Mag-log inTHE hum of the car engine slowed into silence as Adrian pulled into the parking lot. Morning sunlight danced across the sleek black paint, reflecting the kind of success that needed no chauffeur, no driver in the front seat, just Adrian himself, the man who preferred control in everything he touched. He exhaled slowly, a habit he had never managed to shake off before stepping into the world of work.
Just as he reached for his briefcase, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat. The vibration was sharp, urgent, and yet when his eyes dropped to the screen, his lips curved into a private smile.
The Automobile Guy.
Of course, no one at home and work would ever suspect what that name meant. For them, it was just another client, another business contact. For his wife, it was the company's automobile repairer. But Adrian knew better. The moment he swiped the screen, her voice flooded his ear like velvet.
“Happy birthday, darling.”
The softness of her tone carried a promise, one that made him lean back against the leather seat with an unguarded grin.
“You remembered,” he replied, his voice warm, casual, but tinged with a satisfaction he couldn’t quite hide.
“I could never forget,” she said, laughter rippling lightly at the end of her words. “So, what is the big plan tonight? You are not going to leave me wondering, are you?”
Adrian chuckled, his hand drumming on the steering wheel.
“Big plan?” he teased. “You know me, I like to keep things quiet. But—” he lowered his voice, almost conspiratorial, “I will stop by after work. A little celebration. Just us.”
The line went silent for a beat, then her voice returned, softer, more playful.
“That is what I wanted to hear. I have got a surprise for you too.”
“You and your surprises,” he murmured, pretending to sound weary but smiling nonetheless. “Last time you nearly set my whole schedule off balance.”
“That is because you spend too much time working,” she shot back. “Birthdays aren’t for boardrooms, Adrian.”
Adrian let her words linger, the warmth in them stirring something he buried too often beneath spreadsheets and strategies. He glanced around the quiet lot, half-aware of how dangerous this game was. Yet, it was moments like this that slipped under his armor.
“You have already made my morning better,” he confessed, his voice low. “Now, let me get through this day, and tonight, we will talk about real celebrations.”
Her laugh filled his ear once more, rich and satisfied.
“I will hold you to that.”
The call ended, the name *The Automobile Guy* blinking away as though erasing evidence of what just transpired. Adrian stared at the screen for a moment before sliding the phone back into his pocket, his expression settling into the polished calm he wore like a suit.
A shadow fell across the driver’s side window. He looked up to find a familiar figure approaching with a spring in his step. Peter, his assistant, young and brimming with the kind of energy Adrian sometimes envied, grinned at him.
Adrian rolled down the window as he leaned slightly closer.
“Happy birthday, sir!” the assistant said, his tone respectful but touched with friendly warmth. “I thought I would be the first in the office to say it.”
Adrian arched a brow, amused.
“You are not the first,” he muttered under his breath, then caught himself. Straightening, he replied with a nod, “Thank you, Peter. Early as always, I see.”
Peter chuckled.
“Someone has to make sure things are smooth before the boss arrives. Besides, I figured today would be special for you.”
Adrian stepped out of the car, adjusting his jacket with practiced ease.
“Special? It is just another day. Clients don’t care if it is your birthday.”
“But employees do,” Peter countered lightly as they fell into step toward the building. “And maybe your family too. You have got dinner planned tonight, right?”
Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts flashing briefly to the earlier call.
“Something like that,” he said vaguely.
Peter, always sharp enough to sense when not to push, smoothly shifted the conversation.
“Alright then, back to business. I reviewed the reports from yesterday, there is a bit of an issue with the Westbrook account. Their shipment hasn’t cleared, and if it drags, we might lose their confidence.”
Adrian’s stride didn’t falter.
“I will handle Westbrook myself. Draft an email setting a meeting for Friday. Make sure the numbers are in order before then.”
“Yeah, I'm already working on it,” Peter said quickly. His tone carried a hint of pride, the eagerness of someone who knew Adrian demanded perfection but respected it when he saw initiative. “And about the presentation this afternoon, you will have everything ready on your desk by noon.”
Adrian gave a slight nod of approval.
“Good. Keep it sharp. We are not leaving room for errors.”
“And ugh, a lady rang this morning—” he paused, not having the slightest idea whether to continue or just stop.
“A lady?” Adrian halted, turning to him.
Peter nodded.
“Yes sir, a lady.”
“Business I suppose,” he continued walking.
“I'm afraid not, sir.”
“Then what?”
“She wanted to wish you a happy birthday, says her name is—”
“I don't care about her name,” he interrupted, “save it,” he added.
Peter swallowed hard.
“Okay, sir.”
They approached the glass doors of the building, the morning light reflecting off its surface like a mirror. Peter reached ahead to pull the door open, but Adrian’s hand was already there, firm and unyielding. He didn’t need doors opened for him.
“After you,” Adrian said instead, the faintest smirk on his lips.
Peter laughed softly, shaking his head as they entered.
“Even on your birthday, sir, you are impossible.”
“Discipline doesn’t take days off,” Adrian replied, his voice cool but steady.
And with that, the noise of the office greeted them, phones ringing, keyboards tapping, voices blending into the hum of ambition. Adrian’s expression slipped fully into its professional mask, the smile from earlier tucked away where no one else could see.
