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Chapter Seventy-Eight
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2025-05-15 19:57:00
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Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Eight
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬I hear the knock before I even glance at my front door, slow and deliberate—two quick raps, followed by silence. My first thought is that it's Aretha again, coming to visit. My heart lifts a little, foolishly hopeful, though I know deep down that it’s too soon for her to be here. Not after how she'd responded to my words the last time.I limp over, slowly, the ache in my ankle a persistent reminder of how fragile everything feels right now.When I open the door, however, my heart sinks to my stomach because it's not Aretha who's standing on the other side. Instead, it's my colleague...Harriet.She’s standing there with a too-bright smile and a bag dangling from one hand. Her perfume hits me before her words do—something sharp and floral, thick enough to choke on.“Surprise,” she says, stepping forward just enough to make declining her visit awkward. “I brought soup.”I blink, caught between disbelief and irritation. “Harriet, you didn’t have to—”“I wanted to,” she inter
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Seven
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬Her lips are still on mine when I feel her pull away—just slightly, like she’s remembering herself. Like she wants to forget that for a second, we weren’t pretending.I notice the moment her kiss changes. A little more urgency, a little less heart. She’s using it now—using me—to bury something deeper.It stings more than I want to admit.She’s not ready.I knew it before tonight, but now I feel it.Still, I don’t press.I kiss her back, gently, one more time before I feign a flinch and hiss.“Shit. My ankle,” I lie, leaning back with a dramatic wince.She jolts up like she’s touched a flame. “Oh my God, I’m sorry! I wasn’t even thinking—are you okay?”“Yeah,” I say, not meeting her eyes. “Just twisted wrong.”Her hands flutter at her sides, unsure what to do. For a second, she looks like she might bolt.To make her comfortable, I give her an out. “Let’s just sit. Watch something dumb. Keep it chill.”She nods quickly. “Yeah. That sounds good.”But it’s not good. Not reall
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Six
𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚By the time noon rolls around, I’m practically vibrating with restlessness.I’ve powered through two meetings, edited four proposals, and smiled at people I don’t even like. My coffee’s cold. My inbox is full. But my mind—my mind is somewhere else entirely... or rather, on someone else.Marcos.It’s not unusual for us to go a day or two without texting. But lately, we’ve been close. Closer than I ever imagined we’d become. There’s an ease between us. A current I don’t want to name.Still, I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. That silence lingers, like a pause in a song you know too well. The kind that makes you wonder if something’s changed.I glance around the breakroom, then pull out my phone and shoot him a quick text:"Hey. Just checking in. You okay?"I hit send before I can overthink it.Seconds pass without a response, then minutes.I tell myself not to take it personally. He’s probably busy. Or sleeping. Or ignoring me. The last thought burns more than I want
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Five
𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧The bass doesn’t thump here—it prowls. Heavy, hypnotic, primal. It coils around the flesh and glass of The Black Fortress, a fortress of sin carved from obsidian glamour in the belly of Yerevan. Outside, it wears the face of an elite club: mirrored doors, velvet ropes, godless wealth. Inside, it breathes sex and shadows. Past the layers of bodyguards and biometric scans, past the velvet-smothered corridors and diamond-threaded curtains, lies the VVIP lounge—where pleasure turns into a weapon.Bodies twist, moan and beg wantonly.My eyes blur from champagne and perfume and sweat. They’re all touching me—hands, lips, mouths. They moan my name, but I don’t hear it. All I can hear is power in every whimper.A girl writhes beneath me, her nails digging into my back. Another straddles my thigh, whispering filth into my ear as she guides my hand between her legs. Their kisses are mindless, desperate.“Harder,” one pants.“Don’t stop, please—don’t fucking stop.”They don't know
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Four
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬“Hi, baby,” my mother says, standing there with a wide grin and a large insulated carrier bag in her hand. “I thought I’d surprise you.”“Hey, Mom,” I say, stepping aside. My voice doesn’t carry warmth, but it isn’t cold either. It’s... neutral. Detached.She steps in, kisses my cheek like we do this all the time—like she’s always been here. The house immediately takes on her scent: jasmine laced with antiseptic, crisp and overwhelming. Her heels click on the hardwood floor as she heads toward the kitchen like she owns the place. Like she’s earned the right.“I brought jollof rice. And that chicken stew you like. I threw in some moi moi too—figured the boys would be hungry.”I glance at Cameron and Nathaniel who are seated quietly but exchanging a look. Cameron raises his brows in something like amusement while Nathaniel simply watches.“You spoil him,” Cameron says, flashing her a smile. “Now I see where the charm comes from.”She smiles back, maybe a little too brightly
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Three
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐬The living room hums with the easy comfort that only years of friendship can build. I pass the cold drinks I'd fetched from my home bar to Cameron and Nathaniel before sinking into the armchair across from them. Cameron’s seated somewhat stiffly on the couch, his eyes staring off into the distance as he seems mentally occupied with something while surprisingly, Nathaniel lounges in his seat, one hand tapping lightly on the armrest and the other lifting his drink to his mouth for a sip. Although his posture today is more relaxed than he usually is, he still has that signature quiet and observant look he always wears.My friends appear to have swapped personalities for today.“You know,” Nathaniel starts, his low and measured voice breaking the silence before I can, “I had a client last week who asked me to help him sue his dead wife.”Cameron finally blinks out of his reverie, lifting a brow. “Come again?”Nathaniel tilts his head slightly. “She left him a letter before sh
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-Two
𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧I’m in my office when the news arrives: the Barsamian matriarch has passed. I’d met her only days ago—frail but still razor-sharp, the first in her family to extend a genuine welcome to Aretha and me. I’d admired her vitality, even in her advanced years: the way her mind raced ahead of every conversation about rare gems, her bright eyes challenging mine as she negotiated. To think she could be gone so suddenly twists my stomach into knots. A hollow ache settles behind my ribs.I stare at the email notification, disbelief flickering across my features. She had warned me—her life wasn’t safe—that’s why she transferred the family jewels without her usual demands or delays. Now, with her gone, I wonder if she’d been right. Was her sudden demise simply the price of these stones?Before I can dwell on it, my phone buzzes. Unlocking it, I glance down at the screen to see a message from an unknown number. My breath catches in my throat when I read the contents of it.“Soon, she
Aretha Hawthorne: The Rise Of The Phoenix Chapter Seventy-One
𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚Marcos’s house is exactly what I imagined it would be—elegant, 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. There’s a hint of cedar in the air, a scent I’d somehow already come to associate with him.“Welcome to Casa Marcos,” he says with a mock bow, holding the door open as I step in. “Shoes off or on?”“I’m not in Japan,” I deadpan, slipping them off anyway. “But I’ll humor your inner neat freak.”His grin is boyish, dangerous, and far too charming for a man who claims he doesn’t 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. He’s 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 Phoenix Chapter Seventy
𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚The 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. London’s cloudy sky greets me with its usual moody charm, and for once, I don’t mind. There’s 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.“Ms. Hawthorne!” 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.“Winnie!” I greet her in a similar fashion, sweeping her into a brief, exaggerated hug that makes her squeak.“Welcome back, ma'am. I must say though, you seem to be in a good mood tod
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