"Are you mad?" My voice trembled as I pressed both hands against my temples, my head shaking with disbelief. Our faces were inches apart—too close. Far too close. The air between us pulsed with heat, tension thick enough to suffocate. I could feel the brush of his breath against my skin, could sense that familiar electricity igniting within me—again. Damn it. Not now.
Before I could move away, his hand reached out and flicked open the buttons of my coat with a practiced ease. And then—snap. My shirt buttons gave way under the force of his fingers, scattering onto the floor like tiny declarations of war.
"What the hell are you doing?" I gasped, my upper body exposed to him, my breath coming in shallow, erratic bursts.
But he wasn't answering. He didn't need to. His dark, burning gaze spoke volumes. It moved slowly, almost reverently, from my eyes to my lips… then lower. Lower, until it rested where I least wanted his attention.
Or maybe, where I most wanted it.
God.
This was wrong. So incredibly, undeniably wrong. I was supposed to hate him. I did hate him. Didn't I?
But my body—traitorous and insatiable—ached for him in a way my mind could no longer ignore. A flood of heat coursed through me, shamefully strong, forcing every nerve in my body to respond to the hunger I could see mirrored in his eyes.
"When was the last time we touched each other like this?" he whispered against my skin, his voice low and husky. "When was the last time you let yourself feel instead of fight?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"We both know," he continued, as his nose brushed against my collarbone, cold and soft, sending shivers up my spine. "There's nothing stopping us. Look at you. Look at how much you want me."
His words were poison—seductive, sweet, and laced with venom. He knew. He knew every reaction my body betrayed me with. The racing pulse. The shallow breaths. The aching stillness, as if my soul was caught in the pull of his orbit.
His mouth found my breast and he pressed two soft kisses on the sensitive skin, just enough to drive me over the edge of reason. My fingers clenched the edge of the sheets, my teeth biting into my bottom lip to suppress the moan rising in my throat.
No.
This is not okay.
I forced my voice out. "Let me go."
But my hands didn't push him away. My legs didn't move. My body refused to resist, even as my mind screamed at me to escape. This was not love. This was manipulation. A cruel game where my emotions were nothing more than pieces on his board.
He paused, lifting his face to mine, his eyes now filled with something I hadn't expected—pain. Real, raw, vulnerable pain.
"Who forced you?" he asked, his voice barely audible, laced with disbelief. "Tell me. Tell me the truth."
Those eyes… so full of challenge, yet begging. Pleading for an answer I didn't want to give.
I should lie.
But my mouth had already betrayed me before my brain caught up. "It was your mother."
The words fell like thunder between us.
He froze. The air in the room turned cold.
Then, without another word, he stepped back, collapsing onto the bed as if struck. His body curled slightly, facing away from me. He was retreating—not from me, but from the truth he wasn't ready to accept.
"No…" he murmured, almost to himself.
"Yes," I said coldly, my arms wrapping around myself. "See? Once again, your trust in me collapses like a house of cards. You never really believed in me, did you?"
He didn't move.
"You think what I did was revenge," I continued bitterly, my voice growing sharper. "You think I wanted to hurt you. But you… you sold us. You sold our moments, our memories, to your mother. You turned love into a transaction."
I pointed toward the wad of cash I had discovered—payment for something unspeakable. "This? This is what we're worth to you."
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Maybe because he couldn't deny it. Or maybe because, deep down, he knew I was right.
"And now, we have nothing left. You're free," I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "Free from my love, my pain, my presence. Go live your perfect, empty life."
I turned away, choking on the words I hadn't meant to say—at least not like that. My legs moved faster than my thoughts, carrying me out of the room, down the corridor, and into the elevator before my heart even had time to shatter.
But once inside, I collapsed against the mirrored wall. Tears spilled freely, falling in silent streams. The cold floor beneath my feet felt distant. I was weightless, hollowed out from within.
I had just left the father of my child.
His name echoed behind me, softly, pleadingly. But I didn't stop.
He needed to move on.
So did I.
