LOGINShare
Chapter Fifty-One
Last Updated:
2025-04-06 23:49:39
Related chapters
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Two
šš«ššš”šThe mall is buzzing with energy as Alfie and I walk hand-in-hand past the storefronts, our steps matching in rhythm. Heās practically bouncing beside me, excitement fizzing off him like a shaken soda.āI want to check out the new Nintendo games!ā he exclaims, tugging my arm like heās trying to drag me there himself.I laugh, adjusting my sunglasses as I glance around. āWeāll get there, little man. Letās start with shoes first. Youāve outgrown yoursāyour toes are probably screaming.āāMy toes are fine,ā he mutters dramatically, but he doesn't protest when I guide him into the kidsā footwear store.He slips onto a little bench as the attendant brings options in his size. I sit beside him, watching his nose wrinkle as he examines a pair of lime green sneakers.āThese are loud,ā he declares. āLike, even the birds would hear me coming.āI snort. āIsnāt that the point? So the entire house can hear when you try to sneak cookies after bedtime?āHe flashes me a mischievous grin. ā
Last Updated : 2025-04-07Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Three
šš«ššš”šThe hospital air is coldātoo cold. It seeps through my skin and settles deep into my bones, making me feel like Iām walking through a fog. I sit on one of the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting area, hands clasped tightly in my lap. I mustāve checked the time on my phone a hundred times in the past hour, each glance bringing no new relief.Where are they? Why hasnāt anyone come out yet?I chew on the inside of my cheek, my mind replaying the accident in a relentless loop. The sickening thud of her body brushing the jeepās front grille, the sharp scream that tore from my lips, the way Alfie clutched my hand so tightly as we rushed out of the car. That little girlāso small, so fragileājust darting across like life was a game of tag.Iāve tried to breathe. Iāve tried to pray. Nothing sticks. I feel like Iām going to break apart, right here in this freezing corridor.Then I hear footsteps. Sharp. Hasty. Unforgiving.My eyes lift just in time to see a woman charging toward me
Last Updated : 2025-04-08Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Four
ššš«ššØš¬I stand rooted to the cold, polished hospital floor, my mind reeling as Arethaās words echo like a chime struck in the deepest part of me."I know very well what it feels like to lose a child."She says it so softly, so simply, like itās just another sentence in a long list of things that have happened to herābut it lands like a gut punch. I donāt move as she turns and walks away, her back straight, her head high, but her shouldersā¦ her shoulders tremble the slightest bit.Iāve seen death on the table. Iāve watched people code right in front of me, seen mothers scream over sons and children collapse into the arms of nurses. But this? This is different. This is the kind of pain that doesnāt bleed on the outside.The mother of the injured girl stands silently beside me, unsure nowāmaybe ashamed. Her anger drains the moment Aretha disappears around the corner. She says nothing more, just quietly returns to the waiting area, clinging to the hope I gave her minutes ago.I take
Last Updated : 2025-04-09Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Five
šš«ššš”šI wake up to the distinct scent of chamomile tea and the soft clinking of china. For a brief second, I think Iāve dreamt it all upāthe accident, the hospital, the motherās accusations, the kiss with Marcos. But when I open my eyes and see Mom standing at the foot of my bed, holding a tray while wearing her signature pinched expression of maternal concern, I know I didnāt.āAretha, darling,ā she says carefully, as though afraid she might shatter me if she speaks too loudly, āyou donāt have to go in today.āI sit up, blinking away the sleep from my eyes. āI do.āāYou shouldnāt.ā She sets the tray on my bedside table. āNot after everything yesterday. The media is going to be relentless. And emotionally, youāreāāāIām fine, Mom. Seriously. I appreciate your concern, though.āShe gives me a look that says sheās not convinced, but she knows me well enough not to argue. Still, she lingers while I get ready, watching me like Iām about to unravel. I offer a small smile and a kiss
Last Updated : 2025-04-10Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Six
