LOGIN“Rutherford?” I whispered, shocked to my core.
“Yes,” he sighed. My eyes nearly popped out of its socket the second he slowly and calmly took his mask off. My sad attempt at screaming failed as he crashed his huge palm over my face, silencing me. My heart pounded even harder, intense shock spiraling over my body. “You need to calm down.” “Sir,” I shuddered, unsure of what the fuck my eyes are beholding. “Yes, I am Matteo Rutherford and I heard everything my mom said.” He stopped, noticing how inattentive I had become. My eyes traveled the length, breadth and width of this majestic hunk of a man. His chiseled jawline, big pointed nose and charming blue eyes. He stood tall, hovering over me like a giant to a toddler. A glamorous physique, embodying a calm and intriguing aura. His strong fragrance overwhelmed the room, choking me in the divine sensation of his presence. Ah, Matteo, the man you are. “Are you okay?” He chuckled, helping me stabilize. The words refused to form. “Mrs Nathara’s son?” I asked, completely dazed. He nodded softly. “Listen, I know what happened okay, and I am here to help. I’ll be at your place after work.” He concluded, patting my back. “My place?” I called him back after making an attempt of leave. My place? Hell no! “Is there a problem?” He paused, staring keenly at me. “Yes, yes there is. My family lives with me, I don’t want to expose them to-“ “A Rutherford?” He gazed more intentionally, leaving me empty and speechless. “No sir, that’s not what I meant.” “That’s okay. I’ll let Kali handle things.” He walked out immediately. Kali as in Nathara Kali Rutherford? I’m more fucked than I planned. I dusted my pride off and walked towards the door before I bumped into him again. “I forgot my phone.” He muttered, breezing by me. He sounds so upset. How did I manage to offend the only nice Rutherford? “I’m sorry please,” I murmured, grabbing his wrist as he walked pass me. He paused, clearly irritated. He replaced his mask on his face and turned to face me. I stared at him with my neck bent all the way to the back; he is tall! “If they-“ he was interrupted. “What the fuck is going on here?” This familiar voice thundered, throwing my fragile heart in disarray. My body jolted to a halt the second my eyes fell on that same mask and worst of all, the same damn ring! “Hold on,” Matteo whispered, pushing me behind himself. “Matt, what the fuck are you doing?” He shouted again, aggressively approaching us. “Get the fuck out Chelsea!” My heart pealed as I chickened out, pale and tired. “You fucking him too?” He yelled, much to the tense confusion of everyone. “What the hell are you even talking about? What are you doing here anyways?” Matteo responded, stepping up. “Matt, don’t get on my nerves please.” He hissed, shoving Matt aside, now fully facing me. My heart skipped several beats. “Chelsea?” He gasped, squinting through his mask. I looked up, trying to comprehend the situation. “Did you deliver my message?” He asked, lowering his body to hear my faint replies. “What are you talking about?” I mouthed. “You’ve done enough, Ricci.” Matteo spoke, his voice leaving unexpected butterflies in me. His deep voice echoed through the cold room. “You just had to!” Ricci hissed, taking off his mask in a flash. “Ricci? Ricci Rutherford? The double R! Oh fuck my life, I slept with Ricci Rutherford!!” I shouted in my head, letting the realization crash onto me. “Miss Ambers I-“ the voice paused, squeezing the whole room to a freeze. With a sharp glance, our eyes connected. Mrs Nathara. Matteo and Ricci hurried to put their mask on but it was too late, Mrs Nathara’s eyes had darkened. “What the hell is happening here?” Why the fuck is she pretending that she does not know her son slept with me? “What did you say?” She turned to me, fierce in her gaze and steps. I said that out loud, didn’t I? “Miss Ambers,” she began, “leave this building immediately and please, for the sake of your life, never return.” I walked out, carrying my heart in my mouth. Nothing makes logical sense. The unpleasant glances thrown at me gives me the idea that the world and half the sea has seen the said pictures. And now, my dad has too. I sat in my car and picked up the incessant call I had been avoiding all day. "Hi dad," I lipped, too certain of his jumpy reaction. "Hi? That's what you have to say? Where the hell were you last night?" He shouted, scaring me even more. He no longer whispers? "What do you mean? You asked me not to come home, right? And I did just that. Why is it a problem now?" I retaliated, hiding my shock and sadness. "Do you know what you've just done? How the hell did it go viral?" He continued, genuinely panicking. "What's the big deal? Things go viral everyday, why are you so scared?" I shrugged. "You have ruined everything, I swear! Chelsea you-" a shot was heard. My father's voice vanished into thin air. "Dad! Dad what was that?" There was no response. I zoomed off immediately, shaking and crying all at once as I tried to track my father's location. The bright sun was started to set. I have been circling the same spot for three hours unable to find my father. Finally, I hopped out, tired of the life threatening suspense. I ran into what looks like an abandoned warehouse, gasping for air. The dark serenity of the building further worsened my blurry vision. I gave up and dropped to the floor, landing in a pool of blood.THREE YEARS LATERThe Christmas tree lights reflected on the water in the indoor pool.Chelsea sat beside Matteo, her head resting on his shoulder, a warm cup of coffee in her hand.The house was bigger now.Bigger in every way.More space. More warmth. More life.Their babies were running in the pool — now three years old — laughing, splashing, shouting, and calling Chelsea “mummy” like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kayden and Kiara. Chelsea’s whole world. Kiara looked like Marie and Isabelle made sure to say that everyday. Kayden looked like Matteo, his father. Her sister was there too, laughing with them, watching the children like she was watching her own.Chelsea watched them and felt a calm so deep it surprised her.She had once thought she would never be happy again.But here she was.Alive.Whole.Free.Maybe the universe never wanted her to have kids and start a life with a man who she’s never end up with because why did two pregnancies fail and here she is, in
