself, I reach across the table and place my hand over hers, squeezing gently. The warmth of her skin is slightly clammy, and I k
[Deric]The acrid stench of alcohol clings to the air, thick and suffocating. I groggily rub my eyes, wincing as a sharp ache pulses through my skull. The couch beneath me is lumpy and reeks of stale booze, but I barely register the discomfort. My head spins, a nauseating reminder of last night’s binge.“Fuck.”The word rasps from my throat, my voice hoarse, like I haven't used it in years. Every breath feels like sandpaper scraping against my insides. I blink against the dim light filtering through the curtains, my gaze sweeping the disaster around me.Empty liquor bottles litter the floor, some still rolling lazily from whatever drunken tantrum I must have thrown. Glass shards glint from a broken tumbler near the coffee table. The entire apartment is a goddamn warzone—a depressing, liquor-soaked crime scene of self-destruction.My days have become an endless blur of drinking and remorse. What the hell else am I supposed to do?One minute, I was returning from my honeymoon, high on l
[Arella]The hallway is eerily quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of nurses and the soft beeping of machines behind closed doors. The sterile scent of antiseptic clings to the air, sharp and medicinal, making my stomach churn slightly. God, I hate hospitals. The too-white walls, the artificial brightness, the way time seems to stretch unbearably long here. It all makes my skin itch."Right this way, Mrs. Sawyer," a familiar nurse from my last visit says, gesturing toward Ava's ward. I follow, though my legs feel heavier than they should. My palms are clammy, an unexpected nervousness creeping up my spine. Why do I feel like this? I’m here to take my younger sister home. This should be a relief. A victory. But something about today feels... different. Unsettling in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.The doctor’s words from just minutes ago still echo in my head, playing on an endless loop."Your sister is a fighter. I’ve never seen anyone with so much zeal to pull off MDD recove
[Arella]We pass through the back, and the stench immediately assaults my senses—an overwhelming mix of stale alcohol, damp wood, and rotting garbage. Dirty bottles are strewn everywhere, some stacked haphazardly in corners, others being washed with a half-hearted effort. The entire place reeks of neglect. Dust clings to every surface, thick enough that I can practically taste it in the air. A few workers loiter around, loading crates onto a rusty truck that looks like it's one pothole away from falling apart.The sight of it all makes my skin crawl. My fingers twitch at my sides, an instinctive reaction to the unease curling in my stomach. This place feels wrong. Like a trap waiting to be sprung.A man with decayed teeth—yellowed and jagged, a testament to years of neglect—flashes me a grin as we draw closer. The smile is anything but friendly; it's lecherous, the kind that makes my skin prickle in revulsion. "Who's this fine little birdie, Isla?" His eyes drag over me from head to t
[Arella]“How may I help you?" The bartender slurs his words, his bleary eyes raking over me. So much for being insecure—he doesn’t even attempt to hide his once-over. His gaze lingers too long, his lips quirking up like he’s amused by something. But then, something shifts. He must have noticed Zach’s piercing gaze because he suddenly straightens, feigning a sense of professionalism, shoulders squaring as he averts his gaze. My lips twitch in amusement, but I don’t let it show too much."I'm looking for the owner of this number." I thrust a crumpled piece of paper into his hand, unwilling to risk handing over my phone. My fingers tighten slightly as I pull back, watching his face carefully. His brows furrow as he glances at it, then at me, before letting out a dry chuckle."You're looking for the owner of this number... in a bar?" He shoots me an incredulous look, the kind that makes me feel every bit as ridiculous as I probably seem right now.I nod anyway, knowing full well how absu
[Arella]The private jet hummed softly beneath my feet as I approached, Zach and his men flanking me on either side like silent sentinels. My heart hammered a little harder than usual, but I ignored it, my focus locked on the mission ahead. I knew I should probably wait for Benson and Jordan to return from Florida—playing it safe would be the smart thing to do. But what if this lead went cold? What if this person changed their mind?The IP address traced back to a woman’s phone—a bartender. She ran a shady little dive bar, the kind of place where secrets slipped out between shots of cheap whiskey and whispered conversations in the dark. Maybe she’d seen Lincoln with Lisa or Thompson? Maybe she knew something crucial? Or maybe… something about that desperate message didn’t sit right. If she was just giving me information, why did it feel like a cry for help?I’d responded, asking for a time to meet. No response. Nothing. Just silence.I exhaled sharply, shoving those nagging doubts asi
