Bruce Harry, Ella's father.

It is 10 am in Denver, Bruce Harry sat on his 100million dollars Italian-designed sofa in his luxurious sitting room, puffing, a stick of cigarette hung at the center of his index and middle fingers, and he whistled as his lips open slightly as he emits smoke.

His broad shoulders are wide and looking at his physique it will be difficult to depict that he looked younger than a quadragenarian. His short blond hair stood still on his head as he expressed his dissatisfaction.

"Dawn it! I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have dumped her," he folded his right fingers to his palm and hit the edge of the sofa in his right hand non-stop. He brooded about how he had lost his wife to the cold hands of death when she delivered a baby.

*****

19years ago

Bruce Harry stood still with his wife, Cassandra Oliver in the labor room, he held her left hand firmly caressing her long curly black hair as she was having contractions, and streams of sweat swarmed around her body from her hair to toe.

"I can't do