The elevator jolted to a halt. The doors slid open, and someone stepped inside.
I quickly wiped my face, forcing composure into place. Whoever it was—act normal. I glanced up and froze.
A man in a crisp, tailored suit stood beside me. He smiled politely, nodding once in acknowledgment.
Wait…
That face.
Where have I seen him before?
I scanned my memory frantically. Something about him seemed familiar—too familiar. My mind raced. Think. Think.
Then it hit me.
Laura.
He was the man who handled her legal affairs. I had seen him around her office. Always dressed sharply, always smiling in that unsettling way. But what was he doing here now—at this hour?
My heart pounded.
He was coming from that floor. Laura's office.
And he was carrying a briefcase.
No, no, no. This doesn't feel right. Why is he here? What was he doing with Laura so late at night?
Panic sparked in my chest.
I had to know. I needed to know.
But how?
The elevator reached the ground floor. He stepped out casually and walked toward the restroom corridor. I stayed inside, staring at the closing doors.
No one else was around. The receptionist's shift had just ended, and the entire area felt like a ghost town. Quiet. Too quiet.
I walked to the front desk, quickly scanning the appointment book that was left behind. My fingers found his name.
There it was.
A number written beside it.
Just one time, I told myself. One small lie.
I dialed the number.
He picked up after two rings.
"Hello?" he answered in a bored tone.
I deepened my voice slightly, doing my best impression of the receptionist. "Sir, Mrs. Laura forgot an important document. She said it's confidential, so she's requesting you to return and collect it personally."
There was a pause, and then he laughed. A short, arrogant laugh that sent a chill down my spine.
God, I hated that sound. I'd hated him since the first time I saw him. Something about the way he talked to women—like they were beneath him—always made my skin crawl.
And now he was here, involved in something I could feel in my bones wasn't right.
He walked out of the restroom, phone still in hand, and made a beeline toward the front desk—toward me.
"Oh, you're the girl…" he muttered, bending down to pick up the briefcase. My pulse spiked. What a foolish idea this was—what was I thinking? I hated myself already.
"Sir, you can't take any documents without verification." I stepped in front of him, my voice calm but firm. Inwardly, my brain was whirling a mile a minute, pulling together the best lie I could manage under pressure.
"But the machine isn't working," he replied, his eyes scanning me slowly, hungrier than they had any right to be. My skin crawled. Every inch of me wanted to punch that smirk off his face.
"You can still leave it. We're here—especially me." I smiled with a wink, gently placing my hand over his. He laughed like a sleazy dog, eyes gleaming with suggestion.
Disgusting.
"Of course... why not?" he chuckled. "What are you doing tonight?"
Planning your murder, I thought, forcing a coquettish smile.
"Nothing yet. Maybe we can spend the night together... but first, go quickly and come back. I'll be waiting." I barely contained my revulsion as he grabbed my hand and pressed a wet kiss on it. I smiled through gritted teeth, waved him off, and watched as the elevator doors closed.
The moment he was gone, my trembling fingers snapped open the briefcase. Please, let there be something—anything. My eyes raced over stacks of documents, flipping, shifting, digging until—
There. At the bottom.
A paper. Signed.
And not just any signature.
Jessie.
Ronald.
Their lives.
Each word screamed louder in my brain, echoing like a warning bell that refused to stop ringing.
With trembling hands, I grabbed the damning documents and sprinted toward the exit, hailing a taxi and giving the driver my address with a sense of urgency I couldn't suppress. My eyes refused to leave the papers the entire ride home. I read them once. Twice. A third time. Each read ignited the same sick twist in my gut.
Then a knock at the door.
"Hey, beautiful. You called me urgently?" Brooks stepped inside, pulling off his jacket as his eyes immediately landed on the documents spread across my coffee table.
He leaned in, eyes widening as he read. His jaw clenched.
"That bitch."
"No one else knows," I said, voice steady despite the rage boiling underneath.