ššš«ššØš¬Saturday afternoon stretches out before me like a question I don't quite have the answer to. I'm home, sitting at the edge of the leather sofa, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Aretha's contact.Should I text her? Call her? Ask how she's holding up?The memory of last night lingers. Her trembling voice. The kiss. That look in her eyes when she pulled away. Part fear, part need. And then, nothing. Silence since.I sigh and toss the phone onto the couch beside me, running both hands down my face. She's probably overwhelmed, dealing with press vultures and her family. The last thing she needs is me barging into her peaceāor what's left of it.A ping vibrates on my phone. Itās from Cameron: "Meeting at the club. 5PM sharp. Drinks on Nathaniel. Donāt be late."I almost laugh. Nathaniel probably didnāt even agree to that.ā¢ ā¢ ā¢The gentlemanās club isnāt as rowdy as usual. Rich men in tailored suits, cigars in one hand, arrogance in the other. Gold accents glint in the dim li
Last Updated : 2025-04-11Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Seven
šš«ššš”šItās just past 10 a.m. when my personal assistant, Winifred, bursts into my office, tablet in hand, eyes gleaming with the kind of enthusiasm that usually spells either disaster or a sudden stroke of genius. I look up from the contract Iāve been revising for the last twenty minutes, one brow lifting in silent question.āYouāre going to want to see this, Miss. Hawthorne,ā she says, practically skipping to my desk.āPlease tell me thatās not another scandal brewing,ā I mutter, half-joking. After the week Iāve had, I wouldnāt be surprised if someoneās unearthed some long-forgotten college photos or declared I secretly run a cult in my spare time.āQuite the opposite actually, Boss.ā Winnie swings the tablet around so I can see the analytics dashboard. āSales are up. Way up. Nearly thirty-two percent since yesterday. Online traffic has doubled since this morning alone. Andā¦ā she swipes to another page, āā¦our social sentiment index has shifted. Positively.āI blink at the numb
Last Updated : 2025-04-12Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Eight
šš«ššš”šI linger in the hallway for a while, staring at the half-open hospital door like itās a threshold to something Iām not ready to face. Inside, Marcus still plays with Florence, their laughter carrying softly into the corridor like a warm breeze on a cold day. My hand is frozen mid-air, inches from pushing the door open, but I justā¦ canāt.Not yet.My emotions are too jumbledāgrief, gratitude, guilt, and something dangerously close to longing. Seeing him like thatāsoft and unguardedāreminded me of a version of him I hadnāt allowed myself to imagine. Itās disarming. And itās why I turn away, intending to head back toward the elevators, maybe find a quiet place to gather myself.But as I turn, I nearly collide with someone.Sheās standing silently behind meāslender, in a wrinkled blouse and jeans, her coat draped hastily over one arm. Her hair is in a messy bun, strands falling loose around her tired but softened features. I recognize her immediately: the childās mother.She g
Last Updated : 2025-04-13Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Fifty-Nine
šš«ššš”šHis office is still the calm, neat space I remember, though now I notice how strikingly organized it is. The books on the shelf are arranged alphabetically, a soft lavender-scented diffuser hums in the corner, and a small bonsai tree sits by the window like a gentle sentinel. Thereās not a single paper out of place, every pen lined up with precision. Itās the kind of space that mirrors Marcus himselfācomposed, measured, and quietly meticulous.He closes the door behind me and gestures to the chair opposite his desk. I sink into it wordlessly as he moves around, taking his usual seat behind the desk and resting both hands on the surface like heās bracing for something heavier than an update.āFlorence is healing faster than expected,ā he begins. His voice is calm but firm, always steady. āHer vitals are stable, her scans are clean, and sheās responding well to treatment. If everything stays on track, she could be discharged by next weekend.āI close my eyes for a brief sec
Last Updated : 2025-04-14
Latest chapter
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Seventy-One
