Chapter Five- Rebirth

Five years ago, I never would have imagined standing here—tall, bold, and successful.

Back then, I thought that moment would ruin me forever. And in a way, it did. It tore me apart, stripped everything I thought I was, left me raw and trembling in the dark. But in time, the darkness became fertile ground. What John and his family did, the betrayal so sharp it still aches some nights, ended up shaping me. Molding me into this woman. This version of me. Stronger. Smarter. Unapologetically resilient.

In some messed-up, twisted way… I’m grateful to them.

I stood in the conference room at Adebayo Pharmaceuticals—the very heart of the empire I now helped build. The air was thick with tension and polished ambition. The long mahogany table gleamed under the fluorescent lights, surrounded by sharp suits and sharper stares. Colleagues I’d worked alongside—or outpaced. Each chair filled with someone who, like me, hoped to hear their name today.

One of us would be named Associate Partner.

I wasn’t nervous. Not outwardly, anyway. After all, five years in corporate isn’t exactly prime time for partnership. Most people climb for a decade before their name is even whispered. I had convinced myself it wasn’t possible yet. That it wasn’t my time.

Still… my heart wouldn’t listen.

Mr. Dylan cleared his throat, the rustling of his paper drawing every eye toward him. His expression was unreadable, as always.

“The newest Associate Partner of Adebayo Pharmaceuticals is…”

A beat.

“Ms.. Olivia Davis.”

Time. Stopped.

My name didn’t register at first—it felt like someone else’s. An echo bouncing around the walls. I blinked once. Twice. My body forgot how to move. I sat there, frozen in a world that had just tilted.

All around me, the room was still. I caught flashes of expression—shock, confusion, and something darker in some eyes. Disbelief curled in the corners of their mouths.

“Ms. Olivia,” Mr. Dylan repeated, his tone gentle but firm. “Please come forward.”

I rose slowly, my limbs moving before my mind could catch up. As I walked around the chairs, every step felt heavier than the last. I could feel the eyes on me. Like heat on the back of my neck. Silent questions. Jealousy. Resentment. The quiet hum of office politics buzzing louder than ever before.

The silence was deafening. A kind of silence that swallowed sound and threatened to crush you from within.

Mr. Dylan stood and extended his hand. I took it, my smile mechanical, rehearsed, unconvincing. He passed me a thick envelope—no doubt the formal contract—and held my gaze a second longer than expected. There was pride there. Real pride.

Then his voice turned sharp.

“Why is no one applauding?”

The silence cracked.

“How many of you could work as hard as she did?” he continued, scanning the room. “A round of applause, everyone.”

The clapping began—hesitant, uneven. Some clapped hard, others barely touched their palms together. It wasn’t celebration. It was protocol. Compliance dressed as approval.

I returned to my seat, holding the envelope like a delicate artifact. I tried to smile. Tried to own it. But inside, I felt a wave of numbness pressing against my ribs. This was everything I’d wanted, everything I’d worked toward… so why did I feel like I couldn’t breathe?

“I have another announcement to make,” Mr. Dylan said, pulling us back.

I was grateful for the distraction.

“I’ll be stepping down.”

The room gasped collectively. Chairs shifted. Murmurs rolled like a quiet wave. Even I wasn’t immune to the shock.

Mr. Dylan stepping down?

Impossible. He was Adebayo Pharmaceuticals. His name, his leadership—his presence commanded this space.

“But not to worry,” he continued. “My son will be taking over.”

More murmurs. Some skeptical, some intrigued. The mention of his son wasn’t new—I’d heard whispers. But no one had ever seen him. He was more myth than man.

“He’ll take this company to new heights. With vision. With innovation. With passion. I ask you all to support him. Work with him. Trust him.”

His voice swelled with pride. His smile—warm and final—seemed to seal the deal. People clapped, more genuinely this time, though hesitation lingered in the air like a mist.

“He should be here by now,” he muttered with a glance toward the door. “I’ll introduce him officially in our next—”

“I’m so sorry I’m late!”

The voice sliced through the room.

Heads turned. And then he entered.

He was… something out of a dream.

