Roy’s POV“It’s nothing, really,” I say, trying to quickly put on my shirt, but Isabel stops me midway. She definitely won’t take no for an answer.“Liar!” She snorts, pointing at me. “You really don’t know how to lie, do you? Just tell me the truth. You know how much I hate lies.Her gaze is steady, unwavering, and I feel a tug deep in my chest. “It’s from five years ago,” I finally let out, almost in a whisper.Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her. “Don’t tell me…” her hand hovers near her mouth, and she steps back, her voice barely audible. “From the fire?”I nod, attempting a small smile. “It’s just a scratch, Isabel. Nothing to worry about.”“A scratch?” She chokes on the words, her eyes welling up. “How can you say that?” Her tears break me.I move closer, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Isabel, look at me. I’m fine. It’s healed. I made the choice to save you. Don’t blame yourself for anything.”A tear slides down her cheek, and I gently wipe it away.“But… you went
Isabel’s POVThe confession hangs between us, thick and heavy like a storm cloud ready to burst. Roy’s face shifts from confusion to disbelief, and I can feel the gravity of my words pressing down on both of us. This wasn’t how I wanted it, but the truth was inevitable. He needed to know, and it was better coming from me than having him find out on his own.I owe Roy so much for everything he’s done for me.But Alexander King. The name tastes like ash on my tongue, a painful reminder of a past I’ve tried to bury.Roy’s gaze meets mine, searching for answers. “He’s the father?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, as though the words themselves are too heavy to hold. I feel my heart thud painfully in my chest.I want to reach out, comfort him, but the truth I’ve just laid bare feels like a chasm opening between us, too wide to bridge in this moment.I blink, remembering why I came in the first place. “Your mom must be waiting for us. I’ll go,” I say, forcing a calmness I don’t feel.
Alexander’s POVI tell you, I’m such a fool. I pace around my office, taking a halt at the window as I take in the view of the city sprawled beneath me. The world outside seemed calm, distant, but my mind was anything but. That night at the old pier keeps following through my mind. I stood on the pier for hours, the salty wind whipping around me, the wooden planks creaking under my weight. Every gut felt like a whisper of mockery, each splash of water a reminder of how foolish I was for coming. I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder, expecting—no, hoping—to see something move in the shadows. But there was only darkness, deep and suffocating, pressing down on me like a bad omen. I take a deep breath. Why would I get such a message if the person had no intention of showing up? Is there something more to it? I force myself to shake off the memory, but the questions linger as I reach for my Americano, letting the rich aroma fill the room.My thoughts were interrupted when Susan wal
Cynthia’s POVI’m deep in the bliss of my much-needed sleep when the incessant ringing of my phone yanks me out of it.My eyes flutter open, squinting at the brightness of the screen flashing beside me.Who the hell is disturbing my sleep this early? Even though it’s past 12 p.m., to me, it’s still early. After the exhausting outreach yesterday, the last thing I want is to be disturbed.Agnes. My PA.Her name flashes across the screen, and immediately my face contorts in a scowl. Anger surges through me.She knows better than to call me at this hour, especially when I’ve informed them I’m not coming to the office today.I’ve warned her a thousand times about this, and if she’s calling me for something trivial, she’s as good as fired.I grab my phone, my fingers gripping it tightly, practically vibrating with irritation.Taking a deep breath, I answer with a low growl. “This better be important, Agnes.”Her voice comes through, shaky and tense. Worry?That’s unlike her. “Ma’am, you nee
Cynthia’s POVThe phone won’t stop ringing.Every call brings worse news, and in an instant, I lose billions of naira.If this is how it feels falling from grace to grass, then I’m finally feeling it.Most of our sponsors pull out one by one, the major ones already gone.This is bad.How can one stupid—one poorly chosen moment in front of a hidden camera—make me lose everything I’ve worked for?I glare at the screen, disgust welling up inside me. I hate the internet.They’re all fools, a bunch of idiots! The way people share and comment like vultures on a carcass, feeding on whatever scandal they can find.It’s like some twisted scene from a movie, except this time I refuse to be the tragic character that loses everything. I’m not going to end up like them. There’s a way out. There must be.I pick up my phone, desperation clawing at me as I dial my father’s number.Even if everyone turns their back on me, he won’t. I want to believe so.I’m his only child, after all.He answers after
Alexander’s POVI sit by the wine bar, my fingers lightly tracing the rim of my glass as I replay the day in my mind—every word, every look, every moment that seems to unravel all at once.The Montgomerys are revealing their missing daughter to the world tomorrow. They keep making it seem like they’ve struck gold with her.What’s the point of a party? Well, considering we got the check, I won’t mind if they keep throwing parties every weekend. I scoff.Just as I’m about to take another sip, I catch sight of Cynthia passing by, dressed in a figure-hugging mini dress made of sleek, shimmering fabric that catches the light.I glare at her as she walks past, pretending not to notice me. For a second, I wonder where she might be heading this late at night, dressed like that.Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been interested in her, her looks, or anything related to her.But for the sake of my family’s reputation, I can’t just let it slide. And for god’s sake, she’s a mother! What kind of exam
