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After I was diagnosed with cancer, the girl who once bullied me offered to donate an organ. On the day of the surgery, she said she was scared—and ran. To comfort her, my entire family granted her every wish. My parents treated her like the daughter they adored. My brother spoke her name more than mine. Even my fiancé stopped leaving her side. The ninety-ninth time she fled, my condition turned critical. Yet they still abandoned me, just to chase after her. They told me, "Let's wait for next time. Victoria is so sweet and kind; it's normal for her to be scared." But what they didn't know was that I stopped waiting. I gave up the treatment. I gave up the donation. And this time, I gave up them. *** Another emergency surgery had just finished. When I opened my eyes again, I was the only one in the ward. My eyelashes trembled slightly; I didn't remembered how many times they had left me behind. Just as I was drifting in a daze, my phone chimed with a notification. It was a video sent by Victoria. My family and my fiancé were out shopping with her. Everyone was carrying several expensive shopping bags. Victoria was beaming with joy, looking nothing like someone suffering from pre-surgery anxiety. She spoke in an apologetic tone, "You're all here keeping me company, but what if Sarah wakes up and gets upset because she doesn't see you?" As soon as she finished speaking, Dad comforted her. "Don't worry. The doctor said she's been resuscitated, and the nurses are looking after her." Mom coaxed her with a doting tone. "Victoria, you're just too kind-hearted. You're always thinking of others. We're so touched that you're willing to donate an organ to her. The least we can do is spend time with you to make you happy." Jacob was even more direct. "Sarah isn't in life-threatening danger anymore. What matters most is your happiness. You can do whatever you want to do." I used to think that Julian Blackwood, my fiancé who I grew up with, was the person who truly hoped for my recovery. But then I heard him say, "Organ donation carries high risks, so it's normal that you are afraid of the surgery. But don't worry, I'll stay by your side the whole time." The video ended abruptly. A wave of despair rose in my heart. Victoria added a message at the end. "Sarah, they're just grateful that I'm willing to donate an organ to you. They saw I was scared and alone, so they came to keep me company." "Please don't overthink it. They all love you." She was always like this—pretending to be pitiful while deliberately showing off in front of me. The irony was that my family fell for it every time. I bit my lip, tasting the bitterness, and replied. "Isn't this what you wanted? Are you satisfied?" Not long after the message was sent, Mom and Dad stormed into the ward. Dad lashed out immediately. "Did you force Victoria to donate her organ to you again?" Jacob looked impatient. "She already said she'd donate to you. How can you not be grateful? You even force her? Do you have no conscience?" Although Mom didn't say anything, her look was filled with disappointment. "I didn't..." But before I could finish, Julian cut me off. He looked at me, his tone dark and grim. "Sarah, Victoria is willing to donate out of kindness. You have no right to guilt-trip her, otherwise don't blame me if I destroy that voluntary donation agreement." They used to be the most important people in my life. Now, however, all of them stood by Victoria's side, accusing me for her sake. My long-numbed heart still tightened uncontrollably. How absurd! I was the one who was their family. I was the one who grew up with Julian. They used to love me so much. But now, they had shifted all that affection to Victoria. I struggled to force a smile. "What if I told you that if I don't get this surgery, I only have one month left to live?" Chapter 2 Everyone in the room froze for a moment. Jacob's voice tightened as he instinctively shot back, "How is that possible?" I stared at their reactions and enunciated every word. "If I don't get this surgery, I won't survive. Are you willing to let Victoria undergo the surgery right now?" The moment the words left my mouth, Victoria pushed the door open and rushed in. As if oblivious to the tension, she affectionately grabbed my family' arms and asked, "Sarah, what are you talking about? Didn't the doctor say that as long as you keep up with chemotherapy, you can still hold on?" Hearing this, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Julian scoffed, his tone biting. "Victoria is right. You made up this lie just to force Victoria into the surgery, didn't you? What has happened to you?" "Exactly. Victoria spends every day keeping us company for your sake, talking to us so sweetly. If only she were my real sister..." Jacob was cut off by Dad, whose voice was cold. "We know your condition better than anyone. It's not as critical as you said. Just wait a little longer." I lowered my eyes, a mix of bitterness, resentment, and absurdity surging in my chest. They must have forgotten how frantic they were when I was first diagnosed with cancer, how they went mad trying to find a suitable donor match for me. In just a few short months, every one of them had changed. They knew well how agonizing every chemotherapy session was for me, how my hands were covered in needle marks and bruises. Yet they chose to turn a blind eye. Or perhaps, Victoria had replaced me in their hearts. I didn't even have the courage to question them anymore. I simply said, "I understand. I won't bring it up again." Jacob was about to say something, but Victoria grabbed my hand again. "Sarah, we are all physically and mentally exhausted because of you. I really envy that you have such a wonderful family and boyfriend. Stop holding a grudge against them." Victoria pressed down hard on the IV catheter in my hand, a flash of smugness crossing her eyes. It looked exactly like the expression she wore back when she had someone lock me in the restroom for a day and a night, watching me lying on the floor in a wretched state. In a flash of pain, I instinctively shook her off. Even though I hadn't used any force, she fell heavily to the ground. "Sarah, I was just trying to care for you. If you don't want to see me, I'll just leave." Her tears streamed down instantly, as if she had been subjected to a massive injustice. "What are you talking about? I didn't even..." Before I could finish, Dad slapped me hard across the face. I looked at him in disbelief. My parents had never laid a hand on me growing up, yet now he hit me for Victoria's sake. Dad looked away, a hint of guilt in his eyes, but his voice remained cold. "You still dare to lie? When will you fix your spoiled, rotten temper?" A wave of grievance crashed over me, and tears burst from my eyes. Julian scooped Victoria up and sneered, "Victoria treats you so well. Don't be ungrateful. How dare you get physical with her? You have so much energy, completely not like a dying person." He carried Victoria away without looking back. His words like poisonous needles, stabbed me until I was bleeding out. Jacob kicked the table in frustration. "This is all your fault. Did you have to make such a scene? Aren't we being nice to her for your sake? You are not really considerate." My mother frowned, staring at me. "We've simply spoiled you rotten." Finally, Dad waved his hand dismissively. "Leave her be. Let her stay here and reflect on what she's done." After they left, I sat in a daze for a long time. Finally, I called for my attending physician. "Dr. William, I don't want to continue the treatment. Please, don't tell my family." Chapter 3 After being discharged from the hospital, I went back home alone, only to find that the villa had changed completely. The family portrait in the living room had been replaced by one featuring Victoria and my family. My bedroom, which my parents had specially designed and Jacob had personally decorated for me, had been completely redone. All the things I once treasured had been tossed into the downstairs storage room. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Since they didn't love me anymore, there was no point in keeping the gifts they had given me. So I burned everything in the storage room. The birthday presents from my parents, the limited-edition dolls Jacob had saved his allowance for months to buy me. And the countless love letters and gifts Julian had once sent me... I took a taxi to the funeral home and arranged for my ashes to be scattered at sea after I died. Half an hour later, walking alone down the street, I ran into my entire family having a meal with Victoria. She sat in the restaurant, the center of my whole family's attention. Mom and Dad were doting on her, serving her food, while Jacob was trying to make her laugh. Julian sat right next to her, his eyes full of adoration as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth. The sight stabbed at my heart, sending a sharp pain through my chest. I intended to turn and leave, but Victoria spotted me. She pointed at me, looking puzzled. "Mom, Dad, Julian, look! Why is Sarah out of the hospital?" Their gazes landed on me, heavy with displeasure. Jacob came out, dragged me inside, and his first words were an accusation. "Are you done making a scene? Who gave you permission to leave the hospital? Do you wish death?" Julian's face was dark with annoyance, his tone dripping with disdain. "Why aren't you resting in the hospital? Follow us here?" "If you hadn't scared Victoria that day, making her tremble at the mere sight of a hospital, we wouldn't have had to spend the last few days comforting her." I forced a weak smile. "I didn't follow you." I turned to leave, but Victoria suddenly fixed her eyes on my wrist. "Sarah, I've never worn a bracelet before. Can I try yours on?" That bracelet was a gift from my parents for my Sweet Sixteen Party. It was my most precious treasure, and the only thing I had left. Seeing my silence, Dad's expression turned impatient. "If Victoria wants it, just give it to her. Can you stop being so selfish?" Mom and Jacob chimed in, "Exactly, it's just a bracelet." Julian sneered, walked over, and forcibly yanked the bracelet off my wrist. "Don't forget, you're relying on Victoria to save your life. If you're too stingy to even give her this, why should anyone bother saving you?" My wrist was red and raw, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Victoria toyed with the bracelet, looking triumphant, but in the next instant, she suddenly let go. The sound of the bracelet shattering was piercingly loud in the silent restaurant. She blinked innocently. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I didn't have a good grip on it..." She had done it on purpose. I knew it. Rage surged from the depths of my heart. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. I hadn't even used much force, yet she stumbled back several steps as if I had. Julian instantly stepped in front of her to shield her. "Sarah! What the hell you're doing!" She glanced at me, a triumphant smile curling her lips, though her voice was choked with tears. "It's all my fault. I was too careless. Sarah is right to blame me." "I know she doesn't like me. I'll leave right now so I won't be an eyesore to her." With that, she turned and bolted out, moving with shocking speed. Julian hurriedly shoved me aside and chased after her. Caught off guard by his push, I fell to the floor and crashed right into a waiter's cart. Scalding soup splashed all over me, the searing pain hitting instantly. Mom and Dad glanced at my wretched state. They started to reach out to help, but were distracted by Jacob's shout. "Mom, Dad, come quick! Victoria is trying to kill herself!" Dad rushed after them immediately. Mom, however, just gave me a look of sheer disappointment. "Sarah, you'd better pray Victoria is alright, or else you'll just be waiting to die in the hospital." Watching them leave without a second thought, the rage struck my heart and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Darkness swarmed my vision, and I passed out. Chapter 4 When I came to sense again, I had already been taken to the hospital. There was no one by my side. I dragged my weak body out of bed, intending to leave the hospital. But as I passed the adjacent ward, I saw Mom, Dad, Jacob, and Julian. They were all crowded around Victoria, showering her with concern. Victoria spoke with feigned thoughtfulness, "You've been looking after me this whole time and haven't even checked on Sarah. I saw her coughing up blood earlier; surely it must be serious?" "Don't waste your worry on her. I've already had someone send her to the hospital. With doctors there, she'll be fine. If she hadn't discharged herself just to pressure you, you wouldn't have been so terrified that you tried to take your own life. She brought this on herself." Dad dismissed the idea without a second thought, and Mom nodded along in agreement. Jacob carefully examined the wound on her hand. "She's always been obsessed with self-preservation, terrified she won't be cured—she'll be fine. You're hurt so badly; why are you still worrying about her?" Victoria leaned against Julian. When she noticed me, her eyes filled with undisguised malice. Then, she spoke with fake sweetness, "You're all so good to me. Before the surgery, could you grant me one wish? I want you all to come with me to see the ocean..." I didn't stay to hear the rest; I just turned and left. That very night, Mom, Dad, and the others took Victoria abroad. Throughout their trip, I kept seeing Victoria's updates on Instagram. Mom and Dad ran freely with her along the beach; Julian took her surfing, the two of them embracing tightly before sharing a kiss. I stared at the photo of their kiss, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Just as I was about to close the app, Jacob called me. "Have you spent these past few days reflecting on yourself? Do you realize your mistake?" Reflecting? What did I do wrong? I suddenly laughed, my voice dripping with irony. "Jacob, will you all only love me again once I'm dead?" Jacob paused on the other end of the line. "What?" Then came Mom and Dad's impatient voices. "Just because we took Victoria on vacation, you're threatening us with suicide? Then go ahead and die." My heart broke, and I finally gave up all hope. After hanging up, I suddenly began to cough violently, the metallic taste of blood surging up my throat. I rushed into the bathroom, vomiting blood violently. Before my consciousness faded completely, I dialed the number for the funeral home. *** Abroad. Mom and Dad didn't seem to take my words to heart. After hanging up, the four of them continued to enjoy themselves with Victoria for several more days. On the day they were preparing to return home, Dad's phone suddenly rang. He looked at the unknown number on the screen and put it on speaker. "Is this the family of Sarah? She has passed away. Please come to the police station as soon as possible to process her death certificate."
