[Lincoln]“Welcome home, Mrs. Sawyer,” I say, my voice calm yet firm, startling Arella as she turns to see me seated on the dark leather couch, illuminated only by the soft amber glow of the fireplace. The large living room seems even bigger in the dim light, with the fire casting moving shadows on the marble floor.The staff retired to their quarters early today because I wanted to spend some quality time with my wife.Imagine my shock when I didn’t see her home—no texts, no calls. I went a little paranoid—not that she needed to know that, though.“Heyy…Lincoln,” she replies in an awkward voice, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.My lips twitch, and I fight back a smile.I’m supposed to be angry, but I guess I can’t—not when she looks like an adorably stunned hamster, her wide eyes shimmering under the soft light.Keeping my voice flat, I continue with a practiced stoic face, “The driver tells me you declined his offer to take you out.” My tone is even,
[Arella]The dim light from the bedside lamp fills our cozy bedroom with a soft, golden glow. The air smells faintly of lavender from the candles on the nightstand filling the silence between us. Lincoln’s shoulders slump, and my heart drops for some reason."I'm sorry," the words come out as a whisper, barely audible."You don't want to work with me?" His voice is low, tinged with disbelief.Deciding against lying, I nod truthfully, and he chuckles sadly, the sound hollow and distant."Can I at least have a reason? You declined it without going through it all" His gaze is steady."It's not what you're thinking, Lincoln. It's just that…it wouldn't be right handing me the position of Chief Officiating Officer of Sawyer Group," I explain, feeling my fingers tremble slightly."With your numerous qualifications, nobody would say a word even if I make you the CEO, Arella. Tell me the real reason." His voice tightens just enough to make my chest constrict.I swallow, reaching out to hold
[Lincoln] "I wanted to see my wife," I reply, unashamed. Arella rolls her eyes. "You saw me this morning," she retorts, her tone clipped but playful. I shake my head slowly, holding her gaze. "Doesn't matter. Had lunch yet?" She flushes, her lips twitching with guilt. "Would you believe a yes?" "I wouldn't," I reply, my jaw tightening at her carelessness. "Get in," I command firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument. "What? Now? I’m at work, you know," she protests, exasperated but already moving toward the car. I give her a pointed look. With a resigned sigh, she slips into the passenger seat, smoothing her skirt with jittery fingers. Reaching into the back seat, I grab the small flask of food and place it in her hands. Her eyes brighten instantly, a spark of joy softening her tense features. "You got me food?" she asks, her voice rising with surprise. "Hmm." I hum, savoring her reaction. Before she can say more, I grab her chin with controlled intensity and press my li
[Arella]The weekend rolls by, and despite how drained I feel from my first week at Chanax, I’m excited to see my sister again.The car pulls up, its engine purring softly as it comes to a stop. Without waiting for Lincoln, I push the door open and step out, my shoes crunching against the gravel.“Careful,” he says behind me, his tone carrying a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. I don’t even have to turn around to know he’s shaking his head at me.The camp air wraps around me, warm and inviting, with the faint scent of pine and freshly turned earth wafting through the breeze. The soft hum of nature fills my ears, broken only by the occasional chirping of birds. Beautiful birds flit between the trees, their bright colors streaking against the dense greenery.Tucked away in the busy city, this camp feels like a sanctuary—a place of hope for children with MDD. My heart swells at the thought of seeing Ava again, of being able to hold her.“Ava!” I squeal, excitement bubbling in
[Arella]Turning my worried eyes away from Ava, who looked like she'd seen a ghost, I turn to none other than Deric. The air feels thick, like something heavy is about to drop, and it settles in the pit of my stomach. I swear, it’s like fate is always playing a cruel joke on me, making me cross paths with this scumbag at the worst possible time.I scoff immediately, the sound sharp and biting, as I feel the blood rush to my face in anger. "Why can't I be here? Is the mall yours?" He smiles smugly, his lips curling into a mocking grin. "I should be asking you this same question. I'm here to get an engagement ring for my soon-to-be wife, Vivian."He emphasizes her name like it’s some kind of victory. Like I should care. “Not like you would know anything about that”, he adds, the jab aimed right at me…I don't even know if I should call this a jab though, seems pathetic.My smile turns brighter, forced but sharp. "Well, my husband closed down the mall for today. It'd be in your best in
[Arella]The hot summer sun beats down, its harsh rays bouncing off Mr. Malcolm's bald head. I sit up straighter, tilting my head to avoid the glare coming through the open window. The office feels warm, with the AC struggling to keep the heat at bay.“What is the matter, Mr. Malcolm?” I ask calmly, masking my irritation.“Oh, please, cut that bullshit, young lady!” he snaps, his voice sharp and abrasive, echoing through the quiet office.I arch a brow, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Funny how bold he is now that Bridget is out on business. His audacity is as suffocating as the humid air hanging heavily in the office.“I'll ask again, Mr. Malcolm. What is the matter?”He storms forward and slams a crumpled piece of paper on my desk, his thick fingers trembling with barely restrained rage.“This! This is the matter! What do you think of yourself, eh? That you can just come here and change the order of things? My project with the Ames finances will not be cut off the vision board,
