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Chapter Two
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2025-08-11 05:37:34Thora's POV
I'm not coming back
Quentin must be a dick to think I'm going to come back because of his sweet and will I say, emotional threat?
My eyes scanned through the annoying headlines on my tablet as I sat on the kitchen table.
The headline was beautiful; Quentin's Ex-wife: Gold digger or just cold?
Hmm. I scoffed.
Predictable. You guys should have added hot. I'm not so cold after all.
Quentin, you may think you have the public in your favor, but you don't. I can flip that switch anytime I like and you've crossed a boundary.
“Mommy. I'm ready for school. I don't want to be late.” My little angel cried.
“Oh come here, baby. Mommy just needs to do one last thing.” I kissed her forehead and turned on my laptop thereafter.
I logged in to my blog account and smiled as I revealed the moment of truth.
I uploaded screenshots of his affair with multiple women and his celebrity dancer alongside messages too.
Now let's see how you handle the truth baby boo.
“Alright cupcake. Let's go. You don't want to be late.” I chuckled softly.
Moments later we were on the road. However, my phone kept buzzing with notifications.
I just smiled, knowing it's working.
“Mommy, won't you answer your phone?” Avis asked with her glowing puppy eyes.
“Nah. It's not important. Nothing matters more to me now, but you…”
After I dropped her off at school, I checked it, the social media had erupted.
Good!
“Quentin exposed! Multiple affairs revealed by an anonymous blogger.”
Game on.
I smiled gracefully and tossed the phone back in.
At work, I decided to use a new name. Everything has to be fresh. Old things have passed away.
I walked in graciously with stunning elegance, I wonder if they thought they were whispering.
“Who's the new hire? She's stunning.”
That's up to them. I'm just here to discharge my duties and off I go.
I continued my job as the fashion model of Vexler and Co textiles.
And I must say, doing my best attracted eyes.
Somehow, I was promoted to becoming the face of the company in quite a short while, it's God's doing, I must say.
My fashion sense and elegance spread my name far and wide.
I still remember that day, when Mr. Vexler unveiled it to the company. That big photo on the company's wall, anytime I see it, it sends chills down my spine.
“... I announce to you all, the face of Vexler and Co textiles, Ms. Laura Monroe…”
Now, I've got recognition, fans and everything I need to be better than Quentin.
I believe he thought I was joking that time, now he'll know better.
“Meet the mysterious model taking over Vexler & Co.”
The news was all over the media.
My inbox was flooded with messages, including one from a mysterious billionaire.
I don't recognize the number, but the message was smooth, dripping with danger. Just the kind of vibes I love.
“You’re interesting. Let’s talk business…and maybe more.”
Hmmm…
“Interesting.”
I picked up Avis later and got back home. However, Avis found something that struck me.
“Mommy! Look! Flowers.” She giggled. “I love Roses.” She dived right at it, but a note fell off.
I let her have them, I don't have strength for her problems this morning. She can be very pestering.
“I miss us. Let’s talk… Quentin”
You just wouldn't drop it. I wonder what's wrong with you.
I rolled my eyes at the papers as if it was him in person and squeezed it beneath my feet.
“Too late, Mr. Lover boy.”
He just didn't stop. He endlessly sent me apology messages.
I love you… I miss you… blah blah blah…
However, the most recent one he sent pissed me off.
He graduated from apologies to threats.
“If I can't have you, no one will.”
You're nuts!
Desperation doesn't suit you, Quentin.
“Hi, Mrs. Estelle…” I reported the threats to my lawyer. Quentin just keeps getting on my nerves.
“I'll file a case, just in case. Keep me posted.”
That's enough for now. I just hope he stops this.
It just keeps getting worse.
At work today, I got a call from my daughter's school.
"Ms. Thora, Quentin attempted to pick up Avis without authorization."
My heart skipped a beat. What if they'd let him? What if?
No, come on. Focus.
What in God's name is wrong with you Quentin?
"What? That's not allowed." I snapped.
“Hope you didn't let him…”
“Yeah.”
I let out a deep breath and immediately phoned my lawyer to file a restraining order.
The letter was served to him accordingly. I got his silly text too.
“You can't hide from me…”
I'm not hiding from you. I just need you away from my daughter.
Fuck you.
However, he didn't drop it and it's high time I took more serious measures to deal with him.
I got back home one day and found my apartment in shambles. Everything ransacked and tumbled upside down.
“Bloody hell!!”
I carefully checked everything out. Nothing was missing, except for an old photo of me and Avis.
Quentin!!!
This just got personal.
I called my head of security immediately.
“I want a standby patrol at the house. Two escorts for me and Avis always.”
I can't let him come close to me anymore.
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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
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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
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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
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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.”
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