College student Jason time-traveled to the Cultivation World. After cultivating for 10,000 years to become a Sage, he returns to Earth to find only one day has passed! Before he left, his father died, his adopted brother forced his mother into debt, his buddy Derek stole his patent money, and his crush Alyssa was stolen by his rival. Now back, Jason ruthlessly crushes those bullies! He dismantles loan sharks, saves the head of Reed Group, and helps his secret admirer Zoe make a stunning comeback. Facing hidden enemies on Earth, he uses his 10,000 years of cultivation power to crush everything in his path.
After I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.
After I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.
I often tell my patients that what’s really choking their lungs isn’t age… or even smoking damage. And every time, I get the same look. Wide eyes. Raised eyebrows. That “You mean it’s not because I smoked?” face. And honestly? I get it. It sounds too simple. But after decades of studying how the lungs heal themselves — and helping hundreds of patients who were stuck coughing, wheezing, and gasping — I’ve learned the truth most doctors overlook. If you’re constantly coughing, waking up congested, wheezing after a flight of stairs, and feel like your chest is always heavy… it might not actually be “smoking damage.” The number one cause of these symptoms is not “weak lungs,” it’s not asthma, and it’s definitely not just age. You’re also probably waking up every morning hacking up mucus. You feel that rattle when you lie down at night, or maybe your chest feels coated in sticky junk you just can’t cough out. And that constant shortness of breath when doing simple things like walking the dog? That stubborn tightness in your chest? That’s mucus buildup. But most smokers tragically ignore these symptoms until one day they realize it’s too late. As you smoke (and even years after quitting), your lungs produce layer after layer of thick, tar-like mucus that sticks to your airways like glue. No amount of coughing, tea, or over-the-counter meds can scrape it off. Most people don’t even realize it’s this blocked mucus — not smoking itself — that causes the coughing, wheezing, and breathlessness. Maybe you’ve told your doctor about these symptoms, but they’ll never tell you this is a warning sign of something deeper going on in your lungs. Because doctors and the pharma industry work together. Keeping you stuck on inhalers and prescriptions makes them billions of dollars. But there’s a natural healer I’ve been recommending for years to patients (many of them smokers) in their 50s, 60s, and even 70s who were frustrated, coughing, and tired of feeling “stuck.” And three weeks later, they always came back in shock, thanking me because they finally felt clear again. Their faces looked brighter, they were happier, and they could finally breathe without that rattly, mucus-choked feeling — even without quitting. This ancient remedy is called mullein leaf — the “forgotten lung herb.” And every time I mention it, I get the look. Wide eyes. Raised eyebrows. That “You mean a plant can actually clear smoker’s lungs?” face. And honestly? I get it. It sounds too simple. But I’ve studied it, I’ve used it, and I’ve recommended it for years. And I combine it with other natural ingredients like ginger, lemon peel, cordyceps, and bromelain in a formula called Airovine. Why? Because together, these herbs: ✨ Break down thick, sticky mucus that coats your lungs ✨ Help push that mucus out naturally ✨ Open up your airways so every breath feels deeper ✨ Reduce coughing fits and chest heaviness ✨ Boost oxygen absorption for more energy and clearer thinking ✨ Help you finally sleep through the night without wheezing or hacking It’s safe. It’s powerful. And when done right, it works. No prescriptions. No gimmicks. Just real lung support. But before you go buy any mullein drops, there’s one thing you need to know. Most “lung supplements”? Not helpful. Too weak. Too low-quality. Filled with cheap fillers that don’t belong in your body. And most mullein products use such tiny doses that they barely move the needle on clearing mucus or helping you breathe better. I’ve tried dozens. And I’ve seen patients wasting money on brands that didn’t deliver. To make sure you’re getting the real thing, it must be formulated in the right ratios, lab tested, and produced under strict standards. I’ve even spent over $800 of my own money to find what works best — both in lab tests and with my patients. The only brand I trust is a small company called Airovine. Sadly, other brands claim to sell mullein or lung cleanses but cut corners with weak extracts. Airovine is different: ✨ High-potency mullein extract blended with ginger, cordyceps & bromelain ✨ Made in the USA with rigorous quality standards ✨ 3rd party lab tested for purity and potency ✨ No fillers, no alcohol, no artificial junk — just what your lungs need to clear out ✨ Designed for smokers, ex-smokers, and anyone with stuck mucus I take it every morning. And now… so do my patients. It’s become a daily ritual. Water. Drops. Relief. Repeat. If you read the thousands of reviews, you’ll see why everyone with coughing, mucus, and breathing trouble buys only from this brand. This little bottle changed their lungs — and it could change yours too. 60-day money-back guarantee — because I’m confident it will work for you like it has for thousands of my patients. Most people buy it at regular price, but right now they’re doing a special promotion where you can save big for a limited time. The only problem? They’re a small company and they’re getting popular, so they can’t always keep up with demand. So I want to apologize, because if you click the link below, you might see that they’re sold out. My patients have waited months before finding it back in stock, but I suggest you click the button so you can see for yourself if there’s any left. So if you want a natural way to clear mucus, breathe deeper, and stop the endless cycle of coughing and heaviness in your chest, I’d run and grab some before they’re gone again.
College student Jason time-traveled to the Cultivation World. After cultivating for 10,000 years to become a Sage, he returns to Earth to find only one day has passed! Before he left, his father died, his adopted brother forced his mother into debt, his buddy Derek stole his patent money, and his crush Alyssa was stolen by his rival. Now back, Jason ruthlessly crushes those bullies! He dismantles loan sharks, saves the head of Reed Group, and helps his secret admirer Zoe make a stunning comeback. Facing hidden enemies on Earth, he uses his 10,000 years of cultivation power to crush everything in his path.
College student Jason time-traveled to the Cultivation World. After cultivating for 10,000 years to become a Sage, he returns to Earth to find only one day has passed! Before he left, his father died, his adopted brother forced his mother into debt, his buddy Derek stole his patent money, and his crush Alyssa was stolen by his rival. Now back, Jason ruthlessly crushes those bullies! He dismantles loan sharks, saves the head of Reed Group, and helps his secret admirer Zoe make a stunning comeback. Facing hidden enemies on Earth, he uses his 10,000 years of cultivation power to crush everything in his path.
