LOGINThora's POV
If only I knew
I was scrolling through my phone in the dimly lit room as the midnight clock ticked by.
A new DM popped up from the same unknown account that has been messaging and disturbing me all these while, Luke.
“You’re more than your headlines, Thora. Let’s meet. Face to face.”
Hmm. What does he really want with me? He should better know that if he's trying to make advances, I see him and I'm not interested.
However, I'll give him a chance. I'd like to hear about this business… of his.
“Friday night.” I replied.
Quentin on the other hand was not resting. He endlessly tormented my life with annoying messages and endless threats.
I just ignored it, but it was getting out of hand. However, the long awaited Friday night came.
I appeared stunning, not too much, just enough for a business discussion.
When I spotted someone coming, I knew it was him. Tall, dazzling eyes, well dressed.
But to be honest, he looks nothing like the cold billionaire I imagined.
He approached with a confident smile.
“You must be Thora. I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I care to admit.” He admitted.
Flatter. He didn't know me well then.
“Flattery won’t get you far with me.”
I looked away and sipped my wine.
He just laughed calmly and pulled out an envelope from his suit and handed it over to me.
“What's this?” I raised an eyebrow.
“A proposal. Not just for your heart, but for your revenge.” I looked into those golden eyes of his, observing his every movement.
I opened it up and saw the devious plan he had carefully outlined to take out Quentin.
I don't understand why he's offering to help me, it doesn't sit well with me. Why would someone I just met would want to go this far to bring down Quentin for me for nothing in return.
“Why are you helping me?”
I snapped. The whole thing was getting suspicious.
“Nothing in particular. The thing is, Quentin is a man with lots of enemies, and I happen to be one of them…”
Okay then.
He proposed we had a fake date…
“What? No. Hell no!”
That alone turned me off. This was a mistake. I rose up to go, but his soft hands pulled me back.
I still didn't want to listen, but something, I don't know, it just pulled me back.
“Chill. It's all good. We just act, nothing more than that.”
My stern eyes were fixed on him as he outlined strategies on how we'll dismantle Quentin’s empire publicly and personally.
I still don't like the idea.
“You will destroy him in the press, I’ll handle the business fallout. We split the wins.”
Interesting, but I don't completely trust him…
However, it's worth a try. I'll do anything to get back at him. Imagine he had the guts to break into my house. I'll teach him a little lesson.
Not too much, as usual, just enough.
“Deal. Sounds perfect then.” I rose again to shake hands with him, he just wasn't ready.
I need to get away from him fast, Quentin has eyes and ears around me, seeing me with Luke might be misinterpreted.
“Wait. We're not done yet. Sit…”
He smiled and adjusted my chair for me.
“For this to work, it requires trust and good acting skills.”
That's true. One mistake and this whole thing would fail.
But we can still make it work. Although, there's something he wants to say that he's holding back. There's something he wants he's not saying.
“What's in it for you?”
He smiled, sipped in some wine and looked into my eyes, he wanted his words to go straight to my mind.
“Let’s say… I have a score to settle too.
Okay then. I smiled and extended my hand again for a hand shake.
Thankfully, he agreed.
“Deal. Let’s burn his world down.” I smirked.
Our first strike was at a charity gala where Quentin was present.
I arrived in Luke's arms, all eyes on us, as usual.
I saw him and he immediately whispered to his colleague.
I know he must be asking who's with me. Well, let's start this party.
Luke leaned in with a whisper.
“Ready to make him jealous?”
“Born ready.”
We danced together in the center, next to Quentin.
Later, when Luke had left me to greet some people, Quentin confronted mez his voice was furious, just what I wanted. That jealousy, let him feel it, it needs to burn in his skin.
“You’re using me. Don’t pretend you’re not.” He warned.
“I’m the one playing you, Quentin.”
“Don't push too far. You wouldn't like the outcome.”
“What would be the outcome? I'd like to know…”
I pushed his shoulder and left, but he held me back.
“This is just a game to you right?”
It's a game I enjoy playing, but it's more.
“It’s survival.”
To anger him the more, we faked a kiss on the dance floor again, slowly, allowing him to feel the effect.
This is going too far. This is more than just a game. That's why I never liked the idea of this whole thing.
The heat, it's real. I felt it.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It wasn't supposed to leave me breathless, but it did.
After pulling back, his expression softened and he leaned in closer with a low voice and dropped a question that rang louder than the disco.
“If you want him destroyed, you need to tell me the truth about the baby you're carrying”
What?! I knew it. He wanted something, all these while, he's been hiding it.
How did he even know?
My mind flashed back to the day I told Quentin I was pregnant, the shock on his face, the silence, the doubts.
Damn! It was just a little mistake.
“...Quentin, it’s yours. I’m not hiding it.”
Oh my God.
The silly bastard came prepared. He took me outside, back to his car and pulled out a DNA test kit from his boot.
“Let’s end the lies tonight…”
My breath caught in my throat. No… No!
Why now?!