Only he knew that tonight, behind a door no one dared to knock, the real celebration would begin.
THE black SUV rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Harlow residence, its engine purring softly before going quiet. The gates had barely finished sliding shut when the front door flew open.Mrs. Harlow stood there, hands clasped tightly to her chest, eyes glistening as she stared down the walkway like she was afraid the image before her would vanish if she blinked.The driver stepped out first, moved to the back, and opened the trunk.Then Valentine appeared.He had changed. He now looked taller, broader in the shoulders, his once-boyish face now sharpened by years and distance. But the moment his eyes landed on the woman standing at the door, everything else fell away.“Mother,” he breathed.That single word broke whatever composure Mrs. Harlow had been clinging to.“Oh, my son,” she cried, hurrying down the steps, her arms already wide open.Valentine barely had time to drop his backpack before she collided with him, wrapping him in a fierce, trembling embrace. He laughed softly,
THE bar was dimly lit, the kind of place that swallowed secrets whole and washed them down with alcohol. Low music hummed in the background, something jazzy and slow, as if it knew men came here not just to drink but to unload the weight of their lives. Charles sat slouched on a leather stool, a bottle of beer already half-empty in front of him. Marcus leaned back comfortably, one arm draped over the back of his chair, while Julian sat opposite them, elbows on the table, eyes sharp and curious.They weren’t with women tonight. No laughter pitched too high, no perfume lingering in the air. Just three men, drinks sweating on the table, and a story begging to be told.Marcus was the one who brought it up.“So,” he said casually, lifting his glass, “let’s talk about this morning.”Charles groaned immediately. “Ah, come on, man. Don’t start.”Julian’s head snapped up. “This morning?” He glanced between them. “What happened this morning?”Marcus smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You re
SHANTEL’S small living room had become a storm center. Her phone lay on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Charles’s social media posts, yet she hadn’t even touched it in the last five minutes. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the couch, her back hunched, her fingers running through her hair as she hissed for the umpteenth time. The sound was sharp, almost cat-like, as though it could slice through the thick tension that filled the room. She threw her arms over her face, then ripped them down again, her eyes glued to the phone.“Ughhh!” she hissed, slamming the phone back on the couch. She leaned forward, muttering under her breath. “Why isn’t he answering? Why? Why?”Her younger sister, Tiana, who had been perched on the arm of the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, finally looked up. She raised one brow, giving Shantel a sidelong glance. “Don’t tell me Charles is really making you act this way, sis?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm despite the amused smi
SHE opened the door, and the image that greeted her made her breath hitch.The woman standing on the porch was young. Much younger than her. Her dress clung tightly to her body, short enough to expose smooth, confident legs, the neckline plunging low as though daring anyone to look away. Her heels were impossibly high, her posture practiced. Heavy makeup sat boldly on her face— thick artificial lashes, glossy lips, sharply contoured cheeks, all giving her a polished, nightlife glow even in the quiet afternoon light.For a split second, Amelia simply stared.“Yes?” she finally managed, her voice steady despite the sudden chill creeping up her spine. “What can I do for you?”The girl looked her up and down, amusement dancing in her eyes. Then she laughed, a light, careless and mocking laugh. Amelia's eyes widened in response to that.“Excuse you?” the girl said. “This is my man’s house. I want to get in.”The words hit Amelia like a slap.“Your… your what?” she asked slowly, her brows
“YEAH, you wouldn’t believe it, I’m at his house right now,” Amelia giggled into the phone as she stepped further into the living room, carefully dropping a book she was holding on the arm of the couch.On the other end, Clara gasped dramatically.“Wait. His house? As in— Charles’ house?”“Yes!” Amelia lowered her voice playfully, as though Charles could somehow hear her through walls. “We just arrived not long ago. I told you I was going to come and cook for him today. I missed doing this.”Clara burst into laughter.“Look at you! Amelia Harlow, CEO, workaholic extraordinaire, abandoning her desk to perform domestic duties.”Amelia laughed too, shaking her head as she wandered slowly around the space, taking everything in— the muted colors, the clean but lived-in feel, the unfamiliar scent that still somehow smelled like Charles.“Oh please, don’t even start. It has been long overdue. When last did I visit my husband-to-be’s house and perform proper wifely duties, huh?”“Wifely dutie
MARCUS stepped out of his office with a tablet tucked under his arm, already mid-thought about an email he needed to respond to, when his eyes landed on the familiar figure seated in the reception.Charles.Leg crossed over knee, phone in hand, bouncing his foot like a man whose nerves were working overtime.Marcus paused.“Well, damn,” he muttered, then louder, “look what the wind dragged in.”Charles sprang to his feet the second he heard Marcus’s voice, almost knocking over the sleek leather chair behind him.“Hey, man!” Charles said quickly, forcing a smile. “Good morning. I have been waiting for you, weren't you informed?”Marcus arched a brow, looking him up and down.“At my office this early? That alone tells me trouble has arrived. No one told me anything,” he looked around.Charles laughed nervously.“Come on, don’t be like that.”Marcus stepped fully into the reception, handing his tablet to his assistant with a murmured instruction before turning his full attention to Charl







