Then, an eerie silence descended upon the room. Everyone stood frozen. My father, his face pale and contorted with a mixture of shock and guilt, stared at me, the figurine still clutched in his trembling hand before his face hardened again.“Is that what you learned all this time? To be ungrateful?!” he added.Ignoring the sting, I reacted on autopilot. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a handkerchief, the crisp white fabric already stained crimson as I pressed it against the wound. With trembling hands, I fished out my phone, the screen illuminating the stunned faces around me. Quickly, I snapped a series of pictures – the shattered porcelain fragments scattered on the floor, the incriminating evidence of their staged photos lying on the table, and finally, a close-up of my bleeding cheek.“What the fuck are you doing?“ Christopher spat.A bitter smile twisted my lips. They hadn't even bothered to ask if I was alright. "Evidence,"
The scent of garlic and herbs slapped me in the face as we pulled up to the restaurant. Le Grand Bistro, a fancy Italian place my family frequented for special occasions. My stomach clenched, not from hunger, but from nervousness.Following my grandfather, I plastered a smile on my face as the restaurant guard greeted us. "Good day, Mr. Alonso," Then, his gaze shifted to me. "And Ms. Anastasia.""Hi," I mumbled, the smile feeling strained.The hostess led us towards a secluded area curtained off from the main dining room. My heart hammered against my chest as she pushed open the heavy velvet drapes, revealing a private room.There, seated at the center of a large table was Regan dressed impeccably in a sharp suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean physique, which appeared to be the picture of composure. Surprise crossed his features as his mesmerizing green eyes met mine. Was it just my imagination, or did I detect a hint of... concern
I forced myself to focus on my plate, mechanically cutting my food and bringing it to my mouth. The knot in my stomach made it hard to swallow, but I kept eating, desperate to appear unaffected by the tension around me."And Regan," my father said suddenly, dabbing the napkin to his mouth, "you should consider convincing Anastasia about the inheritance. It's crucial for the future of our company."I froze my fork halfway to my mouth. I could feel Regan's eyes on me, and for a moment, the table went silent.“That’s unnecessary, Dad” I replied sharply.Regan's response was calm, "May I ask why?"My father glanced at me and shook his head as if disappointed, "Well, she's a little stubborn. You know how she is she can be a little selfish.""Gregory, that's enough," my grandfather warned."But Dad it's true. She can be a little brat."I can even feel and hear his disgust and hate towards me. My grip on the fork tightened. I stopped
After an evening steeped in business talk and subtle tensions, my family bid their goodbyes first. My grandfather lingered a bit longer, discussing our marriage with Regan, his eyes twinkling with something I couldn’t quite place."Take good care of her, Regan," my grandfather said, patting him on the back."I will, sir," Regan replied.As my grandfather left, Regan and I followed, walking out of the restaurant.We approached the car, and I felt an itch spreading across my skin. I frowned and tried to ignore it, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of Regan. I mentally ran through the dishes we had, wondering if I had accidentally eaten something with nuts, my known allergen.We got into the car, and as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I began rubbing my arms to lessen the itchiness. I mentally cursed when I saw my arms getting red and red splotches on my skin."Shit" I murmured and looked for my coat, discreetly covering my arms.