Isabel’s POVI stand before the mirror, my heart racing beneath the surface, refusing to reveal the anxiety simmering inside.Today isn’t just any day—it’s the day the world learns my true identity, the long-lost daughter of the Montgomery family. I release a slow, steady breath, forcing calm to replace my nerves.Five years have passed since I last faced Alexander, Cynthia, and the meddling Mother Hen—Sabrina King. The thought of seeing them—especially Alexander—tightens a cold knot in my chest. I remember the last words he said, the look in his eyes when he handed me the divorce papers. I can’t afford to show my rage, not tonight.“Sis, you look absolutely gorgeous,” Aurora’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, her reflection joining mine in the mirror.Her eyes sparkle with pride and excitement as she adjusts her gown, a stunning midnight blue that shimmers under the chandelier light.“You’re ready for this, Isabel… Claire.” She rolls her eyes, and I can’t help smiling. “More than r
Alexander’s POVI stride down the hall, adjusting the cufflinks of my tailored white tuxedo, the soft notes of piano drifting through the air. A gentle melody echoes from the grand piano near the far end of the ballroom, mingling with the quiet hum of conversations. The weight of success settles comfortably on my shoulders.The tux fits like a second skin, and the subtle gleam of my Rolex catches the light with each step. Cynthia is by my side, her manicured fingers curled around my arm, projecting the image of a perfect, polished couple. Her presence beside me is calculated, rehearsed—just like everything else in our public life.Tonight is it.The hotel ballroom is filled with a who’s who of elites, business magnates, and influential figures. The Montgomerys sure know how to gather power under one roof. I let a smile play on my lips as the camera flashes capture the moment, bathing us in a soft glow. Golden accents on the walls catch the light of the chandeliers, casting a warm, a
Isabel’s POVI finally manage to push myself out of the living room, my legs moving before my mind catches up. The moment the heavy doors open, a gust of fresh air hits me like a slap—cold and sharp, and far too late. My lungs welcome it greedily, but my chest still feels tight, like I’m dragging a thousand bricks behind me. I stop at the top of the stairs, watching as Sabrina is shoved into the back of a police car. Her hands are cuffed, her head lowered, her face blank. No screams. No explanations. Just silence.This isn’t what I wanted.A hard lump settles in my throat as I stare at her. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t want Sabrina to take the fall, not like this. Now that she’s confessed… how the hell am I going to prove Cynthia’s hand in any of this?“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, my fist clenching tightly at my side as frustration coils hot beneath my skin.Then—“What’s gotten you thinking so hard like this?”The voice slices through my thoughts like a jagged knife.
Isabel’s POVI scoff, folding my arms as I shift my gaze to Sabrina. “What are you trying to do, Sabrina?” My voice slices through the room, low but sharp. “How dare you lie—or worse, try to twist the truth in front of everyone here?”The officers watch, unmoving, as I take a breath, trying to hold onto the edge of control. I turn to them, my tone firm, voice steady. “Don’t mind her. I’m sure she’s been made to say all this. The Sabrina I know wouldn’t take the blame for something she didn’t do. Not like this. Besides,” I pause, looking pointedly at her, “how does she explain the evidence we have? The link we found between the Castillos and the person in question? This isn’t a story you can bury with theatrics.For a flicker of a second—barely a heartbeat—I see it. Shock. A flicker that flits across her face before it’s gone, replaced by a scoff. Slow. Hollow. She lands her gaze on me, eyes unreadable, digging into something I can’t quite understand. But there’s something off. The way
Isabel’s POVI descend the stairs with fury pulsing through every step, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble. Each thud feels like a countdown. My jaw is clenched tight, my fists balled at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I don’t care. Let it hurt. It grounds me.Halfway down, I hear her voice.“Where are you going to?” my mother asks, stepping into view at the foot of the stairs, her brows drawn in concern, eyes searching mine.I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I pause, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath through my nose, as if I can exhale all this rage, all this pain. My hands tighten by my sides again, trembling. It’s the only thing keeping me from screaming.She notices the silence, but doesn’t push. Instead, she raises the phone in her hand. “Your father called. He’s planning to return as soon as he heard the news.”I look at her now, startled, as if those words punch a hole in the emotional armor I’ve barely held together.“He’s worried,” she continues g
