The lounge was a room designed for whispers and power. Plush velvet walls muffled every sound, the deep burgundy tones soaking up even the softest exhale. A gold-trimmed crystal chandelier flickered gently overhead, casting fractured shadows that danced across the antique rugs and leather chairs. The scent of aged whiskey mingled with tobacco and old money…. a cocktail of history, ego, and silent wars.Edgar Page sat alone in one of the high-backed chairs, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, the amber liquid in his tumbler catching the light like a smoldering flame. In front of him, placed deliberately on the inlaid mahogany table, rested an antique timepiece…polished until it gleamed, ticking steadily beneath the low hum of tension that filled the room.Julian’s clock. Victor’s dead son.His old friend’s favorite relic. A piece of history, ticking with the weight of memories and meaning.And now, a gift from the dead man’s daughter.He let out a low chuckle, lips curling upward
The sound in her earpiece crackled softly as Cristy’s voice came through, low and clipped.“Amara, Ayah and Dina are looking for you. They’re heading your way.”Amara blinked once, her fingers brushing the hem of her silk dress as if she’d just woken from a dream. The night air around the garden terrace was cooler now, scented faintly with lemon blossoms and expensive perfume drifting in from the open ballroom doors. Fairy lights glittered overhead, strung like constellations, and laughter echoed in bursts from inside polished, practiced, a ballroom full of people pretending they weren’t hunting each other with smiles.She didn’t wait for Zogo to speak. Not for a word, not for a breath. She simply turned on her heel and walked back toward the glow of the party, letting the noise swallow her again.Letting him sit in the storm she’d left behind.Inside, the ballroom pulled with orchestrated elegance. Gold-rimmed glasses clinked, violins hummed under soft conversation, and chandeliers c
The hallway outside the powder room was lined with velvet-draped walls and chandeliers that cast golden shadows against the polished marble floors. The kind of place is designed for elegance and whispers not confrontations.Zogo leaned against the wall, half-shadowed beneath a crystal sconce. He looked like a man waiting for nothing, bored and distant, but every muscle in his body was alert. Watching. Calculating.His security was gone…dismissed quietly a few minutes ago under the guise of privacy. No one saw. No one noticed. Just as he intended.He’d learned long ago that silence was a weapon, and patience was its twin.Then… she stepped out.Amara Musk.Hair cascading down in lazy waves, heels clicking softly as she adjusted the strap like it was a nuisance, but Zogo could see the tremor in her fingers from across the corridor. Not fear. Not quite. It was something heavier like a secret trying to claw its way out of her chest.She held a peppermint in her hand. Useless. A stall tact
Amara barely noticed the lavish party noise when she slipped past the velvet curtains, her pace slow, measured. She was halfway down the corridor when Cristy found her, panting softly, holding a garment bag in one hand and a pair of heels in the other.“They are so mean,”Cristy muttered through gritted teeth as she caught up.“I swear I’m going to push Ayah into the chocolate fountain if she pulls one more stunt like that.”Amara’s dress was clinging awkwardly to her skin…. Ayah had made sure of that. A full glass of red wine had been “accidentally” tipped down the front of her pale ivory gown just moments ago, and everyone had watched in frozen silence. Not one person intervened. Not one hand reached to help her. Not even a whisper of sympathy echoed from the crowd.Only stares. Pity. Amusement.And Ayah, standing with mock horror on her face, pretending it was all an accident. Pretending to care.Cristy opened the nearest guest room and ushered Amara inside, locking the door behind
The Page Estate shimmered like a dream that had too much money to spend.Golden rays of sunbathed the mansion's ivory pillars and spilled into the garden below, where City T's elite sipped champagne beneath a canopy of twinkling fairy lights and imported roses. Crystal chandeliers hung even in the outdoor tents, as if God himself might pass by and judge the décor.It was that kind of party.And then came Amara Musk.She stepped out of a sleek black car, the kind that purred instead of roared, with tinted windows like secrets. Her dress navy satin with delicate pearl buttons hugged her softly, chosen by Cristy to scream refined elegance. Her hair was pinned in soft waves, framing her face like she belonged on a royal postage stamp.For two whole seconds, she looked every bit the hidden heiress she was supposed to be.Then...."OH MY GOSH!" she gasped, spinning in the driveway like a toddler seeing Disneyland for the first time."Is that a real peacock by the fountain?! Cristy, may I ri
Musk Estate Amara’s Private Wing at 12:47 A.M.The room was still.Outside, the world slept under a velvet night sky, stars glittering like silent witnesses to secrets too old to name. But inside the farthest wing of the Musk estate past the long-gilded hallways and behind the heavy carved doors Amara was wide awake.She sat cross-legged on her bed, her back resting against a mountain of down pillows, wrapped in a loose dark gray robe that hung off one shoulder. A glow bathed her face from the sleek, glowing surface of her improvised laptop. It looked like nothing on the market.... smaller, sleeker, customized beyond belief. Her fingers moved fluidly across the touch sensitive hologram keys, her nails tapping in rhythmic precision.Across the screen, a live recording replayed for the fourth time that hour."To whoever can cure my mother... a reward of ten million pesos, no questions asked. I don't care if you're licensed or not. I don't care if you've disappeared off the grid. If you