[Lincoln] The ambiance of the 7-star Michelin restaurant is almost suffocatingly posh, reeking of old money and self-importance. Crystal chandeliers dangle from the high ceiling, their cold light shimmering off gold-accented walls. The faint hum of soft classical music seeps into the room, blending with the clink of fine cutlery and quiet murmurs of privileged patrons. Why Clement Thompson chose this particular restaurant for a simple lunch is beyond me. It feels like I’ve walked into a live-action display of "Who’s the Richest?" “Right this way, Mr. Sawyer.” A lady with a crisp British accent, dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, leads me through the maze of lavishly decorated tables to a private room. The air is thick with the scent of aged wine and freshly baked bread. Seating in front of Mr. Thompson, I relax my posture, though every instinct tells me to be on guard. His sharp, calculating eyes study me like I’m both a challenge and a prize he intends
[Lincoln] "W-what?!" Arella lets out a startled gasp. "H-how did it happen?" "I don't know," I say, trying to keep my cool despite the storm brewing inside me. "I'm going to need you to calm down, baby. Can you do that for me?" "Lincoln…" she starts, fear widening her eyes, her breath coming in shallow pants. "Please, Ella," I plead, my eyes flicking back to the road as the car swerves dangerously. There's a large field coming up. It's fenced, but that isn't going to be a problem—not if I can help it. "Are your seat belts on?" I ask, my voice tight with controlled urgency. Her watery eyes meet mine. "Lincoln… I'm scared," she admits, trembling. The car jerks violently, nearly spinning out of control. Despite my calm façade, my head pounds with a thousand chaotic thoughts. Nothing must happen to them. Nothing. "Are your seat belts intact, Arella?" I ask again, firmer this time. She nods with a sob, clutching her seatbelt tightly as if it could anchor her to safet
[Arella]Lincoln looks conflicted, his jaw tightening like he’s holding back a war inside himself. His body is tense, his breaths uneven, like he’s trying to convince himself of something even he doesn’t believe. Then, suddenly, he presses a lingering kiss to the top of my head. It’s warm, firm—full of something unspoken. It should calm me. It should tell me everything will be okay.But it doesn’t.Not when I don’t know what’s coming next.Not when something in my chest screams that this moment is slipping away—slipping through my fingers like sand.“I swear, I’ll come back.”His voice is rough, almost torn. There's something final in the way he says it, something that sends an icy wave crashing through my veins. Before I can respond, he steps back, pulling free from my grasp. My fingers, weak and trembling, try to hold on, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.No.A frail voice breaks through the tension. "Are you sure about this, son?"The words barely register, but I know that voice
[Arella]“Lin…coln…” My voice is dry and coarse, barely more than a whisper, but he hears it.He’s kneeling beside me in an instant, his face twisted in a mixture of fury and raw pain as his gaze lands on the gash at the side of my head. His touch is gentle but trembling, like he's afraid to hurt me more."Who did this to you? How did you—" He coughs violently, the sound wet and ragged.A drop of blood falls from his lips.My heart clenches.Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision as they spill like heavy rain. A thick, metallic scent clogs my nostrils, and my stomach turns."What’s that smell, Linc?" I murmur, my body swaying.Before I can process anything, I feel myself lifted, cradled in his arms. My body is too weak, too heavy, but the movement jolts another coughing fit from my burning throat.A firm hand presses something against my nose. His handkerchief.“Cyanide,” he rasps.My heart sinks into my stomach.My body tenses, horror gripping my chest like a vice.I know what cya
“We’re under attack!” my father rasps between violent coughs, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the chaos erupting around us. His eyes are bloodshot, his face paling by the second as the toxic air claws its way into his lungs.“Who would dare do such a thing?!” Grandfather barks, his voice raw, but the words barely make it out before another violent cough racks his body.My heart slams against my ribcage as I take in the horror unfolding around me. My mother suddenly appears, her face pale as a sheet, her breathing labored. She looks frantic, her eyes darting around until they land on me.“Lincoln—”“Don’t say anything, Mom. Reserve your breath.” My tone is sharp, commanding, but I can’t afford for her to waste energy. “Where’s Arella?”Her eyes widen. Panic flickers across her face. “I—I don’t know. We were all just having a conversation, and she wanted to ease herself. Then, after a while, fumes started pulling out of the vents—” She breaks into a coughing fit, struggling to fin
