[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] 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 dou
[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 h
[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
[Arella] Deric leads us to a restaurant that's just as rundown as that bar, but at least the air inside isn't nauseating. The dim lighting does little to hide the grime-streaked walls, and the wooden chairs creak ominously as we settle down. The stench of stale grease lingers in the air, but it’s a small mercy compared to the overwhelming stench of alcohol from before. I speak first, my voice sharp. "Where have you been? What are you doing all the way in Chicago?" He clears his throat, his eyes locked onto mine with an emotion I can't quite place—adoration, maybe? Like he can't believe I'm sitting right in front of him. That only makes my patience thinner. "You're going to have to start talking, Deric, because trust me, I have other ways to make you talk." "Water... please," he croaks out, his voice dry and weak. Zach signals to one of his men, never leaving my side for a single second. The moment the bottle is placed in front of him, Deric chugs it down like a man starved, g
[Arella] Two days later, we finally located the only bakery in Backwater Alley. True to the city’s name, the place was utterly demented. The snarls and sneers we received from passersby sent a chill slithering down my spine, despite the heavy security flanking me. It wasn’t just the people that made this place hell—it was everything. The very air felt wrong, thick with the scent of rot and dampness, like misery had been ground into the pavement for generations. The streets reeked of filth and desperation, a choking combination of decay and stale piss, and even with the promise of protection, a thick wave of unease clung to my skin like a second layer. Deric, on the other hand, was visibly cowering, his head ducked so low I half-expected him to burrow into the ground. He flinched at every sound, his breath coming in shallow gasps as we passed through each ‘checkpoint’—clusters of men loitering with sharp eyes and even sharper knives, their silent appraisal as damning as a blade ag
[Arella] Vivian ran like the devil himself was on her heels. Her bare feet slapped against the filthy concrete, the sharp sting of debris cutting into her skin. The air was thick with the scent of rotting dough and mildew, the remnants of a bakery long abandoned, its glory days buried under dust and decay. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one hitching in her throat as she weaved through the narrow corridors, her frantic movements sending old flour sacks tumbling to the ground. She was fast, I’d give her that. Desperation had a way of making people move like cornered rats, a blend of terror and pure survival instinct. But I wasn’t about to let her scurry away. Not this time. I chased after her, vaulting over overturned crates, my boots thudding heavily against the grimy floor. My pulse thundered in my ears, my lungs burning with exertion, but the fire only fueled me. Every step I took, every inch I gained, I thought about what this woman had done to me seven months ago. S
Hey my lovely readers!💖 I know it’s been a little quiet around here, but I’m back! 😅 I’m so sorry for the break, but starting tomorrow, daily updates are officially back in action! Thank you for your patience and all your love—you're the reason I keep going! I can't wait to dive back into the story with all of you. See you tomorrow! 😉✨
Wow. What a journey it’s been, right? Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me through this wild, emotional journey. Arella and Lincoln's story has been so close to my heart, and I hope it’s touched yours too. Your support means more than words can say, and I’m so grateful for every single one of you, you guys are the real MVPs. ❤️ P.S. If you loved this story, I’d be over the moon if you gave my future books a read. Trust me, more heart-tugging, exciting stories are coming your way!Until next time, Tarina (◠‿◠)—☆
[Arella]I whip around, eyes widening as I practically leap off Lincoln's lap in surprise."You're here!" I blurt, caught off guard but grinning. "I thought you said you couldn’t make it."Standing there, looking sheepish and a little road-worn, is Deric. He scratches the back of his head, wearing that same awkward, harmless smile he has these days."I wouldn’t have made it," he admits, voice a little raspy from travel, "but my flight was delayed... so I thought, what the hell, why not crash the party anyway?""Deric," Lincoln says, stepping up beside me, his hand still resting easy at my waist."Lincoln," Deric replies with a short nod, his voice even.There's a brief pause—more out of old habits than real tension—before Deric extends his hand. Lincoln studies him for a beat, then accepts the handshake without hesitation, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, civil smile.The tightness I hadn't even realized was clenching my chest slowly eases."This is, uh, for your son," Der
3 MONTHS LATER[Arella]"Grandpa really outdid himself this time, Mila," I laugh under my breath, wide-eyed as I take in the mansion decked out like something straight out of a storybook. I should’ve known better when he said he’d ‘take care of everything.’ With Grandpa, that’s just secret code for ‘go big enough to make even fairy tales jealous.’Mila giggles, but then her face goes pale. "Well, we all know how–"She cuts herself off, rushing to her son, who’s happily stuffing his face with edible flowers."Oh my God, Wayne! Spit that out!" she yells, running after him."No no! Cakeee!" he laughs, trying to run away.I roll my eyes and snatch the small board of tasks from her hands. "Looks like you’ve got your hands full already with this little turd," I mutter, pinching Wayne’s chubby cheeks. He sticks his tongue out at me, playful as ever. I shake my head and take the board from her, walking around the room, coordinating with the staff to make sure everything’s perfect.****"Why a