Thora’s POV The noise began even earlier than I was awake. Not the common reporters screaming in the street--this was more to the point. My cell-phone continued buzzing on the nightstand until it dropped on the ground. The screen was illuminated with the name of Cara: CALL ME NOW. My stomach sank. I sat up, and my heart already racing, and the heavy ache of dread crawling under my skin. Her voice was quick and monotonic, as lawyers have when they are attempting never to panic. Please do not open your email, do not check the social media. Just—listen.” “What happened?” “There’s a leak. Photos of you at an out-patient clinic last month. The story is already all around. “What narrative?” The reason you were there was a breakdown. There are stores which are claiming that it is substance based. One’s hinting self-harm.” I went silent. The image of that occasion came back, the little clinic, the 30-minute visit, the check-up of the pregnancy. I had come early so I could get
Luke’s POVThe text kept replaying in my head.Tell her the next one’s mine.It didn’t matter how many times I read it—three words, eight letters of threat—and I could hear Quentin saying them. Calm, certain, the way he used to announce a business merger.I ought to have been frank with Thora. I just had a feeling that maybe it was a mind game, a bluff. The other part knew better.I was sitting in my car, outside my office, with my hands around my steering wheel, the engine off. The wind-glass was falling down the rain in long fine hair. The whole city appeared to be on tenterhooks.My phone buzzed again—Cara’s assistant. I ignored it. I’d already learned that whoever touched Thora’s case ended up under Quentin’s microscope. I had to know the depth of that microscope.Inside, my office still smelled faintly of varnish and old coffee. The receptionist waved; I nodded without stopping. My desk light glowed over a stack of contracts I hadn’t touched in days. None of it mattered now.I to
The following morning was different. It was still the gray and weary city, yet the sounds outside my window could not be heard as sharp. Perhaps the reporters were tired, or perhaps I had lost the hearing. Anyhow, all was quietness, and it was like breathing space, the first in weeks. Before noon Mark Leland told him that he would be here. I half-expected him not to. People had made promises previously, people who had more to lose and less to care. But just before eleven I heard a knock--two quick strokes, and then one more, quiet and unmistakably certain. On opening the door, he was standing in a maintenance uniform, hat in his hands, nervous, yet firm. Late forties perhaps, the type of man you would run by every day and never pay any attention to yet there was something kind about his eyes, the kind that looked directly at you rather than to the side. “Ms. Greenwood,” he said, nodding. “Mark Leland. From Vexler. I, uh, called last night.” “I remember.” I stepped aside. “Co
Thora’s POVBy the time I got on to the steps of the courthouse the air was already buzzing. Sidestreet reporters were lined up, and the microphones looked like guns. Flashes of the camera were so brilliant that they blurred the morning into a white haze.“Ms. Greenwood, do you think you’re losing?” “Any comment on your witnesses backing out?” “ Do you fear meeting Quentin Palmer in court?Their voices mangled on one, ugly note. I kept walking. Eyes forward. Clenching my hands on the folder which contained the rest of my evidence. The courthouse was dusty and paper-smoking. My heartbeat was drowned in the humming of the fluorescent lights. At the metal detector, I was met by my lawyer, Cara, who was sharp, but kind. “You ready?” she asked. “No,” I said honestly. She smiled faintly. “Good. They claim they will never live to see the first day. We forced our way along the passage. Each door that we went through had echoes--it is the fights of other people, it is other grievi
Thora’s POVThe first call came just after breakfast.I was still helping Avis get ready for school cardigan when my phone buzzed across the counter. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local, so I answered.“Ms. Greenwood? This is Dr. Patel’s office.”My chest lifted, hopeful. “Yes, hi, thank you for calling back. I just wanted to confirm—”“I’m sorry,” the receptionist interrupted, voice clipped and rehearsed. “The doctor has decided he can’t provide written testimony or appear in court. It’s a matter of clinic policy.”“Clinic policy?” I repeated. “He’s written a dozen statements for custody cases. I, I only need a letter confirming my daughter’s regular checkups.”“I understand,” she said, not unkindly. “But Dr. Patel won’t be able to assist further.”Click.The line went dead.I stood there holding the phone like it was something fragile I’d just dropped. Avis tugged my sleeve. “Mama? We’ll be late.”“Right,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Quentin’s POVMost people think destruction comes with fire or fists. They’re wrong.The real art is in pressure. Gentle, steady, constant — like water finding cracks in stone until the whole wall collapses. That’s how you break someone. That’s how you break Thora.And that’s exactly what I was doing.The first brick I pulled was Dr. Patel. The man had seen Avis since she was a baby, had charts and notes that painted Thora as nothing but careful, attentive, responsible. If he testified for her, it would look ironclad. Judges loved pediatricians — “neutral professionals,” as lawyers called them.But neutrality was a myth. Everyone had pressure points.I waited outside his office that morning, my car idling across the street. Patel emerged looking haggard, his phone glued to his ear, his other hand raking through thinning hair. I cracked the window, just enough to catch his words.“…No, I don’t want to be dragged into this. Of course I care about the child, but this—this is a custody wa







