Chapter 8

Alaya remained seated in the plush leather chair, her fingers tracing the carved edges of Darius’s desk as she listened to the sound of high heels stomping down the hallway like a wild animal had just been let off its leash.

She didn’t even blink.

Let the dog bark.

The double doors flew open.

Janelle Brooks, still in her designer funeral black, stood in the doorway with fire in her eyes and rage in her chest.

“You threw my things out!” she shouted, her voice shrill and echoing off the mahogany walls. “What kind of trash throws someone’s personal belongings on the street?!”

Alaya didn’t even flinch. “You refused to leave my house,” she said simply, smoothing her blouse. “I gave you time. You gave me attitude. You left me no choice.”

Janelle scoffed, pacing forward with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Then she laughed.

Dark. And fake as her lashes.

“You think you’re so high and mighty because of a few documents you faked?”

Alaya sat up straighter. Her brow creased.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act stupid.” Janelle’s voice dropped an octave. She looked deranged and delighted at the same time. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? You thought you could lie to the world and get away with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alaya said slowly, her tone steady, but her mind already moving a mile a minute.

Janelle pulled out her phone. Her nails clicked against the screen with an irritating noise.

“Of course you know. But don’t worry. I’ll help jog your memory.”

She pressed a button. Inst*gr*m Live.

Alaya’s stomach dipped.

Within seconds, hearts and comments began flooding the bottom of the screen. Thousands of people were tuning in.

Live. From her house.

“Hey babes,” Janelle cooed to the camera, her voice switching from venom to sugar in a heartbeat. “I’m standing inside the Westwood mansion right now. You won’t believe who I’m here with. The side chick who forged Darius’s will to steal everything from me!”

Alaya shot to her feet.

“You need to leave. Now.”

Janelle spun the camera toward Alaya, who was standing behind the desk with her arms crossed.

“There she is,” she said, pointing like she’d just found Bigfoot. “Lying. Manipulative. And now a criminal.”

Alaya’s heart was pounding, but she kept her face calm. “You’re trespassing. End the video. Or I will.”

Janelle only laughed again. “Oh so it’s your house now? That’s what she wants everyone to believe! That my Darius gave her everything. She’s a liar. A nobody. A thief.”

“Janelle—”

“You stole his company, his mansion, his legacy—everything—and you want to pretend you deserve it?!”

The comments were rolling in faster than Alaya could even read:

"Wait… Alaya owns the Westwood mansion??”

“Isn’t she the girl he cheated with?”

“This is so messy "

“Janelle’s so brave to confront her like this!”

“She forged the will?!? She’s disgusting!”

Janelle shoved the phone closer to Alaya’s face, the front camera inches from her skin. “Admit it! Admit you faked everything!”

Alaya had had enough.

“Security!” she called loudly.

Janelle kept filming. “This is what guilty looks like, people. She’s shaking. She’s scared.”

“I’m bored,” Alaya said flatly.

Two security guards appeared at the door like clockwork. Alaya pointed without hesitation.

“Get her out of my house.”

“No! Don’t touch me!” Janelle yelled as they moved in. “I’m not going anywhere until this liar is exposed!”

“You’re done, Janelle,” Alaya said. “Take your drama to your followers. Not my front door.”

Janelle was still filming as they pulled her away, her voice echoing down the hall.

“I’ll prove it! I’ll expose you! This isn’t over!”

Then the doors slammed shut.

Silence.

Alaya sat back down slowly, her adrenaline still running wild. She rubbed her hands down her face, fingers pressing against her temples.

The press was going to eat this up. Gossip blogs. Headlines. The vultures would circle now that Janelle had publicly accused her of forgery. Even if there was no truth to it, the seed had been planted.

A knock sounded at the door.

Malik.

He stepped inside, looking… amused.

“You good?” he asked.

Alaya sighed. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t look fine.”

“Why are you always around me?” she asked, exasperated.

He smiled at that. “Because my brother appointed me your… let’s say, transition guide. I’m here to help you get used to the position. You inherited his role. You inherited his enemies. And unfortunately, you also inherited his chaos.”

She blinked. “He made you my… what, assistant?”

Malik chuckled. “Let’s go with advisor. Makes me sound more useful.”

Alaya looked at him, then away. Her stomach twisted.

Darius had planned all this? Left her everything, assigned Malik to guide her, left her the entire company… and yet, still proposed to Janelle?

None of it made sense.

Why would he do all that and still break her?

“I don’t get it,” she whispered. “Why would he set all this up for me… and then embarrass me? Lie to me? Die on me?”

Malik cleared his throat. “Do you need a few minutes to compose yourself?”

“No,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m fine.”

“Because the board is waiting for you,” he said.

Alaya’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’ve got a meeting. Westwood Holdings. In less than an hour. You’re now the majority shareholder. That makes you the one who calls the shots.”