"How did you find this?" he asked, still stunned. I explained the whole act—how I tricked him, played into his ego just to get close enough to take the briefcase. I looked down at my hand—the same one he kissed—still red from the countless times I tried to scrub the feeling off in the bathroom. But no matter how much I washed, it lingered.
"You shouldn't have risked that. Rose, why do you even care? It's his problem—"
"Jessie," I said quietly. That shut him up. He knew. He might not have known everything, but he knew enough. Jessie meant something to me. And if she was in danger, I wasn't going to sit still.
Another knock.
"That must be Jessie." Brooks moved to open the door. She walked in, her expression instantly suspicious.
"He's my friend," I said quickly, before she could say anything else.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "You must be dating if I can offer advice... but he's not your type—"
"Hey!" Brooks protested. "She's not my type either. She's already your brother's."
An awkward silence descended, but it didn't last long. Another knock interrupted us.
"It's food."
"Who ordered?" I asked.
"I did. I know your habits," Brooks replied with a smile. He brought the bags to the table and we all ate quietly—until I slid the papers toward Jessie.
Her eyes scanned the documents, her face draining of color.
"What the hell is this?" she whispered, glancing between us.
"Your mother," I said softly. "She forged your signature."
Jessie sat frozen. Then, with trembling hands, she held the document closer.
"No… I never signed this," she said, voice shaking. She stared at the forged signature and slammed the paper down. "How dare she? That bitch copied my signature!"
We nodded grimly.
"Think… what about Ronald?" I asked.
Jessie's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, biting her lower lip. Her hand came up to her belly.
She's crying.
I caught Brooks looking away, eyes distant.
"See? I told you—don't involve her," he muttered, frustrated.
"Stop it! Nothing's happened yet. We'll find a way," Brooks snapped suddenly, startling both of us. Jessie began hiccupping as she tried to hold back sobs.
"Brooks!" I hissed. "She's hurt!"
He immediately brought her water, muttering an apology.
"Jess, this isn't good for your baby. You need to rest. We'll handle this. I promise."
Jessie nodded. Brooks led her out of the room. Two minutes later, he returned and shut the door behind him.
"She's gone," he said quietly. "Rose, what now? Listen, you can't throw yourself into this mess again. I can handle it."
I knew what that meant—he would step in and take over, just like always. But that wasn't what I wanted. This wasn't just his fight.
"What about Jessie?" I asked again.
"What about her?" he repeated. "She's my brother's wife. I'll support her. She can work with me if she needs to. But you? You're pregnant. You're not alone anymore. You go down, and the baby suffers too. Rose, you need to think practically now. You can't keep getting caught in their traps."
His words stung. But they were true.
Still, I couldn't shake the one truth lingering at the edge of my heart:
Ronald is going to owe me.
"I need rest," I said softly. Brooks kissed the top of my head before leaving.
And for a fleeting moment, I felt safe.
I sat on the bed, papers still in hand, thoughts spinning like a storm. The whole plan—Laura's plan—was now clear. She'd manipulated every step. She'd worked with Ronald. She'd orchestrated everything. She was behind my accident. She told him where I was. That's how he found me so easily.
The papers slipped from my hands to the floor. I bent to pick them up and—Pain.A sharp, digging pain pierced my belly.
"Ouch!" I gasped. It wasn't a cramp. It wasn't light. It was deep, like claws digging from the inside.
My baby…
No. Please. Not now. Not again.
You're my only hope. Don't leave me.
Fear wrapped around me like chains. My breath came in shallow gasps. Was something wrong? The reports. The pain. The dread. It all pointed to one thing: something bad was coming.
I whispered into the dark.
"Am I going to fall into the trap again? Who's going to sacrifice this time?"
Me?
Ronald?
Our baby?
Tears rolled down my cheeks. My fingers dug into the sheets.
"Why am I still worried about you?" I whispered, voice cracking. "Why? You stopped believing in me a long time ago."
But this time—this time, I had proof.
This time, I wasn't alone.
And this time?
This game ends.
"I'll fight," I whispered fiercely. "And I'll win."
My fists clenched.
"Be ready, Laura. This time, it's my time."