[Arella] "Clement came back seven years later," Father in law continues, his voice calm, but there’s an edge to it—something bitter, something restrained. "By then, I had married Gladys. I had everything I wanted—a wife, my son, a growing empire, a future laid out exactly as it should be. And Clement already had a wife of his own. Lisa’s mother." He scoffs, shaking his head. "He claimed he wanted to make amends. That the past was behind us. That friendship meant more than old grudges. I should have known better. I did know better. But I let him in anyway, like a fool." A slow exhale, his fingers tightening around his glass. "He didn’t ask for money. Didn’t come with some grand business proposal wrapped in false generosity. No, he played it smarter this time. Said he only wanted to invest in my company, that he believed in my latest vision. And like a fool, I let him buy in. Gave him a seat at my table. Trusted that maybe, just maybe, he had changed." He shakes his head, his jaw
[Arella]Have you ever longed for something so deeply, only to be denied it over and over again? And then, when you finally get it, you feel... nothing?Because tell me why I’m sitting across from my father-in-law and grandmother-in-law in the dimly lit study of the Sawyer estate, their faces grim and pale, like they’re afraid to speak in my presence. The heavy scent of old books and polished wood lingers in the air, wrapping around us like a suffocating blanket. My father-in-law clears his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with unease."How have you been, Arella?" he asks, his voice measured, like he's trying to sound casual.I raise an eyebrow. "How have I been?" I repeat, the bitterness curling around my words before I can stop it.Seven months. Seven months of silence. Not a word from either of them. Every single family gathering between our families—declined. No messages, no explanations, nothing. And now, my father-in-law suddenly shows up at work, requesting my presence, expect
[Arella]"N-not yet, President," one of them stammers, shoulders hunched in defeat. "But we can assure you, with our budget handed over to us, we can—"I tsk, shaking my head. "Greedy, greedy, greedy—just like Deric. You won’t see a single cent from me. And if you dare make another move to disrupt my peace like this, I won’t just cut you off—I’ll reduce Ames Finances to nothing more than scraps in a flea market bargain bin."A stunned silence settles over the room. The weight of my words crushes any lingering defiance."If accountability is truly what you seek, then start by holding yourselves responsible for your own failures. I have no time for empty demands or misplaced outrage. So do us all a favor—take your so-called accountability and escort yourselves out of my conference room immediately before I make that decision for you."The man in the brown suit reddens with anger, jabbing an accusing finger in my direction. "You… you—"But no words come. I watch as they all file out, dej
[Arella]I don't think we can afford to waste any more time. "Sister-in-law, give us permission. Benson and I will go in your stead." Jordan states worriedly.Pacing my office, overlooking the bright San Diego skyline, I press my fingers to my temple, exhaling sharply. Why now, of all times? Why does everything seem to be unraveling all at once?"You know what? Yes. Let's do that," I say decisively, straightening my posture. "I'll send the location and details to you. Please do a thorough search—anything, no matter how small, might help us. Don’t leave any stone unturned."I meet both their gazes, ensuring they understand the weight of my words. They nod in unison, standing up, their expressions determined."Zach will be with you also," I add.Benson shakes his head. "I'd feel better if he could stick by your side for now, Arella. We don’t know what troubles might arise in today’s meeting."I nod, conceding the point. I should be en route to Florida by now, chasing Grandfather’s lates
PRESENT DAY[Lincoln]"Lincoln, could you please help me with my towel, honey?" Chloe calls from the bathroom, her voice carrying a sweet lilt."Okay," I say simply, standing from the bed and grabbing the towel before walking to the bathroom door. As soon as she opens it, her eyes gleam with something sultry, a slow, teasing smile curling her lips. She reaches out, wrapping her fingers around my wrist, attempting to pull me inside with her. Her bare skin glistens with moisture, steam curling around her in a thick haze, the scent of shampoo and body wash clinging to the air inside.I stand firm, my grip tightening slightly on the towel as I push it toward her instead. "I need to, uh... take my meds," I say awkwardly, retracting my hand swiftly and shutting the door before she can say anything else.My heart pounds slightly as I retreat to the bed, rubbing my temple before grabbing the small pill bottle on the nightstand. The little capsules spill into my palm, and with a resigned sigh,
[Lincoln]"Lincoln, stop! Please don't go!"The words echo like a haunting melody, looping endlessly in the depths of my mind. A voice—soft, desperate—pleading with me. I try to latch onto it, but it's slippery, dissolving before I can grasp its meaning. My head feels submerged, like I’m trapped underwater. The weightlessness is suffocating, yet everything around me is unbearably heavy. Distantly, I’m aware of movement, of muffled voices cutting through the thick fog clouding my thoughts. Floating and drowning. Light and heavy. Here and not."It’s been two days already! I thought you said the injection only required twenty-four hours, you quack doctor! I told my father you were incompetent. Listen to me, if he doesn’t wake up soon—"I try to focus, to make sense of the words, but they twist and blur before I can piece them together. My thoughts feel sluggish, stuck in the mud of my own mind. The voice from before lingers, like a whisper against my ear. Don’t go."I did my job diligen