I took care of my dying father for three years, yet my name wasn't in his will. I didn't say a word when the lawyer read it. My siblings offered their fake comfort, telling me to respect our father's wishes. Then, after they signed, the lawyer brought out a second document… --- It rained the day father passed away. Not heavy, just a light drizzle pattering against the window. He left at three in the morning. I was right there beside him. Only I was there. My eldest brother Robert Harrison answered the phone only after I called three times. "Mmh... what?" His voice was muffled, like he had just woken up. "Dad is gone." There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line. "Oh." Another few seconds of silence. "Well... you handle the arrangements for now, I'll rush back tomorrow." He was in Silicon Valley. It takes a three-hour flight to get back. But he wouldn't arrive until "tomorrow." Eleanor Harrison, my second sister, on the other hand, picked up quickly. "Ah? Dad is gone?" The crying started immediately. Very loud, very heartbroken. "I'll buy a ticket right now! Waaah—" She was in Austin. Buying the ticket, taking the flight, and getting home took her twenty-six hours in total. When she arrived, her makeup was perfectly done. Her eyes weren't swollen at all. I kept vigil alone all night. Changed father's clothes, wiped his body, and called the funeral home. Tears flowed all night, and by the next day, my eyes were swollen like walnuts. Robert's wife arrived together with him. Her first word upon entering wasn't "Dad," it was— "Where is the property deed?" Seeing the look in my eyes, she gave a little laugh. "I mean, we need to prepare the documents for the funeral arrangements." The third day after the funeral. The whole family gathered in father's old house. Not to mourn. But because the lawyer said the will was to be read. Over a dozen people sat in the living room. Robert sat on the main sofa, legs crossed, twirling his car keys in his hand. His wife sat next to him, her eyes darting around the room. I knew she was appraising it. This apartment was in the city center; old, shabby, and small, but in a prime location. It was worth at least three and a half million. Eleanor sat on the other side, clutching a tissue and dabbing the corners of her eyes from time to time. But her eyes were dry. A few uncles and aunts had come too. Sitting on the side chairs, drinking tea and cracking salted peanuts. Just here for the show. I sat in the corner. On the furthest chair. No one poured me tea. The lawyer arrived. His name was Leo Sterling, in his forties, wearing glasses, with a very serious expression. As he walked in, he swept his gaze across the room. His eyes paused on me for a second. Then moved away. "Hello everyone, I am Leo, the lawyer appointed by the late Mr. William Harrison." He opened his briefcase and took out the documents. "Today I will read Mr. Harrison's will." Robert sat up straight. His wife's eyes lit up. Eleanor gripped her tissue tighter. "Before we begin." The lawyer paused, "Please listen to the very end before making any decisions." He emphasized the words "the very end" heavily. No one cared. Robert said: "Mr. Sterling, please begin." He couldn't wait any longer. Chapter 2 Three years ago, father had a stroke. I was working overtime at the company that day. The phone rang; it was our neighbor, Mary Jenkins. "Julian Harrison, your dad fell! In the bathroom! I heard the noise and went to check!" By the time I rushed to the hospital, father had already been wheeled into the emergency room. The doctor said it was a cerebral infarction. Hemiplegia on the right side. He might never be able to stand up again. I called Robert. "You keep an eye on him for now, I'm busy with a project here and can't get away." I called Eleanor. "Oh my god, this is so sudden! "Julian, you handle it for now. It's hard for me to ask for time off..." He stayed in the ICU for eight days. Signing papers, paying bills, talking to the doctors—it was all me. In those eight days, Robert made two phone calls. The first: "How's the situation?" The second: "Keep track of the medical bills for now, we'll split them later." Eleanor sent one WhatsApp message. "Thanks for your hard work, little brother. I'll come over as soon as I'm done with work." She never came. On the ninth day, Father was transferred from the ICU to a regular ward. Half of his body was paralyzed. His speech was slurred. He needed to be fed, helped to the bathroom, and assisted to roll over. The doctor said: "He needs long-term, dedicated care." I looked at Father on the hospital bed. He looked at me. He opened his mouth, unable to speak clearly, but I understood. "Julian..." I said: "Dad, I'm here." That night, I sent an email to my company requesting a position transfer. When Robert found out, he said on the phone: "That's fine, your salary isn't high anyway." My monthly salary was eight thousand and five hundred. Not high. But it was mine. Sister-in-law said in the Family WhatsApp Group: "It's great that Julian quit his job to take care of Dad. He's not married anyway, so it's perfect." Followed by a string of "thumbs up" emojis. Aunt said: "Julian is a filial son." Uncle said: "Julian is so sensible." No one said: "I'll come help." Not a single one. Chapter 3 Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days. Waking up at six every morning. Rolling Father over, washing him, changing his bed pads. Making breakfast. Feeding him spoon by spoon. At first, Father couldn't keep it down; the porridge would dribble from the corner of his mouth onto the pillow. I would catch it with a towel. Wipe it clean, then feed him another spoon. At eight o'clock, rehabilitation exercises. Helping him sit up, moving his fingers, arms, and legs for him. It hurt him. He would break into a sweat from the pain every time. But the doctor said he had to practice. At ten o'clock, giving him his medicine. Blood pressure pills, blood thinners, nerve supplements. Six kinds of pills, taken at different times. I made a schedule and stuck it on the fridge. Cooking lunch. Father couldn't eat anything hard, salty, or greasy. I cooked his meals separately every single time. In the afternoon, pushing him outside to get some sun. The building had no elevator. Fourth floor. I would carry the wheelchair down, come back up, move Father from the bed to the living room chair, help him down the stairs step by step, and put him in the wheelchair. The reverse when going upstairs. Two trips a day. The shirt on my back was never dry. At night, soaking his feet, massaging him, rolling him over. I had to get up twice during the night to check if he had kicked off the blankets or if the bed pad needed changing. Three years. I never slept through the night. I never took a long trip. I never went shopping. I never met up with friends. My girlfriend of two years broke up with me. She said: "When is this going to end?" I couldn't say. Because I didn't know either. And Robert? Three years. He visited four times. The first time, when Father had his stroke and was hospitalized. The second time, for Christmas. He stayed a day and a half, then left on Boxing Day, saying he had work. The third time, for Father's seventieth birthday. He brought a cake, took a picture, and posted it on Instagram. The caption: "Father's seventieth birthday, wishing my old man oceans of blessings." The fourth time was this time. Father passed away. He came. And Eleanor? She came a bit more often than Robert. Five times. Every time she came, she had to post on Instagram. Hugging our father, taking a selfie. Wiping our father's face, taking a picture. Feeding our father fruit, recording a video. Every post got hundreds of likes. The comments section was full of: "You're so filial," "Eleanor is such a good daughter," "So touching." She never knew— What medicine our father took. What time our father needed to be turned over. Which of our father's legs couldn't bear weight. Once I went out to buy groceries and asked her to keep an eye on him. Half an hour later when I returned, our father had fallen from the bed to the floor. She was in the living room playing on her phone. "Huh? Dad fell?" She panicked, "I didn't hear anything just now..." Our father lay on the floor. His eyes looking at the ceiling. He didn't cry out. He couldn't cry out. When I carried him back to bed, I noticed the skin on his elbow was scraped. Blood seeped out, but he didn't make a sound. He was used to it. That night, Eleanor left. Before leaving, she stuffed two thousand bucks into my hand. "Thanks for your hard work, Julian." Two thousand bucks. I took a demotion for three years. Two thousand bucks. Chapter 4 The lawyer opened the file. The living room quieted down. Even the sound of cracking salted peanuts stopped. "The Last Will and Testament of Mr. William Harrison, drawn up on March 7, 2024." "I, William Harrison, being of sound mind, do hereby make this will as follows." My sister-in-law leaned forward. "Item One: The property located at 127 Maple Street, Downtown District, shall go to the eldest son, Robert." Robert smiled. The corners of his mouth twitched up, but he quickly suppressed it. My sister-in-law grabbed his hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "Item Two: The savings in the National Bank account shall go to the second daughter, Eleanor." Eleanor lowered her head, pressing a tissue to the corner of her eye. But I saw her lips twitch. She was calculating how much savings there were. I was calculating too. Our father's pension wasn't low, over seven thousand a month. Plus his previous savings, there had to be at least four or five hundred thousand. The atmosphere in the living room became subtle. Robert and Eleanor both got their share. Only I was left. The gazes of several relatives swept over. With curiosity. And a bit of pity. The lawyer continued reading. "Item Three—" He paused. He glanced at me. "Julian—Nothing." Three words. Very short. Very light. Smashing against my heart. Very heavy. The living room was quiet for two seconds. Then— My sister-in-law laughed. She couldn't hold it in. Covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Robert coughed, the expression on his face a poorly concealed smugness. Eleanor kept her head down, her tear-wiping motion pausing. The corners of her mouth curled up. Then came the relatives. Whispering among themselves. "Tsk tsk..." "Makes sense..." "William really is..." My aunt glanced at me, hesitating to speak. My uncle took a sip from his teacup, saying nothing. I sat on the furthest chair. My hands resting on my knees. My nails digging into my flesh. 1,095 days. 365 days × 3 years. Fourteen hours a day. I quit my job. I lost my girlfriend. I wore out three wheelchairs. I got a herniated disc in my lower back. What I got— Was the word "Nothing." The lawyer closed the folder. "The above is the entirety of Mr. William Harrison's will." He glanced at me again. "Please confirm and sign, everyone." Robert had already picked up his pen. "Where do I sign?" Chapter 5 Chloe Harrison was the first to speak. "Alright, that settles it." She stood up, her gaze sweeping across the room like a homeowner inspecting a new property. "Robert, let's get someone to appraise this house later. We'll see if it's better to sell it or rent it out." Robert nodded. "No rush, we could also just live here for a while." Eleanor put away her tissue and took out her phone to do some math. "Mr. Sterling, what is the exact amount in Dad's bank account?" "Four hundred and twenty-eight thousand, six hundred." Eleanor's eyes lit up. "Great." No one looked at me. Chloe walked up to me. "Julian." Her tone carried a condescending gentleness. "Don't be too sad. You've taken care of Dad these past few years, getting free room and board here, so you didn't really spend any money, right?" I looked at her. "Dad's pension has also been in your hands all these years. If you say you haven't saved up a little something, who would believe it?" She gave a small smile. "So, all things considered, you didn't lose out." I heard the sound of my own nails digging into my palms. My aunt whispered, "Chloe, don't say that..." "Am I not telling the truth?" Chloe turned to my aunt. "He's been living off Dad for three years. Now that the will has been read, what more does he want?" My second uncle put down his teacup. "Alright, alright, stop arguing. William wrote the will himself, so we just need to follow it." My third uncle nodded. "Exactly, it's what William wanted." No one said it was unfair. Not a single one of them. Robert stood up and walked over to me. He patted my shoulder. "Julian, Dad must have had his reasons for this arrangement. Don't overthink it." He paused. "By the way, this house is mine now. Your things... you should pack them up over the next couple of days." Chloe chimed in from behind. "No rush. Three days should be enough for you, right?" I looked up at Robert. He had already turned away. He went back to the sofa to discuss how to divide Dad's furniture with Eleanor. Three years. 1,095 days. 15,330 hours. I changed over a thousand pee pads. Cooked over three thousand meals. Pushed him up and down the stairs over two thousand times. My back was ruined. My promotion was gone. My girlfriend left me. And in the end. I was being kicked out of this house. Given three days. I stood up. No one looked at me. I walked toward the door. Just as I reached the door, the lawyer's voice rang out. "Mr. Harrison, please wait." I stopped. Everyone looked at the lawyer. Leo pushed up his glasses. "Before signing, I have a procedural reminder." He looked at Robert. "Mr. Robert Harrison, do you confirm that you have signed the signature page?" Robert froze for a second. "I signed it. Didn't I just sign it?" "And Ms. Eleanor Harrison?" "I signed it too." Eleanor said. "Good." The lawyer nodded. "Then—the signatures are effective." He reopened the folder. "All terms of the will are now in effect." Robert frowned. "What do you mean?" The lawyer didn't answer. He pulled a piece of paper from the folder. "Everyone." He held up the piece of paper. "The will has four pages in total." He looked around the room. "I just read three pages." The living room fell silent. "This is the fourth page." Chapter 6 My sister-in-law's face changed. "What fourth page? Didn't you just finish reading it?" The lawyer ignored her. He unfolded the paper. "Mr. William Harrison wrote a sentence at the very beginning of the fourth page." He read it out loud. "'The following is what I have to say last. I want to wait until they finish signing before reading it.'" Robert stood up abruptly. "Wait—what does this mean?" "It means," the lawyer looked at him, "Mr. William Harrison requested that I read the first three pages first, and only read the fourth page after you signed to confirm." "You have already signed." "The will has taken effect." Robert's face went pale for a second. "This isn't right—I didn't know there was a fourth page when I signed!" "Mr. Harrison." The lawyer's voice was very calm. "It is written very clearly on the signature page—'I confirm acceptance of all terms of the will.' All terms, including the fourth page." Robert opened his mouth. But couldn't speak. My sister-in-law rushed over. "You're tricking us! We're going to sue you!" The lawyer glanced at her. "Ms. Miller, you are not a relevant party to the will. Please sit down." "You—" "Sit down." The lawyer's voice wasn't loud, but my sister-in-law froze. Looking at the lawyer's expression, she slowly sat back down. The atmosphere in the living room changed. The relatives looked at each other in dismay. Auntie's salted peanuts stopped in mid-air. Second Uncle held his teacup, forgetting to put it down. Everyone stared at the piece of paper in the lawyer's hand. I stood at the door. My hand still resting on the doorknob. The lawyer turned to me. "Mr. Julian, please come back and sit down." He paused. "The contents of the fourth page mainly concern you."