The week before her due date was the quietest week Chelsea could remember in years. It wasn’t the calm that comes after a storm — not the eerie kind, not the one where you’re waiting for the sky to open again. It was the calm that comes when the storm is finally over and the world is simply… alive. Her coffee shops were humming, her bakery smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and her flower shop was a quiet explosion of color. Matteo’s car dealership was running smoothly, the kind of smoothly that didn’t require his constant presence. Their employees had instructed her to stay home this week. Not because they were scared of losing money, but because they were scared of losing her. It was almost laughable. Chelsea was the one who used to fear being alone. Now she was surrounded by people who loved her. She was making lunch when she felt it — a gentle, unfamiliar pressure that was not pain so much as a warning. Her belly tightened, and she stopped stirring. “Matteo,” she sa
The day started quiet, but it wasn’t empty. Chelsea moved through the apartment like a woman preparing for a small, important ceremony. She folded tiny baby clothes with the precision of someone arranging documents for a court case. She tied ribbons around gift baskets meant for her and Matteo’s workers. Each basket held the same items — a small loaf of bread from her bakery, a bag of coffee from her shops, a simple thank-you note. It was a Saturday, and the house felt alive in the way it never had at the manor. Not with fear or tension, but with the steady pulse of ordinary life. Matteo was in the kitchen, making breakfast. The smell of eggs and toast drifted through the rooms. He moved with the calm confidence of a man who knew his life was finally his own. It had been one year since the world paused and allowed them to breathe. Everything was falling into place. Not in the way Chelsea had once imagined — not the way she had romanticized while sitting in the manor, staring
“Closure. That’s all I need.” Chelsea repeated as Matteo drove her to the manor. When they arrived, Chelsea’s jaw remained slacked. It was much more different than she had imagined. Chelsea expected resistance. She expected guards, or threats, or at least a reminder that the manor still belonged to someone, that it still had teeth. Instead, she found barricades. Three streets from the house, police vans idled, their engines low and patient. Cameras rose the moment her car slowed, lenses snapping toward her face as if they’d been waiting for her specifically, as if the manor had sent them a message. Beyond the barricades, the house stood the same — white walls, tall gates, the kind of architecture that made you feel smaller simply by existing near it — and yet it looked different in the way a familiar face looks different when you see it in a coffin. Voices filled the air. Laughter. Tourists craning their necks, whispering, taking photos. Someone asked if this was whe
Days later, the hospital room felt survivable. Not peaceful — never that — but survivable in the way a battlefield feels once the gunfire stops and the wounded realize they are still breathing. The curtains were drawn back, letting afternoon light spill across white sheets and muted monitors. Chelsea sat upright for the first time without help, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes like a reminder that her body had been violated and stitched back together. This ain’t the Rutherfords’ Hospital… theirs would be so dark and lifeless. Matteo sat close, shoulder angled toward her bed, grounded, solid. Andrea sat across from them, thinner than she remembered, his face carved with years that had arrived all at once. They were all healthier now. Stronger. Alive. “You’re here…” she whispered, staring dryly at her father. And finally ready. “My baby,” Andrea broke, gradually letting go of his self control as he stared at his daughter. After several years… it’s about to happe
Andrea Giovanni Ambers did not come armed. That was the first mistake Nathara made when the doors burst open- and assumed she had seen a ghost: a ghost who took a wrong turn The room stilled—not because of fear, but recognition. The kind that crawled under the skin before logic caught up. Andrea stood in the threshold like a ghost that had learned to breathe again, shoulders rigid, eyes sunken, grief carved so deep into his face it looked permanent. “What are you doing here?” Nathara’s voice slipped out, obviously controlling her shock. Ricci’s pen slipped from his fingers. Andrea didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at Aria. His gaze went straight to Nathara. “You promised me,” Andrea said quietly. Nathara tilted her head, assessing, already calculating angles. “You’re trespassing. Who even let you in?” “My wife is dead,” Andrea continued, voice shaking now. “My youngest daughter is in foster care. And my eldest—” His breath hitched. “—is dying in a hospital y







