KERIS SAKTI PEMBACA TAKDIR

Kelvin Brown lifted Clarita Howells easily and carried her toward the bed.

“How long have you wanted this?” he whispered.

“I never even dreamed of it,” she breathed. “It’s been twelve years, just work.. just my children.”

“I never thought of it either,” he said softly. “But it’s happening to us now.”

“And I can’t wait to experience it to the fullest,” Clarita replied with a smile.

Then Kelvin laid her down gently, spread her legs. She didn’t hesitate, her pussy was already wet, open for him. Kelvin lowered his head and tasted her. One slow lick. She jerked. Another. She moaned.

He sucked her until she came.

Then he did it again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she cried out, pushing his head away when the pleasure became too much.

Kelvin moved over her, and slid his huge dick into her. Slow. Careful. She was tight but soaked, pulling him in deeper. He filled her completely.

Then he began to fuck her - hard, fast, hungry.

The room filled with noise: skin slapping, her cries, his groans.

“That’s three times..” she panted.

It was the third time she had come.

She reached up, pinched his nipple, sparking a new wave of sensation through him.

“I’m coming,” he groaned, thrusting deep as he released inside her, pumping her full.

Her body trembled again, another orgasm crashing through her.

“It’s the fourth time, Kelvin,” she whispered breathlessly. “You’re my sweetheart.”

He held her tighter, still inside her. For them, there was no shame or shyness, only a quiet understanding. They had found romance in the most unusual way, despite the age gap: Clarita was fifty-two, Kelvin twenty-five.

Their first night together became their enduring fantasy. But how did a powerful woman with everything and a rejected chef with nothing end up in each other's arms? Let's step into their world and discover how Kelvin and Clarita met.

***

The court judgment came.

It was a divorce.

His divorce.

Kelvin Brown stood in the courtroom, silent, his curly dark hair rough and unkempt.

He had lost his job earlier that week, not because he wasn’t good, but because he couldn’t focus anymore. He had worked as a chef, one of the best in his restaurant, but lately there was just too much noise in his mind. 

He kept losing concentration, burning food, mixing orders, forgetting recipes, and his boss said to take a break. But it was the end.

Then the judge’s words crushed him.

“All money and the house go to Mrs. Patra Brown. Full custody of the child. Mr. Brown will pay support every month.”

Just like that, everything ended.

His world. His dreams. His marriage.

Kelvin’s handsome face was wet with tears. At only twenty-five, life had already beaten him. Marriage had drained him. The divorce finished the rest.

Now, he had nothing left except the clothes on his body and the shoes on his feet.

He thought of his son’s small hand holding his finger. That was gone too.

He couldn’t speak.

He cried without sound.

Patra Brown didn’t even look at him. She stood beside her mother, looking perfect as always. She was beautiful, everyone knew that. Her long lashes, her straight black hair that she styled with too much care. She wore a tight red dress with gold earrings, looking more like she was attending a party than a divorce hearing.

But behind that beauty was a greedy heart.

She had never worked a day since she married Kelvin. Not one shift. Not one job interview. She stayed home, spending his money, pushing every responsibility on him. Bills? Kelvin. Food? Kelvin. Their son? Kelvin.

All she did was complain, demand, and collect.

And now she had collected everything.

Five years of marriage gone.

Five years of Kelvin trying.. wasted.

Even the house his father left him?

Taken.

She didn’t care about the pain in his eyes. To her, he was already a memory.

Patra had only married him because she got pregnant at eighteen - on the night Kelvin took her virginity during her birthday. They were young, and pushed into marriage by the pregnancy. 

But her mom, Benita Crofts, had always been a bad influence. She wanted her daughter to marry a rich man. Kelvin was a mistake she tolerated for five years.

And now that judgement was in their favour, Benita pulled her close, smiling like they had just won a trophy.

“Congratulations, my daughter,” Benita said proudly. “And remember, Kelvin must never enter that house again. Not today. Not ever.”

Patra nodded.

“Okay, Mom.”

She didn’t sound angry.

She sounded free.

“Thank you.”

Kelvin watched them walk away.

**

Later, Kelvin stood in front of the house. His home. His father’s home.

He held his small bag, the only thing he owned now.

“Patra.. please,” he whispered. “Let me stay for just one month. I need time. I need to put myself together. I need to find a place. I don’t have anything left.”

“No,” Patra said simply. “You can’t stay here.”

“Please. Just today then. I don’t even have anywhere to sleep tonight,” he begged.

“That’s your problem,” she snapped. “Not mine. Not anymore.”

“Patra, this is my father’s house..”

“Oh, shut up,” she cut in. “It’s mine now. Everything is mine.”

Then she pulled out her phone and called the police.

Kelvin stepped back. “Patra.. please. Don’t do this. I’m begging you. Have you forgotten how we started? Our love? Our promises? Our son?”

“Love?” she said, not even raising her voice. “That was a mistake. We had a child. That was all. Now leave.”

Within minutes, the police arrived.

“Sir, you need to leave immediately,” one officer said, stepping forward. “You’ve been warned,” he continued. “You are not allowed to return to this property. If you do, you will be arrested.”

Arrested.

For standing in front of his own father’s house.

Kelvin’s eyes filled, then overflowed. He cried openly, broken and defeated.

Patra didn’t pity him. She went inside and locked the door.

Kelvin turned around slowly and walked away.

He cried like someone who had reached the very end.

He kept walking.

Because he had nowhere else to go.

At that moment, he wasn’t even living, he was just moving, like an empty shell.

He stepped into the road without looking.

He didn’t hear the horn.

He didn’t see the speeding car.

The impact came fast.

The car hit him hard, throwing him to the ground. His body rolled across the rough road, and blood spread slowly under him.

A woman jumped out of the car.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “Somebody help! Please... somebody help!”

Her name was Clarita Howells. A fifty-two-year-old billionaire gold dealer and one of Boston’s most respected business figures. She was always dressed in quiet-luxury tailored suits, with shoes that whispered wealth.

She never drove herself.

But today, her driver was absent, and she rushed out for an urgent meeting.

She had meant to hit the brake when Kelvin stepped onto the road. But her foot hit the accelerator instead.

Now Kelvin lay on the road.. silent.. still..

“Somebody help,” she screamed, kneeling beside him. “Please. I’m so sorry. Please stay with me.”

Kelvin didn’t move. He was slipping away.

The ambulance arrived fast.

Paramedics rushed to him, lifted his body onto a stretcher, and carried him inside without a word.

Clarita stood frozen, staring at the blood on her hands - Kelvin's blood. Too much. Too red. Too real. It made her chest tighten with fear.

“Is he going to live?” she asked.

No one answered.

Not one paramedic looked back.

Kelvin had already lost everything.

He had no home. No child. No money. No strength.

Was the world cruel enough to take even his life?

It seemed so.