After I was diagnosed with cancer, the girl who once bullied me offered to donate an organ. On the day of the surgery, she said she was scared—and ran. To comfort her, my entire family granted her every wish. My parents treated her like the daughter they adored. My brother spoke her name more than mine. Even my fiancé stopped leaving her side. The ninety-ninth time she fled, my condition turned critical. Yet they still abandoned me, just to chase after her. They told me, "Let's wait for next time. Victoria is so sweet and kind; it's normal for her to be scared." But what they didn't know was that I stopped waiting. I gave up the treatment. I gave up the donation. And this time, I gave up them. *** Another emergency surgery had just finished. When I opened my eyes again, I was the only one in the ward. My eyelashes trembled slightly; I didn't remembered how many times they had left me behind. Just as I was drifting in a daze, my phone chimed with a notification. It was a video sent by Victoria. My family and my fiancé were out shopping with her. Everyone was carrying several expensive shopping bags. Victoria was beaming with joy, looking nothing like someone suffering from pre-surgery anxiety. She spoke in an apologetic tone, "You're all here keeping me company, but what if Sarah wakes up and gets upset because she doesn't see you?" As soon as she finished speaking, Dad comforted her. "Don't worry. The doctor said she's been resuscitated, and the nurses are looking after her." Mom coaxed her with a doting tone. "Victoria, you're just too kind-hearted. You're always thinking of others. We're so touched that you're willing to donate an organ to her. The least we can do is spend time with you to make you happy." Jacob was even more direct. "Sarah isn't in life-threatening danger anymore. What matters most is your happiness. You can do whatever you want to do." I used to think that Julian Blackwood, my fiancé who I grew up with, was the person who truly hoped for my recovery. But then I heard him say, "Organ donation carries high risks, so it's normal that you are afraid of the surgery. But don't worry, I'll stay by your side the whole time." The video ended abruptly. A wave of despair rose in my heart. Victoria added a message at the end. "Sarah, they're just grateful that I'm willing to donate an organ to you. They saw I was scared and alone, so they came to keep me company." "Please don't overthink it. They all love you." She was always like this—pretending to be pitiful while deliberately showing off in front of me. The irony was that my family fell for it every time. I bit my lip, tasting the bitterness, and replied. "Isn't this what you wanted? Are you satisfied?" Not long after the message was sent, Mom and Dad stormed into the ward. Dad lashed out immediately. "Did you force Victoria to donate her organ to you again?" Jacob looked impatient. "She already said she'd donate to you. How can you not be grateful? You even force her? Do you have no conscience?" Although Mom didn't say anything, her look was filled with disappointment. "I didn't..." But before I could finish, Julian cut me off. He looked at me, his tone dark and grim. "Sarah, Victoria is willing to donate out of kindness. You have no right to guilt-trip her, otherwise don't blame me if I destroy that voluntary donation agreement." They used to be the most important people in my life. Now, however, all of them stood by Victoria's side, accusing me for her sake. My long-numbed heart still tightened uncontrollably. How absurd! I was the one who was their family. I was the one who grew up with Julian. They used to love me so much. But now, they had shifted all that affection to Victoria. I struggled to force a smile. "What if I told you that if I don't get this surgery, I only have one month left to live?" Chapter 2 Everyone in the room froze for a moment. Jacob's voice tightened as he instinctively shot back, "How is that possible?" I stared at their reactions and enunciated every word. "If I don't get this surgery, I won't survive. Are you willing to let Victoria undergo the surgery right now?" The moment the words left my mouth, Victoria pushed the door open and rushed in. As if oblivious to the tension, she affectionately grabbed my family' arms and asked, "Sarah, what are you talking about? Didn't the doctor say that as long as you keep up with chemotherapy, you can still hold on?" Hearing this, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Julian scoffed, his tone biting. "Victoria is right. You made up this lie just to force Victoria into the surgery, didn't you? What has happened to you?" "Exactly. Victoria spends every day keeping us company for your sake, talking to us so sweetly. If only she were my real sister..." Jacob was cut off by Dad, whose voice was cold. "We know your condition better than anyone. It's not as critical as you said. Just wait a little longer." I lowered my eyes, a mix of bitterness, resentment, and absurdity surging in my chest. They must have forgotten how frantic they were when I was first diagnosed with cancer, how they went mad trying to find a suitable donor match for me. In just a few short months, every one of them had changed. They knew well how agonizing every chemotherapy session was for me, how my hands were covered in needle marks and bruises. Yet they chose to turn a blind eye. Or perhaps, Victoria had replaced me in their hearts. I didn't even have the courage to question them anymore. I simply said, "I understand. I won't bring it up again." Jacob was about to say something, but Victoria grabbed my hand again. "Sarah, we are all physically and mentally exhausted because of you. I really envy that you have such a wonderful family and boyfriend. Stop holding a grudge against them." Victoria pressed down hard on the IV catheter in my hand, a flash of smugness crossing her eyes. It looked exactly like the expression she wore back when she had someone lock me in the restroom for a day and a night, watching me lying on the floor in a wretched state. In a flash of pain, I instinctively shook her off. Even though I hadn't used any force, she fell heavily to the ground. "Sarah, I was just trying to care for you. If you don't want to see me, I'll just leave." Her tears streamed down instantly, as if she had been subjected to a massive injustice. "What are you talking about? I didn't even..." Before I could finish, Dad slapped me hard across the face. I looked at him in disbelief. My parents had never laid a hand on me growing up, yet now he hit me for Victoria's sake. Dad looked away, a hint of guilt in his eyes, but his voice remained cold. "You still dare to lie? When will you fix your spoiled, rotten temper?" A wave of grievance crashed over me, and tears burst from my eyes. Julian scooped Victoria up and sneered, "Victoria treats you so well. Don't be ungrateful. How dare you get physical with her? You have so much energy, completely not like a dying person." He carried Victoria away without looking back. His words like poisonous needles, stabbed me until I was bleeding out. Jacob kicked the table in frustration. "This is all your fault. Did you have to make such a scene? Aren't we being nice to her for your sake? You are not really considerate." My mother frowned, staring at me. "We've simply spoiled you rotten." Finally, Dad waved his hand dismissively. "Leave her be. Let her stay here and reflect on what she's done." After they left, I sat in a daze for a long time. Finally, I called for my attending physician. "Dr. William, I don't want to continue the treatment. Please, don't tell my family." Chapter 3 After being discharged from the hospital, I went back home alone, only to find that the villa had changed completely. The family portrait in the living room had been replaced by one featuring Victoria and my family. My bedroom, which my parents had specially designed and Jacob had personally decorated for me, had been completely redone. All the things I once treasured had been tossed into the downstairs storage room. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Since they didn't love me anymore, there was no point in keeping the gifts they had given me. So I burned everything in the storage room. The birthday presents from my parents, the limited-edition dolls Jacob had saved his allowance for months to buy me. And the countless love letters and gifts Julian had once sent me... I took a taxi to the funeral home and arranged for my ashes to be scattered at sea after I died. Half an hour later, walking alone down the street, I ran into my entire family having a meal with Victoria. She sat in the restaurant, the center of my whole family's attention. Mom and Dad were doting on her, serving her food, while Jacob was trying to make her laugh. Julian sat right next to her, his eyes full of adoration as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth. The sight stabbed at my heart, sending a sharp pain through my chest. I intended to turn and leave, but Victoria spotted me. She pointed at me, looking puzzled. "Mom, Dad, Julian, look! Why is Sarah out of the hospital?" Their gazes landed on me, heavy with displeasure. Jacob came out, dragged me inside, and his first words were an accusation. "Are you done making a scene? Who gave you permission to leave the hospital? Do you wish death?" Julian's face was dark with annoyance, his tone dripping with disdain. "Why aren't you resting in the hospital? Follow us here?" "If you hadn't scared Victoria that day, making her tremble at the mere sight of a hospital, we wouldn't have had to spend the last few days comforting her." I forced a weak smile. "I didn't follow you." I turned to leave, but Victoria suddenly fixed her eyes on my wrist. "Sarah, I've never worn a bracelet before. Can I try yours on?" That bracelet was a gift from my parents for my Sweet Sixteen Party. It was my most precious treasure, and the only thing I had left. Seeing my silence, Dad's expression turned impatient. "If Victoria wants it, just give it to her. Can you stop being so selfish?" Mom and Jacob chimed in, "Exactly, it's just a bracelet." Julian sneered, walked over, and forcibly yanked the bracelet off my wrist. "Don't forget, you're relying on Victoria to save your life. If you're too stingy to even give her this, why should anyone bother saving you?" My wrist was red and raw, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Victoria toyed with the bracelet, looking triumphant, but in the next instant, she suddenly let go. The sound of the bracelet shattering was piercingly loud in the silent restaurant. She blinked innocently. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I didn't have a good grip on it..." She had done it on purpose. I knew it. Rage surged from the depths of my heart. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. I hadn't even used much force, yet she stumbled back several steps as if I had. Julian instantly stepped in front of her to shield her. "Sarah! What the hell you're doing!" She glanced at me, a triumphant smile curling her lips, though her voice was choked with tears. "It's all my fault. I was too careless. Sarah is right to blame me." "I know she doesn't like me. I'll leave right now so I won't be an eyesore to her." With that, she turned and bolted out, moving with shocking speed. Julian hurriedly shoved me aside and chased after her. Caught off guard by his push, I fell to the floor and crashed right into a waiter's cart. Scalding soup splashed all over me, the searing pain hitting instantly. Mom and Dad glanced at my wretched state. They started to reach out to help, but were distracted by Jacob's shout. "Mom, Dad, come quick! Victoria is trying to kill herself!" Dad rushed after them immediately. Mom, however, just gave me a look of sheer disappointment. "Sarah, you'd better pray Victoria is alright, or else you'll just be waiting to die in the hospital." Watching them leave without a second thought, the rage struck my heart and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Darkness swarmed my vision, and I passed out. Chapter 4 When I came to sense again, I had already been taken to the hospital. There was no one by my side. I dragged my weak body out of bed, intending to leave the hospital. But as I passed the adjacent ward, I saw Mom, Dad, Jacob, and Julian. They were all crowded around Victoria, showering her with concern. Victoria spoke with feigned thoughtfulness, "You've been looking after me this whole time and haven't even checked on Sarah. I saw her coughing up blood earlier; surely it must be serious?" "Don't waste your worry on her. I've already had someone send her to the hospital. With doctors there, she'll be fine. If she hadn't discharged herself just to pressure you, you wouldn't have been so terrified that you tried to take your own life. She brought this on herself." Dad dismissed the idea without a second thought, and Mom nodded along in agreement. Jacob carefully examined the wound on her hand. "She's always been obsessed with self-preservation, terrified she won't be cured—she'll be fine. You're hurt so badly; why are you still worrying about her?" Victoria leaned against Julian. When she noticed me, her eyes filled with undisguised malice. Then, she spoke with fake sweetness, "You're all so good to me. Before the surgery, could you grant me one wish? I want you all to come with me to see the ocean..." I didn't stay to hear the rest; I just turned and left. That very night, Mom, Dad, and the others took Victoria abroad. Throughout their trip, I kept seeing Victoria's updates on Instagram. Mom and Dad ran freely with her along the beach; Julian took her surfing, the two of them embracing tightly before sharing a kiss. I stared at the photo of their kiss, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Just as I was about to close the app, Jacob called me. "Have you spent these past few days reflecting on yourself? Do you realize your mistake?" Reflecting? What did I do wrong? I suddenly laughed, my voice dripping with irony. "Jacob, will you all only love me again once I'm dead?" Jacob paused on the other end of the line. "What?" Then came Mom and Dad's impatient voices. "Just because we took Victoria on vacation, you're threatening us with suicide? Then go ahead and die." My heart broke, and I finally gave up all hope. After hanging up, I suddenly began to cough violently, the metallic taste of blood surging up my throat. I rushed into the bathroom, vomiting blood violently. Before my consciousness faded completely, I dialed the number for the funeral home. *** Abroad. Mom and Dad didn't seem to take my words to heart. After hanging up, the four of them continued to enjoy themselves with Victoria for several more days. On the day they were preparing to return home, Dad's phone suddenly rang. He looked at the unknown number on the screen and put it on speaker. "Is this the family of Sarah? She has passed away. Please come to the police station as soon as possible to process her death certificate."