šš«ššš”šMarcosās house is exactly what I imagined it would beāelegant, structured, and yet effortlessly warm. The kind of place that feels like a home rather than a showcase. Books line the built-in shelves along the far wall, some stacked horizontally, some upright with worn spines and dog-eared corners. Thereās a hint of cedar in the air, a scent Iād somehow already come to associate with him.āWelcome to Casa Marcos,ā he says with a mock bow, holding the door open as I step in. āShoes off or on?āāIām not in Japan,ā I deadpan, slipping them off anyway. āBut Iāll humor your inner neat freak.āHis grin is boyish, dangerous, and far too charming for a man who claims he doesnāt brood.Lunch is already prepped by the time we move into the kitchen, and the aroma alone is enough to make me weak in the knees. Heās made roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, buttery roasted potatoes, tender-stem broccoli, and gravy that smells like it was made by the angels themselves. For dessert: sticky
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Seventy
šš«ššš”šThe familiar buzz of activities at the GemsThorne company headquarters feels like a warm hug after days of unpredictable terrain, ancient jewels, and family feuds that felt like something out of a historical thriller. Londonās cloudy sky greets me with its usual moody charm, and for once, I donāt mind. Thereās something grounding about being back. About knowing exactly where I stand.My heels click softly against the marble as I step out of the elevator and onto topmost floor where my office is located, a genuine smile lighting up my face.āMs. Hawthorne!ā Winnie, my long-suffering and endlessly efficient personal assistant, pops out of her glass-walled office like a meerkat. She looks impeccably put-together as always, in a lilac blouse and black pencil skirt, with her work tablet in hand.āWinnie!ā I greet her in a similar fashion, sweeping her into a brief, exaggerated hug that makes her squeak.āWelcome back, ma'am. I must say though, you seem to be in a good mood tod
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Nine
ššš¦šš«šØš§Everything about this meeting screams a trap.I sit in the backseat of a nondescript black SUV, eyes trained on the quiet stretch of road as we drive out of the city. The address I was given isnāt the Barsamian mansion where we had the last meetingāitās a guesthouse tucked into the outskirts of a neighboring city. That alone is a red flag. But what makes it worse is that I was explicitly asked to come alone.Of course, Iām not that foolish.A second vehicle trails behind, discreet and distantāmy hired security detail, professionals I trust with my life. I keep my phone in my hand the entire ride, fingers tapping idly against the screen, sending occasional location updates to my manager just in case.Because this? This feels like the kind of story that ends in a disappearance headline.The guesthouse is impressive in a quiet, understated way. Rustic wood beams, a sweeping stone terrace, and tall windows that reflect the gray morning sky. Inside, it smells like lavender a
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Eight
ššš¦šš«šØš§The moment I shut the door to my suite, I loosen my collar and finally let the smile fall from my face.Iāve been wearing it like armor all dayāthrough the suffocating politeness, the backhanded compliments, the curt dismissal of logic from a spoilt heir with too much money and too little sense. The matriarch was composed, yes. Graceful even. But her silence when her son spat that sexist garbageā¦That silence said more than I liked.I sink into the armchair by the window, the city of Yerevan sprawled beneath me like a glittering mosaic. I should let it go. But the tension stays, coiled tight between my shoulder blades.With a sigh, I reach for my phone and dial.āHey,ā I say when my marketing manager answers. āI need you to pull up alternatives. If the Barsamians donāt get back to us, we need other options for that stone.āāYouāre thinking theyāll back out?āāIām thinking their prince of a son might poison the whole deal. I just want to be ready.āWe talk logistics, pro
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Seven
šš«ššš”šThe car ride back to the hotel is quiet.Not awkward. Not tense.Justā¦ still.Cameron alternates between texting on his phone and staring out the window, one of his arms draped over the backseat with his fingers tapping out a silent rhythm against the leather. I watch the landscape blur byāstone buildings and narrow alleyways, ancient churches perched atop hills. The sky is beginning to burn orange at the edges, and for the first time all day, I feel the adrenaline ebb from my body like a tide retreating after a storm.I messed things up. I know I did.But Iād do it again in a heartbeat.We enter the hotel lobby without a word, both of us nodding politely to the concierge who greets us. The golden glow of the chandeliers bathes the space in warmth, but I feel anything but. My shoulders are still tight, my hands still restless.We step into the elevator together, side by side. The polished gold doors slide shut, enclosing us in a gentle hum of silence.I glance at him. āYo