As the car rolled down the long, winding driveway, my grip on my bag tightened. My gaze darted out the window, taking in every detail of this place that felt both familiar and utterly foreign. I couldn't help but admire the grand estate, especially the mansion. The house stood tall with large windows. Its exterior was constructed from light-colored stone, giving it a stately and classic appearance. While the front yard was expansive, stretching out in a well-manicured lawn dotted with flower beds bursting with color. Majestic oak trees lined the driveway. The far end of the property revealed a glimpse of the family’s large land.I'd been here once before, last year, yet stepping out of the car today felt like a debut all over again. Butterflies danced in my stomach. Throughout the entire flight in Regan's private jet, his attention glued to his laptop screen. It was as if I were invisible, a mere passenger on a journey I wasn't a part of.The car finally came to a halt in front of
As the door clicked shut behind her, Regan let out a long sigh. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair before turning to me. His gaze, usually cool and guarded, held a surprising gentleness. "You should get some rest," he said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "There'll be a lot of people tomorrow. This reunion is a big deal for everyone in the family."Taken aback by his concern, I could only nod. "Alright,""I'll just go downstairs and check in with Dad," he added back to its usual stoic quality.Again, I nodded. With a brief smile, he turned and left the room, leaving me alone in the silence.“Ugh,” I groaned, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. I walked over to the bed and lay down, sinking into the soft mattress.Staring at the ceiling, I just stare blankly at the ceiling. After a few minutes, I realized I wasn’t going to find any peace lying there. With a sigh, I decided to take a shower first, hoping it would help me clear my head. I got up and ma
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains. A wave of disorientation washed over me as I blinked them open, the room unfamiliar for a moment. It took a sluggish mental count to register the time – 3 pm. “Had I really slept that late?” The exhaustion must have been deeper than I realized.Sitting up slowly, I scanned the room, my gaze landing on a tray perched on the bedside table. A steaming cup of tea sat beside a plate piled high with colorful pastries. A small, folded note beside the tray. Reaching for it, I unfolded the paper, my mother-in-law’s familiar handwriting filling the page.Eat this, honey. I didn’t wake you up because you looked so tired. - Love, Caroline.I picked up a pastry, the flaky crust giving way to a satisfying crunch. The filling, a sweet blend of fruit and spices, danced on my tongue. I took a sip of the tea, loosening the stiffness in my muscles. I made a quick trip to the bathroom for a splash of water and a swipe of lipstick. Deciding it's ti
As we walked, I couldn't help but scan the crowd anxiously, searching for Regan amongst the throngs of family members. But he was nowhere to be seen, something I probably should have expected. Outside, a fleet of jeeps lined the driveway which was also filled with excited chatter."Why don't you ride with us?" my mother-in-law suggested, ushering me towards the jeep where her husband stood waiting.“Yeah, you can come with us.”I nodded, my smile a little strained as I continued to search for Regan. “O-okay”Just as I was about to climb into the passenger seat, a hand clamped down on my arm."She's coming with me, Mom," a voice spoke from behind me.I turned, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of Regan. He looked effortlessly handsome, clad in a crisp white button-down shirt that clung to his broad frame, the sleeves casually rolled up to reveal toned forearms. His strong jawline and high cheekbones gave his face
A flood of emails greeted me first—formal messages from the foundation, updates on business reports I hadn't had the energy to care about. Then, a few news articles—headlines about society events, political scandals—none of them touching my world anymore.I swiped idly through them, my mind elsewhere, my body still fighting the lingering nausea.Then I saw it.One message stood out among the floods.A simple text, from a name I hadn’t seen in months but had been waiting for without even realizing it.Ava Ramos.My assistant. My friend.She had taken a six-month leave to care for her mother abroad, but even from halfway across the world, Ava had still managed to handle the details of my business life better than anyone else could. She didn’t just work for me—she stood by me. Without judgment. Without condition.I opened the message with trembling fingers.Ava:Miss A, Just wanted to let you know my l
The morning light spilled into the room in soft, golden streaks, coaxing me awake. I stirred beneath the light linen sheets; my body slow to move. The nausea hit me almost immediately. A wave of dizziness and discomfort churned in my stomach, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before carefully sitting up.The clock on the nightstand blinked back at me—7:08 AM.“Ugh” I groaned, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool marble floor. I sat there for a moment, breathing through the nausea, pressing a hand gently against my still-flat stomach.Almost six weeks of being two people instead of one.And somehow, it already felt like my entire body had shifted. My chest tightened at the thought, and I forced myself to sit up straighter, blinking against the dizzying morning light streaming through the tall windows. I reached for the robe hanging loosely over the nearby armchair—a light ivory silk robe with delicate lace