After I was diagnosed with cancer, the girl who once bullied me offered to donate an organ. On the day of the surgery, she said she was scared—and ran. To comfort her, my entire family granted her every wish. My parents treated her like the daughter they adored. My brother spoke her name more than mine. Even my fiancé stopped leaving her side. The ninety-ninth time she fled, my condition turned critical. Yet they still abandoned me, just to chase after her. They told me, "Let's wait for next time. Victoria is so sweet and kind; it's normal for her to be scared." But what they didn't know was that I stopped waiting. I gave up the treatment. I gave up the donation. And this time, I gave up them. *** Another emergency surgery had just finished. When I opened my eyes again, I was the only one in the ward. My eyelashes trembled slightly; I didn't remembered how many times they had left me behind. Just as I was drifting in a daze, my phone chimed with a notification. It was a video sent by Victoria. My family and my fiancé were out shopping with her. Everyone was carrying several expensive shopping bags. Victoria was beaming with joy, looking nothing like someone suffering from pre-surgery anxiety. She spoke in an apologetic tone, "You're all here keeping me company, but what if Sarah wakes up and gets upset because she doesn't see you?" As soon as she finished speaking, Dad comforted her. "Don't worry. The doctor said she's been resuscitated, and the nurses are looking after her." Mom coaxed her with a doting tone. "Victoria, you're just too kind-hearted. You're always thinking of others. We're so touched that you're willing to donate an organ to her. The least we can do is spend time with you to make you happy." Jacob was even more direct. "Sarah isn't in life-threatening danger anymore. What matters most is your happiness. You can do whatever you want to do." I used to think that Julian Blackwood, my fiancé who I grew up with, was the person who truly hoped for my recovery. But then I heard him say, "Organ donation carries high risks, so it's normal that you are afraid of the surgery. But don't worry, I'll stay by your side the whole time." The video ended abruptly. A wave of despair rose in my heart. Victoria added a message at the end. "Sarah, they're just grateful that I'm willing to donate an organ to you. They saw I was scared and alone, so they came to keep me company." "Please don't overthink it. They all love you." She was always like this—pretending to be pitiful while deliberately showing off in front of me. The irony was that my family fell for it every time. I bit my lip, tasting the bitterness, and replied. "Isn't this what you wanted? Are you satisfied?" Not long after the message was sent, Mom and Dad stormed into the ward. Dad lashed out immediately. "Did you force Victoria to donate her organ to you again?" Jacob looked impatient. "She already said she'd donate to you. How can you not be grateful? You even force her? Do you have no conscience?" Although Mom didn't say anything, her look was filled with disappointment. "I didn't..." But before I could finish, Julian cut me off. He looked at me, his tone dark and grim. "Sarah, Victoria is willing to donate out of kindness. You have no right to guilt-trip her, otherwise don't blame me if I destroy that voluntary donation agreement." They used to be the most important people in my life. Now, however, all of them stood by Victoria's side, accusing me for her sake. My long-numbed heart still tightened uncontrollably. How absurd! I was the one who was their family. I was the one who grew up with Julian. They used to love me so much. But now, they had shifted all that affection to Victoria. I struggled to force a smile. "What if I told you that if I don't get this surgery, I only have one month left to live?" Chapter 2 Everyone in the room froze for a moment. Jacob's voice tightened as he instinctively shot back, "How is that possible?" I stared at their reactions and enunciated every word. "If I don't get this surgery, I won't survive. Are you willing to let Victoria undergo the surgery right now?" The moment the words left my mouth, Victoria pushed the door open and rushed in. As if oblivious to the tension, she affectionately grabbed my family' arms and asked, "Sarah, what are you talking about? Didn't the doctor say that as long as you keep up with chemotherapy, you can still hold on?" Hearing this, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Julian scoffed, his tone biting. "Victoria is right. You made up this lie just to force Victoria into the surgery, didn't you? What has happened to you?" "Exactly. Victoria spends every day keeping us company for your sake, talking to us so sweetly. If only she were my real sister..." Jacob was cut off by Dad, whose voice was cold. "We know your condition better than anyone. It's not as critical as you said. Just wait a little longer." I lowered my eyes, a mix of bitterness, resentment, and absurdity surging in my chest. They must have forgotten how frantic they were when I was first diagnosed with cancer, how they went mad trying to find a suitable donor match for me. In just a few short months, every one of them had changed. They knew well how agonizing every chemotherapy session was for me, how my hands were covered in needle marks and bruises. Yet they chose to turn a blind eye. Or perhaps, Victoria had replaced me in their hearts. I didn't even have the courage to question them anymore. I simply said, "I understand. I won't bring it up again." Jacob was about to say something, but Victoria grabbed my hand again. "Sarah, we are all physically and mentally exhausted because of you. I really envy that you have such a wonderful family and boyfriend. Stop holding a grudge against them." Victoria pressed down hard on the IV catheter in my hand, a flash of smugness crossing her eyes. It looked exactly like the expression she wore back when she had someone lock me in the restroom for a day and a night, watching me lying on the floor in a wretched state. In a flash of pain, I instinctively shook her off. Even though I hadn't used any force, she fell heavily to the ground. "Sarah, I was just trying to care for you. If you don't want to see me, I'll just leave." Her tears streamed down instantly, as if she had been subjected to a massive injustice. "What are you talking about? I didn't even..." Before I could finish, Dad slapped me hard across the face. I looked at him in disbelief. My parents had never laid a hand on me growing up, yet now he hit me for Victoria's sake. Dad looked away, a hint of guilt in his eyes, but his voice remained cold. "You still dare to lie? When will you fix your spoiled, rotten temper?" A wave of grievance crashed over me, and tears burst from my eyes. Julian scooped Victoria up and sneered, "Victoria treats you so well. Don't be ungrateful. How dare you get physical with her? You have so much energy, completely not like a dying person." He carried Victoria away without looking back. His words like poisonous needles, stabbed me until I was bleeding out. Jacob kicked the table in frustration. "This is all your fault. Did you have to make such a scene? Aren't we being nice to her for your sake? You are not really considerate." My mother frowned, staring at me. "We've simply spoiled you rotten." Finally, Dad waved his hand dismissively. "Leave her be. Let her stay here and reflect on what she's done." After they left, I sat in a daze for a long time. Finally, I called for my attending physician. "Dr. William, I don't want to continue the treatment. Please, don't tell my family." Chapter 3 After being discharged from the hospital, I went back home alone, only to find that the villa had changed completely. The family portrait in the living room had been replaced by one featuring Victoria and my family. My bedroom, which my parents had specially designed and Jacob had personally decorated for me, had been completely redone. All the things I once treasured had been tossed into the downstairs storage room. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Since they didn't love me anymore, there was no point in keeping the gifts they had given me. So I burned everything in the storage room. The birthday presents from my parents, the limited-edition dolls Jacob had saved his allowance for months to buy me. And the countless love letters and gifts Julian had once sent me... I took a taxi to the funeral home and arranged for my ashes to be scattered at sea after I died. Half an hour later, walking alone down the street, I ran into my entire family having a meal with Victoria. She sat in the restaurant, the center of my whole family's attention. Mom and Dad were doting on her, serving her food, while Jacob was trying to make her laugh. Julian sat right next to her, his eyes full of adoration as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth. The sight stabbed at my heart, sending a sharp pain through my chest. I intended to turn and leave, but Victoria spotted me. She pointed at me, looking puzzled. "Mom, Dad, Julian, look! Why is Sarah out of the hospital?" Their gazes landed on me, heavy with displeasure. Jacob came out, dragged me inside, and his first words were an accusation. "Are you done making a scene? Who gave you permission to leave the hospital? Do you wish death?" Julian's face was dark with annoyance, his tone dripping with disdain. "Why aren't you resting in the hospital? Follow us here?" "If you hadn't scared Victoria that day, making her tremble at the mere sight of a hospital, we wouldn't have had to spend the last few days comforting her." I forced a weak smile. "I didn't follow you." I turned to leave, but Victoria suddenly fixed her eyes on my wrist. "Sarah, I've never worn a bracelet before. Can I try yours on?" That bracelet was a gift from my parents for my Sweet Sixteen Party. It was my most precious treasure, and the only thing I had left. Seeing my silence, Dad's expression turned impatient. "If Victoria wants it, just give it to her. Can you stop being so selfish?" Mom and Jacob chimed in, "Exactly, it's just a bracelet." Julian sneered, walked over, and forcibly yanked the bracelet off my wrist. "Don't forget, you're relying on Victoria to save your life. If you're too stingy to even give her this, why should anyone bother saving you?" My wrist was red and raw, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Victoria toyed with the bracelet, looking triumphant, but in the next instant, she suddenly let go. The sound of the bracelet shattering was piercingly loud in the silent restaurant. She blinked innocently. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I didn't have a good grip on it..." She had done it on purpose. I knew it. Rage surged from the depths of my heart. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. I hadn't even used much force, yet she stumbled back several steps as if I had. Julian instantly stepped in front of her to shield her. "Sarah! What the hell you're doing!" She glanced at me, a triumphant smile curling her lips, though her voice was choked with tears. "It's all my fault. I was too careless. Sarah is right to blame me." "I know she doesn't like me. I'll leave right now so I won't be an eyesore to her." With that, she turned and bolted out, moving with shocking speed. Julian hurriedly shoved me aside and chased after her. Caught off guard by his push, I fell to the floor and crashed right into a waiter's cart. Scalding soup splashed all over me, the searing pain hitting instantly. Mom and Dad glanced at my wretched state. They started to reach out to help, but were distracted by Jacob's shout. "Mom, Dad, come quick! Victoria is trying to kill herself!" Dad rushed after them immediately. Mom, however, just gave me a look of sheer disappointment. "Sarah, you'd better pray Victoria is alright, or else you'll just be waiting to die in the hospital." Watching them leave without a second thought, the rage struck my heart and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Darkness swarmed my vision, and I passed out. Chapter 4 When I came to sense again, I had already been taken to the hospital. There was no one by my side. I dragged my weak body out of bed, intending to leave the hospital. But as I passed the adjacent ward, I saw Mom, Dad, Jacob, and Julian. They were all crowded around Victoria, showering her with concern. Victoria spoke with feigned thoughtfulness, "You've been looking after me this whole time and haven't even checked on Sarah. I saw her coughing up blood earlier; surely it must be serious?" "Don't waste your worry on her. I've already had someone send her to the hospital. With doctors there, she'll be fine. If she hadn't discharged herself just to pressure you, you wouldn't have been so terrified that you tried to take your own life. She brought this on herself." Dad dismissed the idea without a second thought, and Mom nodded along in agreement. Jacob carefully examined the wound on her hand. "She's always been obsessed with self-preservation, terrified she won't be cured—she'll be fine. You're hurt so badly; why are you still worrying about her?" Victoria leaned against Julian. When she noticed me, her eyes filled with undisguised malice. Then, she spoke with fake sweetness, "You're all so good to me. Before the surgery, could you grant me one wish? I want you all to come with me to see the ocean..." I didn't stay to hear the rest; I just turned and left. That very night, Mom, Dad, and the others took Victoria abroad. Throughout their trip, I kept seeing Victoria's updates on Instagram. Mom and Dad ran freely with her along the beach; Julian took her surfing, the two of them embracing tightly before sharing a kiss. I stared at the photo of their kiss, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Just as I was about to close the app, Jacob called me. "Have you spent these past few days reflecting on yourself? Do you realize your mistake?" Reflecting? What did I do wrong? I suddenly laughed, my voice dripping with irony. "Jacob, will you all only love me again once I'm dead?" Jacob paused on the other end of the line. "What?" Then came Mom and Dad's impatient voices. "Just because we took Victoria on vacation, you're threatening us with suicide? Then go ahead and die." My heart broke, and I finally gave up all hope. After hanging up, I suddenly began to cough violently, the metallic taste of blood surging up my throat. I rushed into the bathroom, vomiting blood violently. Before my consciousness faded completely, I dialed the number for the funeral home. *** Abroad. Mom and Dad didn't seem to take my words to heart. After hanging up, the four of them continued to enjoy themselves with Victoria for several more days. On the day they were preparing to return home, Dad's phone suddenly rang. He looked at the unknown number on the screen and put it on speaker. "Is this the family of Sarah? She has passed away. Please come to the police station as soon as possible to process her death certificate."
Please STOP taking B12, alpha lipoic acid, and magnesium for nerve tingling and burning if none of it has moved the needle. I know that sounds backwards. But every capsule you're taking might be missing the one thing your nerve cells actually need to run the repair process. Please read this before you order another bottle. I spent over a year trying all three. Not casually. I researched the brands, got the right forms, stayed consistent about it. And nothing moved. That's not a coincidence. And it's not because my neuropathy was too far gone. It turned out to be something none of the forums, none of the doctors, none of the articles I'd read had ever spelled out clearly. Your peripheral nerves are wrapped in a protective coating called myelin. Myelin keeps nerve signals clean. When it breaks down, signals scramble. You feel tingling. Then burning. Then numbness as the signals stop getting through at all. Your body repairs myelin every day. But the repair process runs on one specific thing above everything else. Not B12. Not ALA. Not magnesium. It runs on vitamin B1. Specifically, it runs on B1 getting inside the nerve cell. And here's where everything you've tried starts to make sense. The myelin sheath is fat-based. Standard vitamin B1, called thiamine HCl, is water-soluble. Water doesn't pass through a fat-based membrane. It circulates in the bloodstream, does some general cellular work, and gets flushed before it ever reaches peripheral nerve tissue. B12 is what drives the myelin repair process. But B1 is the fuel that powers it. Without enough B1 getting inside the nerve cells, the B12 has nothing to run on. That's why the B12 didn't move the needle. Not because B12 doesn't help nerves. Because you were running the repair process on empty. Alpha lipoic acid has a different problem. Most ALA supplements are a 50/50 mix of two molecular forms, R and S. Your nerve cells can only use the R form. The S form competes for absorption without doing anything useful. So most ALA supplements are half active compound, half filler at the nerve cell level. Magnesium supports nerve conductivity. It's not wrong to take it. But it doesn't address the myelin repair problem. It manages symptoms while the actual damage keeps going. None of this is a secret inside nutrition research. Benfotiamine, the fat-soluble form of B1 that actually crosses the myelin sheath, has been studied since the 1960s. Studies show it reaches peripheral nerve tissue at concentrations 3 to 5 times higher than an equivalent dose of standard thiamine. But standard thiamine HCl is cheap. It goes into every B-complex on pharmacy shelves because it's what supplements have always used. The fat-soluble version costs more to produce. So you buy the B-complex with the highest dose on the label. You take it for six months. Nothing changes. Not because B vitamins don't work for nerves. Because the form of B1 in that bottle was never going to reach the nerves that needed it. Once I understood this, I started looking at what people who had actually seen results were using. Not "felt a little better." People who had burning at night for years and then didn't. People who got sensation back in patches where it had been gone for months. The same things kept coming up. Benfotiamine at real doses, not the 50mg sprinkle in a B-complex. Methylcobalamin, the active B12 that doesn't require conversion. R-form alpha lipoic acid only, not the racemic mix. Right forms. Therapeutic doses. That's the whole list. Benfotiamine is fat-soluble. It was developed specifically because researchers needed a form of B1 that could cross the myelin sheath. Fat-soluble compounds cross fat-based membranes. Water-soluble ones cannot. When benfotiamine crosses into peripheral nerve tissue, it gives the nerve cells the fuel they need to run the B12-driven repair process. Studies using 600mg per day showed measurable improvement in tingling, burning, and numbness scores within eight weeks. Studies using 150mg showed no statistically significant improvement. The dose matters as much as the form. 600mg is not what you'll find in a standard B-complex. Most have 1 to 10mg of standard thiamine. Some benfotiamine supplements exist but come in 100 to 300mg doses. Below the clinical threshold. Not enough for the repair process to actually keep pace. When your peripheral nerves finally have what they need to repair: ✨ The burning at night starts to quiet down ✨ The tingling gets less constant, less sharp ✨ Sensation comes back in patches where it had gone numb ✨ Sleep improves when the pain stops pulling you out of it at 2am ✨ You stop having to plan every outing around how far your feet will hold up ✨ You can feel the floor again when you walk barefoot in the morning It's not blocking signals. It's not masking symptoms. It's giving the nerve cells what they actually need to repair. Most nerve supplements will not do this. Too cheap, wrong forms, wrong doses… The label says "B1" and doesn't specify benfotiamine or thiamine HCl. Big difference. If it doesn't say benfotiamine, assume thiamine HCl. The label says "B12" and uses cyanocobalamin. Cyanocobalamin is the synthetic form that has to be converted before nerve tissue can use it. That conversion step is impaired in most people over 50. The people this matters most for are exactly the ones who can't convert it. The label says "alpha lipoic acid" and doesn't specify R-form. Assume racemic mix. Half the dose is doing nothing at the nerve cell level. And if the dose isn't 600mg of benfotiamine, it's under the clinical threshold. Not because we made that number up. Because that's what the research used when it showed results. I kept seeing one formula come up. Avalaine BioNerve+ Nerve Renew Complex contains: ✨ 600mg benfotiamine, fat-soluble B1 at the therapeutic dose shown in clinical research to cross the myelin sheath and reach peripheral nerve tissue ✨ 4mg methylcobalamin, active B12 with no conversion step, directly available to nerve tissue ✨ 8mg B2 and 8mg B6, the full B-complex cofactors your nerves need to run the repair cycle ✨ 300mg stabilized R-Alpha Lipoic Acid, R-form only, not the 50/50 racemic mix ✨ Proprietary herbal blend with feverfew, passion flower, skullcap root, and oat straw for nerve calming support ✨ Third-party tested for potency, purity, and accurate dosing ✨ Made in the USA, pharmaceutical-grade manufacturing ✨ No thiamine HCl. No cyanocobalamin. No fillers. I ordered it. Not expecting much at that point. Week one: nothing obvious. I kept going. Week two: the burning at night was less constant. Lighter. I noticed it but it didn't own the whole night anymore. Week three: I pressed my heel to the floor in the morning and felt pressure. I stood there in the kitchen for a minute just doing that. Week five: I slept through without waking up once. I lay there in the morning trying to remember the last time that had happened. Six weeks in I realized I hadn't thought about my feet in two days. That hadn't happened in over a year. Two capsules. Every morning. That's it. 60-day money-back guarantee. If it doesn't work, you shouldn't pay for it. Most people buy at regular price, but right now they're doing a special promotion where you can get real savings for a limited time. The only problem is Avalaine is a small company and they're growing fast. They can't always keep up with demand. I want to apologize in advance because if you click the link below, you might see they're sold out. People have had to wait weeks for BioNerve+ to come back in stock. Click below to see if there's any left. If you've tried the B12, the ALA, the magnesium, and none of it moved the needle, this is worth trying. The form was the problem. Not the category. 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/b-complex-broad-pre-lander-educational-mar-20 P.S. The 60-day guarantee means there's no risk. Right now they're running a promotion. And if you see they're sold out when you click, they do restock, but people have waited weeks. Check back.