Tall—easily over six feet. Dressed in a dark gray suit that fit his body with near-cruel precision, outlining shoulders and a strong frame that carried itself like royalty. His cologne drifted through the air, subtle but captivating, like cedarwood and power.

His skin, rich and dark, caught the light in soft glints. His hair—low-cut with visible waves—framed a face that was all edges and intention. His eyes, deep brown and unblinking, scanned the room.

And then he smiled.

Not the full kind, just a subtle curve on one side of his mouth—like he knew exactly what effect he had, and chose to wield it carefully.

He strode up to his father. Mr. Dylan turned him gently to face us all.

“Everyone,” he said with unmistakable pride. “Meet my son, Robert—the new CEO of Adebayo Pharmaceuticals.”

We clapped again. I think.

But in truth, everything around me faded the moment our eyes met.

He saw me.

Like really saw me.

His gaze locked on mine for a second too long, his smile deepening just a fraction. And in that second, something shifted in my chest. A flutter. A spark.

Five years of silence. Of guarded walls and frozen emotions.

And just like that…

The ice cracked.

********

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm amber light across the field. Kids swarmed around in bright jerseys, laughter echoing, cleats kicking up dust. Parents lined the sidelines—some pacing, others with phones in hand, capturing moments they’d replay a thousand times.

But I only had eyes for one boy.

“Mummy! You came!”

Mark’s voice rang through the air like music. Before I could fully turn, he was in my arms—small and solid and buzzing with the kind of joy that reminded me why I kept going.

He wrapped himself around me, and I knelt to his height, anchoring myself in his excitement. His cheeks were flushed, his curly hair slightly damp with sweat, and his smile… pure light.

“What? You think I’d Ms. my baby playing soccer and winning?” I cupped his face, planting a kiss on his forehead. “That can never happen.”

He giggled, that infectious, full-belly sound that softened every hard edge in my chest. But the moment was fleeting.

His eyes wandered.

They landed on a boy being lifted and spun around by his father. A warm scene—a man with laughter in his throat, joy in his eyes, love in his touch.

Mark’s smile faltered. His laughter faded.

Then came the question I’d always known would come.

“Mummy… why don’t I have a dad?”

My breath caught.

My knees went weak. My body didn’t fall, but something inside me did.

I’d rehearsed this moment in my head a thousand times—thought I’d be ready when it arrived. But nothing could’ve prepared me for hearing those words from his small, searching voice. For the ache in his eyes. For the unfiltered innocence of a boy who just wanted what he saw in someone else’s arms.

I took his hands in mine—small, soft, and already carrying questions he shouldn’t have to ask.

“You do have a father, baby,” I said, my voice tender, measured. “You have a father in heaven who watches everything you do and protects you every single day.”

It was the only truth I could offer—the only version of the truth he was ready for. His eyes flickered, still trying to understand.

And before he could press again, a loud whistle cut through the air.

His coach.

“Let’s go, champ! It’s your time!”

Mark glanced up at me, the weight of his question still hanging between us. I leaned in quickly, kissing his cheek.

“You’ve got this, baby. Fighting!”

That made him smile. He nodded, then turned and sprinted off toward the field, his little legs pushing forward, strong and full of heart.

But as he ran, my smile slipped.

The weight returned.

And this time, it came with tears.

Soft at first. Then relentless.

I turned away, wiping my cheeks as discretely as I could, but it didn’t matter. The pain was back—the grief, the betrayal, the scars I thought I’d buried deep enough never to resurface. They clawed their way up.

John. Tricia. Mrs Luther.

These names still made something inside me burn. They took so much. Not just from me—but from Mark. From the life we could’ve had. The life they denied us with one selfish act.

I looked out at my son—the joy he carried, the strength he didn’t know he had.

He deserved better. He deserves more.

And maybe I couldn’t rewrite the past. But I could shape what came next.

With trembling fingers, I pulled my coat tighter around me. The wind had picked up, or maybe it was just the storm inside me that made everything feel colder.

No more hiding. No more crying in secret. No more carrying shame that was never mine to bear.

I watched Mark chase the ball down the field, his determination fierce and beautiful.

I whispered it to myself, barely loud enough to hear.

“I will get my revenge.”

Even if it’s the last thing I do.