“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed Gregory. Maybe not for her death directly, but for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”I drew a sharp breath. I’d always known something was… strained between the Montreals and the Saavedras. Even as a child, I could feel the tension, though no one ever spoke of it.Don Alonso’s voice dropped lower, his tone thickening with something heavy. Not just memory—guilt.“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed your father—Gregory. For her death directly, for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”His words struck something sharp and cold inside me. My hands freezing in place on my lap. I had always known, deep down, that there was a quiet rift between the Montreals and the Saavedras. It wa
There was a long pause between us.The kind that didn’t feel uncomfortable—just… heavy with things unsaid.We sat quietly, staring out at the garden bathed in the warm light of late afternoon. The hedges rustled softly as the breeze moved through them, carrying the scent of blooming roses and sun-warmed grass. A few loose petals floated gently across the stones. Birds chirped high in the trees.I reached for my teacup, the porcelain smooth and cool against my fingertips. I brought it to my lips and took a slow sip. The taste was soft—chamomile and lemon—meant to be calming. But instead of comfort, all I felt was the bitter knot in my chest, untouched by warmth.I set the cup down carefully, the clink of porcelain against porcelain sounding too loud in the stillness.Then, finally, Don Alonso spoke.“Have any of the Saavedras contacted you?”I blinked, confused.The Saavedras. My mother’s family.I frowned, turning toward
Morgan paused—and then, to my surprise, he bowed. Low.“Don Alonso.”My breath caught, and I instinctively stood up from my seat. Through the ivy-laced arch, a tall figure emerged, walking with the quiet dignity of age and command. He wore a dark coat despite the mild weather, his silver hair swept back neatly, and a cane tapping softly with every step he took.My grandfather.“Mr. Morgan. Always a pleasure.”“Likewise, sir.” Morgan’s voice held deep respect.And then he passed by him, leaving us.My eyes locked with my grandfather’s. He stopped a few feet away from me. It felt like I hadn’t seen him in so long.“Grandpa,” I breathed, my voice catching as I stepped forward.And without thinking, I stepped forward—arms wrapping around him, carefully but tightly.He didn’t hesitate. He held me back.Not just a pat on
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sprawling garden. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying the scent of fresh blooms and damp earth. Birds chirped softly in the distance. I sat at the elegant wrought-iron table in the heart of the garden, my hands resting lightly in my lap. Sunlight filtered through the treetops, dappling the white tablecloth with shifting patches of light and shadow. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine, one of the many flowers my mother had once loved.I hadn’t stepped out into the garden for a long time, not like this. Not dressed in anything but red, that reflected the armor I had carried for so long. But today… today was different.I wore pink. Baby pink.It felt strange, almost foreign against my skin—soft, light, alive. I wasn’t sure why I had chosen it. Maybe because Susan had left it out for me, or maybe because I wanted to see if I could still feel something.Across from
I lowered my teacup slowly, setting it back on the saucer. My eyes dropped to my lap, where the soft pink fabric of my dress pooled gently, but all I could feel was the rising pressure in my chest.I need to say it.I need to say it.I had practiced the words. Over and over in my mind. But now, with him sitting across from me, waiting, I found myself choking on them.Still, I had to say it.I raised my gaze, meeting his eyes.“Mr. Morgan…” I began, and my voice cracked almost instantly. I cleared my throat, forcing steadiness I didn’t feel. “I need your advice.”He leaned in slightly, the air shifting around us, his expression attentive and calm. “Of course, Miss Anastasia.”“I need to know the legal consequences...” I paused, drawing in a shaky breath, “...of filing for divorce.”The words landed between us like a stone dropped into still water. Morgan blinked, his composure briefly slipping. His brows
“We don’t have to go that far unless we need to,” Morgan said, his voice measured, his tone sharpening with conviction. “But if ever Regan decides to make a move—if he dares to use the fact that you kept the child from him as a weapon to demand custody—then we fight. With everything we have. The point is—you’re not defenseless, Miss Anastasia. You don’t have to run and hide in shame.”I looked down at my lap, my fingers twisting into the fabric of my dress. The breeze picked up softly, fluttering the edges of the tablecloth, and I found my voice just above a whisper.“I’m not running to hide,” I said, voice trembling. “I’m running to protect what he wanted to throw away.”“Then we build your wall before he even reaches the gate,” he said, more firmly now. “All we need is evidence. Records. Messages. Witnesses, if necessary.” He paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Did anyone hear him say it? About wanting you to abort the child?”I looked away, my
I exhaled softly, gathering my thoughts. I had spent the past week thinking about this—turning it over in my mind, debating, hesitating. I had run through the possibilities, the consequences, and the emotions tied to it.Was I strong enough? Brave enough? Was I really ready to let go of the past that had defined so much of me?I didn’t have all the answers.But what I did have now was a reason.A life growing inside me. A heartbeat that depended on mine. And that alone was enough.I had to move forward. I had to choose strength. I had to choose survival.For my baby.Morgan must have sensed my hesitation, because he set his cup down, his keen gaze watching me closely, but before he could ask me, I finally broke the silence."I know you must be thinking that I didn’t call you just for tea or to chat."A knowing smile crossed his lips. "That I am."I took a deep breath, straightening in my seat. My