The number one nutrient for nerve tingling, burning, and numbness is not B12. It's not alpha lipoic acid. And it's not magnesium. I spent over a year trying all three. Not casually. I researched the brands, got the right forms, stayed consistent about it. And nothing moved. That's not a coincidence. And it's not because my neuropathy was too far gone. It turned out to be something none of the forums, none of the doctors, none of the articles I'd read had ever spelled out clearly. Your peripheral nerves are wrapped in a protective coating called myelin. Myelin keeps nerve signals clean. When it breaks down, signals scramble. You feel tingling. Then burning. Then numbness as the signals stop getting through at all. Your body repairs myelin every day. But the repair process runs on one specific thing above everything else. Not B12. Not ALA. Not magnesium. It runs on vitamin B1. Specifically, it runs on B1 getting inside the nerve cell. And here's where everything you've tried starts to make sense. The myelin sheath is fat-based. Standard vitamin B1, called thiamine HCl, is water-soluble. Water doesn't pass through a fat-based membrane. It circulates in the bloodstream, does some general cellular work, and gets flushed before it ever reaches peripheral nerve tissue. B12 is what drives the myelin repair process. But B1 is the fuel that powers it. Without enough B1 getting inside the nerve cells, the B12 has nothing to run on. That's why the B12 didn't move the needle. Not because B12 doesn't help nerves. Because you were running the repair process on empty. Alpha lipoic acid has a different problem. Most ALA supplements are a 50/50 mix of two molecular forms, R and S. Your nerve cells can only use the R form. The S form competes for absorption without doing anything useful. So most ALA supplements are half active compound, half filler at the nerve cell level. Magnesium supports nerve conductivity. It's not wrong to take it. But it doesn't address the myelin repair problem. It manages symptoms while the actual damage keeps going. None of this is a secret inside nutrition research. Benfotiamine, the fat-soluble form of B1 that actually crosses the myelin sheath, has been studied since the 1960s. Studies show it reaches peripheral nerve tissue at concentrations 3 to 5 times higher than an equivalent dose of standard thiamine. But standard thiamine HCl is cheap. It goes into every B-complex on pharmacy shelves because it's what supplements have always used. The fat-soluble version costs more to produce. So you buy the B-complex with the highest dose on the label. You take it for six months. Nothing changes. Not because B vitamins don't work for nerves. Because the form of B1 in that bottle was never going to reach the nerves that needed it. Once I understood this, I started looking at what people who had actually seen results were using. Not "felt a little better." People who had burning at night for years and then didn't. People who got sensation back in patches where it had been gone for months. The same things kept coming up. Benfotiamine at real doses, not the 50mg sprinkle in a B-complex. Methylcobalamin, the active B12 that doesn't require conversion. R-form alpha lipoic acid only, not the racemic mix. Right forms. Therapeutic doses. That's the whole list. Benfotiamine is fat-soluble. It was developed specifically because researchers needed a form of B1 that could cross the myelin sheath. Fat-soluble compounds cross fat-based membranes. Water-soluble ones cannot. When benfotiamine crosses into peripheral nerve tissue, it gives the nerve cells the fuel they need to run the B12-driven repair process. Studies using 600mg per day showed measurable improvement in tingling, burning, and numbness scores within eight weeks. Studies using 150mg showed no statistically significant improvement. The dose matters as much as the form. 600mg is not what you'll find in a standard B-complex. Most have 1 to 10mg of standard thiamine. Some benfotiamine supplements exist but come in 100 to 300mg doses. Below the clinical threshold. Not enough for the repair process to actually keep pace. When your peripheral nerves finally have what they need to repair: ✨ The burning at night starts to quiet down ✨ The tingling gets less constant, less sharp ✨ Sensation comes back in patches where it had gone numb ✨ Sleep improves when the pain stops pulling you out of it at 2am ✨ You stop having to plan every outing around how far your feet will hold up ✨ You can feel the floor again when you walk barefoot in the morning It's not blocking signals. It's not masking symptoms. It's giving the nerve cells what they actually need to repair. Most nerve supplements will not do this. Too cheap, wrong forms, wrong doses… The label says "B1" and doesn't specify benfotiamine or thiamine HCl. Big difference. If it doesn't say benfotiamine, assume thiamine HCl. The label says "B12" and uses cyanocobalamin. Cyanocobalamin is the synthetic form that has to be converted before nerve tissue can use it. That conversion step is impaired in most people over 50. The people this matters most for are exactly the ones who can't convert it. The label says "alpha lipoic acid" and doesn't specify R-form. Assume racemic mix. Half the dose is doing nothing at the nerve cell level. And if the dose isn't 600mg of benfotiamine, it's under the clinical threshold. Not because we made that number up. Because that's what the research used when it showed results. I kept seeing one formula come up. Avalaine BioNerve+ Nerve Renew Complex contains: ✨ 600mg benfotiamine, fat-soluble B1 at the therapeutic dose shown in clinical research to cross the myelin sheath and reach peripheral nerve tissue ✨ 4mg methylcobalamin, active B12 with no conversion step, directly available to nerve tissue ✨ 8mg B2 and 8mg B6, the full B-complex cofactors your nerves need to run the repair cycle ✨ 300mg stabilized R-Alpha Lipoic Acid, R-form only, not the 50/50 racemic mix ✨ Proprietary herbal blend with feverfew, passion flower, skullcap root, and oat straw for nerve calming support ✨ Third-party tested for potency, purity, and accurate dosing ✨ Made in the USA, pharmaceutical-grade manufacturing ✨ No thiamine HCl. No cyanocobalamin. No fillers. I ordered it. Not expecting much at that point. Week one: nothing obvious. I kept going. Week two: the burning at night was less constant. Lighter. I noticed it but it didn't own the whole night anymore. Week three: I pressed my heel to the floor in the morning and felt pressure. I stood there in the kitchen for a minute just doing that. Week five: I slept through without waking up once. I lay there in the morning trying to remember the last time that had happened. Six weeks in I realized I hadn't thought about my feet in two days. That hadn't happened in over a year. Two capsules. Every morning. That's it. 60-day money-back guarantee. If it doesn't work, you shouldn't pay for it. Most people buy at regular price, but right now they're doing a special promotion where you can get real savings for a limited time. The only problem is Avalaine is a small company and they're growing fast. They can't always keep up with demand. I want to apologize in advance because if you click the link below, you might see they're sold out. People have had to wait weeks for BioNerve+ to come back in stock. Click below to see if there's any left. If you've tried the B12, the ALA, the magnesium, and none of it moved the needle, this is worth trying. The form was the problem. Not the category. 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/b-complex-broad-pre-lander-educational-mar-20 P.S. The 60-day guarantee means there's no risk. Right now they're running a promotion. And if you see they're sold out when you click, they do restock, but people have waited weeks. Check back. | The number one nutrient for nerve tingling, burning, and numbness is not B12. It's not alpha lipoic acid. And it's not magnesium. I spent over a year trying all three. Not casually. I researched the brands, got the right forms, stayed consistent about it. And nothing moved. That's not a coincidence. And it's not because my neuropathy was too far gone. It turned out to be something none of the forums, none of the doctors, none of the articles I'd read had ever spelled out clearly. Your peripheral nerves are wrapped in a protective coating called myelin. Myelin keeps nerve signals clean. When it breaks down, signals scramble. You feel tingling. Then burning. Then numbness as the signals stop getting through at all. Your body repairs myelin every day. But the repair process runs on one specific thing above everything else. Not B12. Not ALA. Not magnesium. It runs on vitamin B1. Specifically, it runs on B1 getting inside the nerve cell. And here's where everything you've tried starts to make sense. The myelin sheath is fat-based. Standard vitamin B1, called thiamine HCl, is water-soluble. Water doesn't pass through a fat-based membrane. It circulates in the bloodstream, does some general cellular work, and gets flushed before it ever reaches peripheral nerve tissue. B12 is what drives the myelin repair process. But B1 is the fuel that powers it. Without enough B1 getting inside the nerve cells, the B12 has nothing to run on. That's why the B12 didn't move the needle. Not because B12 doesn't help nerves. Because you were running the repair process on empty. Alpha lipoic acid has a different problem. Most ALA supplements are a 50/50 mix of two molecular forms, R and S. Your nerve cells can only use the R form. The S form competes for absorption without doing anything useful. So most ALA supplements are half active compound, half filler at the nerve cell level. Magnesium supports nerve conductivity. It's not wrong to take it. But it doesn't address the myelin repair problem. It manages symptoms while the actual damage keeps going. None of this is a secret inside nutrition research. Benfotiamine, the fat-soluble form of B1 that actually crosses the myelin sheath, has been studied since the 1960s. Studies show it reaches peripheral nerve tissue at concentrations 3 to 5 times higher than an equivalent dose of standard thiamine. But standard thiamine HCl is cheap. It goes into every B-complex on pharmacy shelves because it's what supplements have always used. The fat-soluble version costs more to produce. So you buy the B-complex with the highest dose on the label. You take it for six months. Nothing changes. Not because B vitamins don't work for nerves. Because the form of B1 in that bottle was never going to reach the nerves that needed it. Once I understood this, I started looking at what people who had actually seen results were using. Not "felt a little better." People who had burning at night for years and then didn't. People who got sensation back in patches where it had been gone for months. The same things kept coming up. Benfotiamine at real doses, not the 50mg sprinkle in a B-complex. Methylcobalamin, the active B12 that doesn't require conversion. R-form alpha lipoic acid only, not the racemic mix. Right forms. Therapeutic doses. That's the whole list. Benfotiamine is fat-soluble. It was developed specifically because researchers needed a form of B1 that could cross the myelin sheath. Fat-soluble compounds cross fat-based membranes. Water-soluble ones cannot. When benfotiamine crosses into peripheral nerve tissue, it gives the nerve cells the fuel they need to run the B12-driven repair process. Studies using 600mg per day showed measurable improvement in tingling, burning, and numbness scores within eight weeks. Studies using 150mg showed no statistically significant improvement. The dose matters as much as the form. 600mg is not what you'll find in a standard B-complex. Most have 1 to 10mg of standard thiamine. Some benfotiamine supplements exist but come in 100 to 300mg doses. Below the clinical threshold. Not enough for the repair process to actually keep pace. When your peripheral nerves finally have what they need to repair: ✨ The burning at night starts to quiet down ✨ The tingling gets less constant, less sharp ✨ Sensation comes back in patches where it had gone numb ✨ Sleep improves when the pain stops pulling you out of it at 2am ✨ You stop having to plan every outing around how far your feet will hold up ✨ You can feel the floor again when you walk barefoot in the morning It's not blocking signals. It's not masking symptoms. It's giving the nerve cells what they actually need to repair. Most nerve supplements will not do this. Too cheap, wrong forms, wrong doses… The label says "B1" and doesn't specify benfotiamine or thiamine HCl. Big difference. If it doesn't say benfotiamine, assume thiamine HCl. The label says "B12" and uses cyanocobalamin. Cyanocobalamin is the synthetic form that has to be converted before nerve tissue can use it. That conversion step is impaired in most people over 50. The people this matters most for are exactly the ones who can't convert it. The label says "alpha lipoic acid" and doesn't specify R-form. Assume racemic mix. Half the dose is doing nothing at the nerve cell level. And if the dose isn't 600mg of benfotiamine, it's under the clinical threshold. Not because we made that number up. Because that's what the research used when it showed results. I kept seeing one formula come up. Avalaine BioNerve+ Nerve Renew Complex contains: ✨ 600mg benfotiamine, fat-soluble B1 at the therapeutic dose shown in clinical research to cross the myelin sheath and reach peripheral nerve tissue ✨ 4mg methylcobalamin, active B12 with no conversion step, directly available to nerve tissue ✨ 8mg B2 and 8mg B6, the full B-complex cofactors your nerves need to run the repair cycle ✨ 300mg stabilized R-Alpha Lipoic Acid, R-form only, not the 50/50 racemic mix ✨ Proprietary herbal blend with feverfew, passion flower, skullcap root, and oat straw for nerve calming support ✨ Third-party tested for potency, purity, and accurate dosing ✨ Made in the USA, pharmaceutical-grade manufacturing ✨ No thiamine HCl. No cyanocobalamin. No fillers. I ordered it. Not expecting much at that point. Week one: nothing obvious. I kept going. Week two: the burning at night was less constant. Lighter. I noticed it but it didn't own the whole night anymore. Week three: I pressed my heel to the floor in the morning and felt pressure. I stood there in the kitchen for a minute just doing that. Week five: I slept through without waking up once. I lay there in the morning trying to remember the last time that had happened. Six weeks in I realized I hadn't thought about my feet in two days. That hadn't happened in over a year. Two capsules. Every morning. That's it. 60-day money-back guarantee. If it doesn't work, you shouldn't pay for it. Most people buy at regular price, but right now they're doing a special promotion where you can get real savings for a limited time. The only problem is Avalaine is a small company and they're growing fast. They can't always keep up with demand. I want to apologize in advance because if you click the link below, you might see they're sold out. People have had to wait weeks for BioNerve+ to come back in stock. Click below to see if there's any left. If you've tried the B12, the ALA, the magnesium, and none of it moved the needle, this is worth trying. The form was the problem. Not the category. 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/b-complex-broad-pre-lander-educational-mar-20 P.S. The 60-day guarantee means there's no risk. Right now they're running a promotion. And if you see they're sold out when you click, they do restock, but people have waited weeks. Check back.