[Arella]TWO MONTHS LATERThe courtroom is cold, Not physically—but emotionally. It's almost too quiet.My hands sit frozen in my lap, unmoving for the past five minutes. A dull, anxious ache hums beneath my skin, but I can’t bring myself to shift. Lincoln sits beside me, our fingers tightly laced, grounding me. His other hand works swiftly over his phone, typing out what I’m sure are urgent work emails.Work had only gotten busier since he resumed.You’d think having two CEOs would make things easier. It only doubled our workload.I had tried to argue my way into stepping down, maybe becoming his VP or something less suffocating—but Lincoln wasn’t having any of it.Apex Conglomerate was clawing its way into the world’s elite, growing bigger, louder, more powerful by the day—and Lincoln made it crystal clear he wouldn’t let me miss a second of it.I blink myself back to the present as the judge adjusts his glasses, his stern gaze dropping down to the man standing trial.The man who a
[Lincoln]The car pulls up to Witmoore Gardens, a private area owned by the Sawyers for intimate family events, tucked away from the noisy chaos of the outside world. The afternoon sun kisses the neatly trimmed hedges and the white blossoms that line the entrance sway gently in the breeze.I can't help the heavy thump of my heart at the thought of seeing my family again. A real, physical ache throbs inside my chest as the driver cuts the engine and we step out.We exist the car and take a slow walk down the stone-cobbled path, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes filling the warm, floral-scented air. Arella’s hand is securely locked in mine, her presence grounding me even as my nerves threaten to tangle my steps."Your palms are sweaty, Linc. Are you nervous?" she teases softly, giving me a look so warm and tender it makes my heart trip in my chest like a reckless drum."Maybe," I reply, my voice coming out lower and raspier than intended.Her grin only grows. "Aww, they don't
[Lincoln]I mean, sure, Arella and I appeared on TV a few days ago when the Mayor of Chicago wanted to publicly appreciate our efforts, and I knew—rationally—that everyone must know I'm alive now. But I didn't expect this.I didn't expect the entire airport to already be flooded like a damn concert just to catch a glimpse of us. The jet had barely touched the runway, the tires still hissing from contact, and yet-it’s like the whole damn city of San Diego decided to show up for a party.From the distance, the sharp staccato of camera shutters echoes through the thick, humid air, flashes popping like fireworks across the runway. The chaotic chorus of reporters shouting questions and calling our names roars louder with every step we descend.A cheeky, loopsided grin spreads across Arella’s face as we start down the stairs of the jet, her hand still tightly locked with mine, her spirit practically buzzing with unbothered amusement. Her entire energy screams: I own this moment."You're lov
[Lincoln]I never thought I’d be lucky enough to marry a superheroine, but here I am, with the most incredible woman by my side.The night wraps around us like a soft, comforting robe. The jet hums beneath us, its quiet rhythm like a lullaby carrying us away from the chaos. We’d spent another three, exhausting days in Chicago, collaborating with the police and drug enforcement agencies to dismantle one of the city’s most dangerous syndicates, ensuring every production of that deadly injection was stopped in its tracks. But now, as I watch my wife sleeping peacefully-her face bathed in the gentle glow of the cabin lights—a rush of emotions fills me. It’s more than warmth. It's something deeper, something that settles in my soul and touches every fractured part of me. It feels like a healing, like a light that’s always been missing inside me, now shining so brightly it threatens to overflow. Heaven knows, if the roles were reversed, if I’d been the one forced to raise a child alone f
[Arella]“Fuck you, Lincoln Sawyer!” Thompson’s voice tears through the air, cracked and furious, soaked in desperation as he launches backwards with one final burst of rage. His boot slams into Lincoln, sending him staggering back a few steps and before I can even think, he’s charging at me—wild-eyed, unhinged, like something that’s crawled straight out of hell and decided it wants to drag me back with it.But Lincoln doesn’t go down easy.He moves like something deep inside him just snapped back into place. One moment he’s stumbling, breathless, the next he’s lunging like a damn freight train, grabbing Thompson mid-sprint and twisting with enough force to rattle the concrete under our feet. Thompson’s body slams into the ground with a sickening thud, the gun flying from his hand and skittering across the floor with a metallic scream as the punches from Lincoln connects with his face.“Arella!” Lincoln’s voice cuts through the chaos, raw and real.With thinking anymore I run to him,
[Arella]“No no no!” Lisa screeches, stumbling back like the floor beneath her just cracked open. “H-how did you find us?!”Her voice pierces the air like shattered glass, high-pitched and filled with the kind of desperation only obsession can birth. She's shaking now, her wild eyes darting from me to the little vial still pinched between my fingers.“You conniving bitch!!” Thompson barks, his neck veins bulging as his gaze swings to Vivian.His hand trembles violently as he points between us, rage bleeding into fear. Then he sees Deric. And he pales.“It was only a matter of time before I found you, Thompson,” I say, calm, steady, like the reaper arriving with a smirk. “I’m sure you knew that too.”He begins to back away, every inch of arrogance fleeing his body like air from a punctured balloon. He stumbles until his back hits Lincoln’s bed—and that’s when everything freezes. My blood stops in my veins as he suddenly swings a gun out of his pocket, his hand shaking but deadly, and p