Mag-log inThey said she was lucky to have married him. He had wealth, charm, a name with legacy and other women warming his bed. She was "just" a scholarship girl with a gentle voice and no background. So when Liana Davids divorced and parted from Dominic Smith, the world snickered. "She'll be back in no time," they taunted. "He's irreplaceable." Even Dominic smiled, betting on her return to his board of directors. But Liana never came back. Liana didn't just disappear, when she returned, she came back like a ghost. A masked tech mogul, business guru and a headline queen. The wife they discarded returned as the woman no one could touch. Now, whispers say she's looking for a father figure for her daughter. Powerful men line up, begging for a taste of the empire she built. But Dominic thinks he is not through yet. He corners her, seething: "Your baby is mine, isn't it?" She lifts her head, eyes colder than frost. "That's none of your business. Now step aside, ex-husband before I bury you."
view moreCamilla’s POVThe office felt different that morning. Quiet, steady, normal in a way I hadn’t noticed for weeks. The storm of tension, manipulation, and subtle threats had passed, leaving a calm I almost didn’t trust. I arrived early, carrying a sense of anticipation mixed with relief. The weight that had pressed on my chest seemed lighter, and for the first time in a long while, I could breathe without the constant fear of escalation.Adrian was already there, his posture relaxed but focused, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reviewed reports. Our eyes met briefly, and in that look, there was no pretense, no hesitation just the quiet understanding that we had survived, together. He was no longer just the man I cared for; he had become my partner in every sense of the word, both professionally and personally.I settled at my desk, trying to focus on the day’s work, but my mind kept drifting to the events of the past weeks. Isabella had left, her presence no longer
Camilla’s POVThe office was eerily quiet that morning, the usual chatter replaced by a tense stillness that made every step feel deliberate. I arrived early, heart tight with anticipation, knowing Isabella’s next move was imminent. She was clever, relentless, and I had no doubt she was planning something drastic. But today, I wasn’t alone. Adrian and I were aligned, ready to confront her fully, and for the first time, I felt the weight of control settling in my chest instead of fear.Adrian was already there, his eyes scanning reports with that measured intensity I had come to recognize as focus and strategy. When he noticed me, his gaze softened, a flicker of reassurance passing silently between us. I could feel the electricity in that simple exchange, the unspoken promise that we were a team, united against whatever Isabella planned.By mid-morning, the tension had become palpable. I could sense her presence before I even saw her, the subtle ripple of manipulation in the air. Isabe
Camilla’s POVThe message haunted me all morning. Every vibration of my phone made my pulse spike, every glance at the screen made my stomach twist. “You’re next.” It was short, cryptic, and chilling. Whoever had sent it knew how to provoke fear, and it was impossible to ignore. I had tried to focus on work, but the words clung to me like a shadow I could not shake.Adrian noticed my tension immediately. He had been reviewing the client report we had corrected, but his eyes kept flicking to me, a constant silent question: what was wrong? Finally, I could not hide it. I leaned close to him, voice low. “Adrian… I got a message last night. From someone unknown. It said… ‘You’re next.’”His eyes narrowed sharply, the intensity in them suddenly sharp, protective. He rose immediately, pulling me toward the private conference room. “Show me,” he said. My hand trembled as I unlocked the phone and passed it to him. He read it, his jaw tightening, and I could feel the familiar surge of Adrian’s
Camilla’s POVThe office smelled faintly of coffee and rain-soaked streets outside, but the atmosphere inside was thick with tension, like a storm pressing against the windows. From the moment I arrived, I could feel Isabella’s gaze slicing across the room, precise, calculated, predatory. She was already at her desk, reviewing papers with deliberate intensity, her posture immaculate, her smile quiet but sharp. Every move she made felt like an assertion of power.Adrian was at his desk, glancing briefly at me before returning to his reports. His jaw was tight, his posture taut, as if he could sense the undercurrents building around him. I knew he felt it too—the silent games, the provocations, the invisible war Isabella waged in subtle movements and carefully chosen words. He was preparing for conflict, and I was ready to face it alongside him.By mid-morning, the tension became unbearable. I watched Isabella lean toward Adrian under the guise of reviewing a project, her fingers brushi






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