Alexander’s POVI’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are pale. Buildings blur past my window as I drive, but my mind is stuck on Collins’ words—each one echoing like a slow, burning fuse.It’s Sabrina. Your mother.Could she have really done it?My jaw clenches as I press harder on the gas. The engine hums louder beneath me, but it doesn’t drown out the flood of thoughts crashing in my head.She never wanted me to marry Isabel. From the very beginning, my mother made it painfully clear—Isabel wasn’t good enough, not for me, not for our family. She despised everything about her. Her upbringing. Her background. The fact that she was poor. A nobody. Someone who didn’t fit into our world.She never forgave me for choosing Isabel anyway.And then I remember—that night.We were arguing in her study room. She’d been furious about how useless Isabel was during a family crisis—said she just stood there, quiet, offering nothing of value. That she had no strength, no presence,
Collins’ POVI look up, raising an eyebrow as I meet Alexander’s gaze. “So… you want me to get details on this vehicle?” I ask, tapping the paper he just slid across my desk, my tone dry, disbelieving.Alexander shifts his weight from one foot to the other, slowly nodding. But it’s the kind of nod that screams reluctance—like he still can’t believe the words are coming from his own mouth.I scoff. “You came back after storming out last time, pissed at the world, and now you want me to run a plate number on a bike?” I let the silence hang, thick and heavy, watching him squirm as he avoids saying what we both know he came here for.He doesn’t answer.Instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose, and that’s when I know—he’s wrestling with it. The discomfort is all over his face. I’ve known Alexander long enough to recognize when something’s eating him from the inside.I sigh, sinking deeper into my seat, locking my fingers together. “What’s your connection with this plate number?” I ask, s
Cynthia’s POVI pace the room, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, every step slicing through the heavy, choking silence.My mind won’t stop spinning, crashing back to Alexander’s words from last night. His tone, his stubbornness, the way he said he was going to start digging into the past. Into the truth.Panic twists inside me.If he really starts poking around, he will find it.He will find me.How I carefully, ruthlessly created a rift between him and Isabel.How I built lie upon lie, wound after wound, all to keep them apart forever.No.I shake my head fiercely, biting down hard on my thumbnail, pacing faster.That can’t happen.For years, I’ve endured—fought—to keep the truth buried. I’ve planted doubts, fueled betrayals, sowed distrust like a second skin between them.And yet—Why does fate keep spinning the damn wheel back to them?No matter how far apart I tear them, no matter how well I bury the past, something—something—always shoves them back toward each o
Isabel’s POV“Claire…” My mother’s voice breaks, hoarse with grief. “How could you have been going through all of this alone?” Her eyes are wide with pain, hands trembling as they reach toward me but stop halfway. “Countless times, Claire. Countless times you were attacked, and you just… you just hid it from me?”Tears spill freely down her cheeks as she steps closer, her voice rising into a sharp, helpless wail. “How did you think I would feel as your mother—knowing you’ve been living through all this, silently bleeding, and I never knew? And now… now I find out you’d planned to use yourself as bait at the event?” She clutches her chest like her heart might tear in two. “Why, Claire? Why didn’t you tell me?”I snap—not out of anger, but from the pressure of everything I’ve been holding in.“Because I was scared, Mom!” I cry, my voice raw and cracking. “Scared of seeing you this way. Scared that I’d shatter you.”Her breathing falters, but I push through the lump in my throat.“I know
Alexander’s POVThe door clicks open as I step inside the house with Mother.The soft tune of a jazz song floats through the living room, slow and airy like the aftermath of a toast. Cynthia dances alone—wine in hand, hair loosely pinned, her dress glinting in the light as if she’s celebrating something only she knows.My jaw clenches.I walk straight to the speaker and turn off the music.She turns slowly, surprised, raising her glass mid-air like she just noticed us.“Oh… you’re back?” she says lightly, her tone breezy. “The event’s already over?”Something in her voice irks me. I don’t miss the sly curiosity behind her words.I stare at her. My mind replays the scene—the flash of her slipping out through the hotel hallway, the way she avoided every gaze.I know what I saw.“Where were you today, Cynthia?” I ask, voice sharp.She scoffs, laughing without humor.“Impossible. Where else would I be?”Lies. I can see it in the flicker of her eyes.If you lie to me now, Cynthia, I’ll tak
Isabel’s POVI’m still frozen—still in shock—barely able to feel my own breath, much less the dull ache spreading across my chest. The only thing louder than the sound of my pulse is the voice that suddenly rips through the air.“Is this the plan you were talking about? I thought your plan was to avenge Cynthia for all she’s done. How come you had Roy involved in it too?”The voice is raw. Strained. Like it clawed its way up from a place of pain. Each word crashes into me like thunder, louder as the footsteps draw closer. And then… we all turn.Aria.Her red-rimmed eyes land on me with blistering intensity. Her face is crimson, cheeks flushed with rage, and her fists are clenched tight by her sides like she’s fighting every urge to lash out. Her chest heaves, her shoulders rigid with emotion.The silence becomes deafening. Every head turns as she walks forward—past the nurses, past the waiting chairs—right into the center of the tension. No one moves. No one speaks. We just watch, hel