[Lincoln]My father and I settle into the dimly lit study of my grandfather-in-law. The heavy scent of old books and polished mahogany fills the air, mixing with the faint aroma of cigar smoke that seems embedded in the very walls. The room is grand—intimidating even—with its high ceilings, dark oak shelves lined with legal tomes, and an air of quiet authority that only men like my Harold Walcott can command.My father shifts in his chair beside me, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his shoulders stiff. He’s nervous—hell, even I’m a little uneasy. Grandfather sits across from us, his expression unreadable, but the slight downturn of his lips is enough to tell me this won’t be a pleasant conversation.He clears his throat, his voice steady and sharp. “There are some matters that still need settling, and I’d like us to be clear on the Clement Thompson situation before we move on.”Straight to the point, as always. No sugarcoating, no unnecessary pleasantries.My father exhales, nodd
[Arella]"Are you okay, Arella? I heard voices."Mila’s voice startles me as I turn around to see her standing at the top of the stairs. My chest is still heaving, my breathing erratic from Deric’s antics, but my heart warms at the thought of Lincoln keeping me safe—even at a party like this.I force a breath, shaking my head. "It's nothing, don't worry. Just some random stranger."Mila doesn’t look convinced. Her brows furrow in skepticism, but she lets it go."Oh… okay," she says slowly. "What are you doing up here anyway? Looking for Lincoln?" She smirks, throwing in a cheeky wink.I palm my face, shaking my head. "I came to pee, and I didn't want to use the guest restroom downstairs. Could you point me to the one here?""I mean, I could follow you. I just peed now myself," she offers after pointing the way.I roll my eyes. Why is everyone trying to babysit me?"Don’t act like my husband, Mila. You look like you could explode any minute. Go sit down," I tease, shoving her playfully
[Deric]This is fucking crazy. No—this is batshit insane.What the hell am I doing? If we get caught, Harold Walcott will make sure neither of us walks out of this alive. The only sliver of comfort I have is that security seems to be lax. No guards in sight. No cameras that I can see. If we pull this off, I can grab Arella, get her out of here, and we’ll start over—somewhere far, somewhere safe.But the empty hallways around me don’t feel empty. They feel like they’re watching. The dim lighting flickers slightly, the walls are too still, the air is too damn thick—like the entire house knows what we’re about to do and is waiting to expose us.I'm so lost in my thoughts, drowning in the weight of what I’m about to do, that I don’t realize when I collide with someone. Hard. My body jerks, and a startled squeak escapes my lips before I can stop it.Shit.Panic claws at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. My stomach drops, twisting into something violent and gut-wrenching."Are you
[Vivian]“Fuck, this is taking forever.”Deric is restless beside me, his jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying not to lose his shit. "When is Arella coming up?!" His voice is sharp, low, impatient.We’re tucked into a small corner upstairs, near the bathroom, hidden just enough to watch without being noticed. Well, he's watching. I'm not.I can’t stop looking at him. The way his beautiful brown hair is a total mess, disheveled and wild, nothing like the usual sleek, controlled way he keeps it. Stress has taken its toll on him, and somehow, it makes him look even better. His side is pressed against mine, the heat of his body sinking into me like a slow burn, and for a moment, I let myself remember.I want it back. The way things were before. The way he used to look at me, used to touch me, used to—"I can’t wait for everything to go back the way it was between us."The words slip out. I don’t even realize I said them out loud until Deric snaps his head toward me.
[Lincoln]How did she know?My chest tightens, a slow, suffocating coil of tension wrapping around my ribs as I try to comprehend how Arella knows about the secret my father has been trying to keep from me for years.It makes no sense.Before I can even fully register her last statement, the sharp shatter of glass pierces the ballroom.Mr. Thompson’s champagne flute crashes to the ground, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces."You have got to be kidding me!" he bellows.Fuck.Everything’s ruined.He strides forward, his eyes blazing with venomous intent, and then—he points a rigid, accusing finger straight at Arella."You!"A guttural sound, low and primal, rumbles from my throat before I even realize it. Instinct. Possession. Protection.Before Thompson can get any closer, I grab Arella’s wrist, pulling her behind me, my stance rigid, muscles coiled, ready for whatever the hell comes next."Watch it, Thompson," I growl, my voice dipping into something dangerous, something that w
[Arella]I don’t even bother sparing Lisa or Mr. Thompson another glance. They don’t deserve it.We move on with our conversations, ignoring them so thoroughly it must sting. But they still try to wedge their way in, their voices lingering like an unwanted aftertaste.Utterly pathetic. But something feels off. My gaze flickers across the room. Where the hell is Vivian?She’s nowhere in sight, and that sends a cold, uneasy ripple through my spine. She’s not the type to disappear quietly.Whatever.Eventually, we’re all guided back into the grand ballroom for gift presentations.This room screams old money—the crystal chandeliers dripping gold, the marble floors reflecting the warm glow of candlelight, the air thick with the scent of vintage cologne and wealth. A true battleground where status is the only weapon that matters.Lincoln leans in as we walk. His voice brushes against my ear, low and teasing.“So, a surprise, huh?”I smirk, locking eyes with him as I make an exaggerated mot