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Six
šš«ššš”šBy the time we arrive, the estate looks like something out of an oil paintingāornate gates, lush grounds, cobblestone paths winding toward a home that could easily double as a museum. The sky has softened into a lazy afternoon haze, and I still havenāt fully shaken the image of that gun pointed at our driver. But Cameron and I are both dressed in our game faces now, and like good little liars, we smile.A housekeeper ushers us into a sitting room where the matriarch waits.Sheās nothing like I expected.Older, yes, with the kind of face carved by time and quiet power, but thereās nothing soft about her. Her posture is steel, her eyes sharp behind thin, gold-rimmed glasses. She wears a high-necked black dress and sits with the kind of stillness that makes you feel like youāre the one being examined.āMr. Lancaster,ā she says to Cameron, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. āAnd Missā¦āāHawthorne,ā I offer with a polite smile, extending my hand. She doesnāt take it. She j
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Five
šš«ššš”šThe door slams shut behind him.Cameron is gone.And Iām frozen.My pulse hammers so loud I can barely hear the silence that follows. That kind of silence that only exists when something horrible is about to happen. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your lungs forget how to breathe.I press a hand to my chest, trying to ground myself, but the cold leather of the seat beneath me feels more surreal than comforting.Outside, I can see themāCameronās tall frame moving like a slow fuse toward a man with a gun. A gun. Pointed directly at our driver, who still stands with his hands raised, eyes wide and pleading. The wind catches the hem of the driverās jacket, and for a second, he just looks so human. So fragile.I curse under my breath and lean forward to get a better view. My fingers grip the edge of the headrest so tight they ache.What the hell is going on?This was supposed to be a business trip. Silk deals, rare jewels, Cameron flirting too much and me pretending
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Four
ššš¦šš«šØš§The next morning, we hit the road.Our driver, an older man with warm eyes and an encyclopedic knowledge of Armenian history, doubles as a tour guide. As the SUV glides through the countryside, he tells us about the Barsamiansāhow their lineage traces back centuries, how they built an empire from silk and spice and sheer force of will.Aretha listens, chin resting in her palm, her gaze drifting between the window and me. I catch her watching me from the corner of her eye for the fifth time.āWhat?ā I ask, smiling. āYouāre staring.āāIām calculating.āāCalculating what?ā I stretch my arm along the back of her seat, not touching her but close enough that her hair brushes my fingers.āWhether this trip is worth enduring your company for another forty-eight hours.āāOuch.ā I clutch my chest with exaggerated pain. āYou wound me. And here I thought we were starting to bond.āāI donāt bond with trouble.āāYou sat next to me. That makes you complicit.āShe snorts and turns back
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The PhoenixĀ Ā Ā Chapter Sixty-Three
šš«ššš”šYerevan greets us with a soft haze over the mountains and the thick warmth of afternoon sun pressing against the tarmac. The capital feels like a secret whispered between the ancient and the modernāa city made of stone, sky, and silent stories.Several hours after we land, I expect weād be whisked straight to our client. Thatās what I signed up for. Business. Strictly business.Instead, we end up checking into a hotel nestled in the city centerāa luxury boutique place that smells faintly of rosewater and cedar. I wheel my suitcase into a suite that could easily host a cocktail party, then march back out toward Cameronās room, irritation simmering just under my skin.He opens the door already dressed in a crisp linen shirt and slacks, smelling like something expensive and maddening.āWhy are we here?ā I demand, arms crossed. āI meanāhere, at a hotel? Shouldnāt we be heading to the clientās estate or... at least contacting them?āCameronās smile is entirely too relaxed for