I hate my boss, Adrian Drake. He’s arrogant. Ruthless. Impossible to work for. So why is my secret online crush starting to sound exactly like him? --------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
After I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.
🔥Pajutau prie manųjų prispaustas lūpas ir sudejavau, jos bučiavo mane taip aistringai, o jo rankos traukė mane prie savęs. Jis ėmė plėšti nuo manęs drabužius; atmerkusi akis pamačiau virš manęs pasilenkusį Kalaną, jo lūpos spaudėsi prie manųjų. Jo lūpos leidosi žemyn, lėtai bučiuodamos mano kaklą, ir aš atlošiau galvą, suteikdama jam daugiau erdvės. Jis nuslydo bučiniais per mano raktikaulį link krūtų, švelniai imdamas mano spenelius į burną, o mano dejonės darėsi vis garsesnės. Jis kando mano spenelį, tempdamas jį, o aš stūmiau krūtis link jo burnos, maldaudama žįsti dar stipriau. Jausmas buvo toks neįtikėtinas, galėčiau likti čia su juo amžinai, leisti jam mane gundyti. Jo rankos lėtai ėmė maukti mano kelnaites žemyn, o manosios atseginėjo jo marškinius; nutraukusi juos, spoksojau į jo tobulą presą, padengtą nuostabiomis tatuiruotėmis. Noras apžioti jo spenelius buvo toks stiprus, aš norėjau jo, norėjau ragauti jo kūną. Gulint čia nuogiems ir susipynusiems, kiekvienas mano kūno centimetras jo geidė. Jo lūpos ėmė bučiuoti mano bambą, lėtai leisdamosi gaktikaulio link, o mano nugara išsilenkė, spausdamasi prie jo burnos. Jo liežuvis nuslydo iki mano putytės ir tuomet atakavo klitorį; aš sudejavau, kai jo liežuvis suko ratus ir erzino mane vis greičiau bei stipriau. Mano rankos įsikibo į jo plaukus, spausdamos jį žemyn ir bandydamos priversti skverbtis giliau. Jo liežuvis ėmė judėti greičiau, jis įstūmė du pirštus į mano angą ir pradėjo jais lėtai judėti. Jis žindo mano klitorį ir dulkino mane pirštais, ir aš galėjau jausti, kaip orgazmas užvaldo mano kūną. Jo pirštai pagreitino tempą, vis greičiau smigdami į mane ir išlysdami, kol jo liežuvis darbavosi su klitoriu. Suklykiau atsidūrusi ant kulminacijos ribos, atlošdama galvą; pats intensyviausias orgazmas pervėrė mano kūną, o mano ranka laikė jo galvą prispaustą, kol jis toliau mane tenkino. Staiga tolumoje ėmiau girdėti savo žadintuvo garsą. Bet man nerūpėjo, aš nenorėjau, kad jis sustotų. Garsas stiprėjo, aš pašokau ir mano akys atsimerkė. Apsidairiusi supratau esanti savo kambaryje, visiškai viena, o kai nuleidau ranką prie savo putytės, pajutau, kad esu kiaurai permirkusi. „Šūdas,“ nusikeikiau, tai bent sapnelis. Tai negali vykti, aš negaliu sapnuoti tokių sapnų apie geriausią savo brolio draugą. Jis man yra uždraustas vaisius ir tarp mūsų niekada nieko panašaus nebus. O gal bus? Dabar aš apsistosiu su juo, o mano brolis ir Kalanas gyvena kartu. Tai bus tikrai įdomu. ***** Keturis savo gyvenimo metus praleidau baigdama mados mokyklą, ir persikraustymas pas brolį į Port Harkortą atrodė kaip didžiulis žingsnis – ypač būnant ką tik studijas baigusia absolvente be jokio aiškaus tolesnio plano. Per tuos metus sukaupiau daugiau drabužių, nei galėjau suskaičiuoti, ir ištisą kalną batų. Dizainas buvo mano aistra, ir jos vaikymasis man brangiai kainavo, bet davė dar daugiau. Mano vyresnysis brolis Braisas maloniai apmokėjo perkraustymo įmonės paslaugas, kad ši pervežtų mano daiktus per visą miestą. Ridenėdama savo lagaminą iš atsiėmimo punkto, tikėjausi išvysti jį belaukiantį. Vietoj to ten stovėjo niekada nematytas vyras, laikantis lentelę su ryškiai užrašytu Brianos Flečer vardu. Kai priėjau prie jo, iškart galėjau atpažinti, kad jis – Ogumės vyras, kaip ir mano šeima. Jis atrodė kaip žmogus, mėgstantis makaronus, o jo tvirta, buldogiška stovėsena darė jį lengvai pastebimą. „Umm... sveiki?“ pasisveikinau, nežinodama, kaip kreiptis į šį nepažįstamąjį. Jo akys smigo į mane, ir jis trumpai linktelėjo. „Panelė Flečer?“ paklausė jis. Aš linktelėjau. „Mano vardas Deividas. Jūsų brolis šiandien užimtas, todėl atsiuntė mane jūsų paimti,“ paaiškino jis. „Kaip miela. Ar jis minėjo, kur mane vežate? Kiek girdėjau, į jo naująjį butą negalėsime įsikelti dar visą mėnesį,“ pasakiau, lūkesčio kupinu žvilgsniu stebėdama jį. Deividas, vilkintis pilną kostiumą, pasikišo lentelę po pažaščia, pačiupo mano lagaminą ir patraukė link elegantiško automobilio. Mes su Braisu visada buvome artimi, bet gyvenimas mus išskyrė ne vieneriems metams. Kilome iš probleminės šeimos – narciziško, smurtaujančio tėvo ir silpnos, nuolankios motinos, kuri visada jį iškeldavo aukščiau už mus. Braisas to negalėjo pakęsti. Būdamas dvidešimties, vos baigęs vidurinę, jis užsirašė į kariuomenę. Man tuomet buvo vienuolika, ir po to sekę metai buvo grynas pragaras. Jis trejus metus praleido mokymuose ir dar šešerius – specialiosiose pajėgose. Aštuonerius ilgus metus brolį matydavau vos retkarčiais. Aš išėjau iš namų būdama septyniolikos – tai buvo desperatiškas pabėgimas, palikęs randų. Dirbau pas siuvėją, kuri mane išmokė visko apie siuvimą ir drabužių dizainą. Augant mano tėvas reikalavo tobulos išvaizdos, kad išlaikytų savo viešąjį įvaizdį, o aš atradau laisvę madoje. Mano tėvai atsisakė palaikyti mano svajonę – tėvas norėjo teisininkės, kuria galėtų girtis, – tad aš kovojau dėl stipendijos ir, deivės malone, laimėjau ją studijoms Asaboje trejiems metams. Mados mokykla tapo mano pabėgimu tiek nuo tėvų, tiek nuo vyro, su kuriuo kažkada gyvenau tomis desperatiškomis ankstyvosiomis dienomis. Laisvė nebuvo lengva. Kovojau su pinigų stygiumi ir viskuo kitu. Dabar, būdama dvidešimt aštuonerių, vis dar jaučiuosi taip, lyg beveik nepažinočiau Braiso. Jis nebėra tas problematiškas paauglys, palikęs namus; jis – patyręs kariuomenės veteranas ir sėkmingas verslininkas, iš dalies dėka savo geriausio draugo Kalano Haroldo – vyro, kuris persekioja mano sapnus visokiausiomis uždraustomis fantazijomis. Su Kalanu susipažinau prieš daugelį metų, kai jis ir Braisas tik prisijungė prie kariuomenės. Jis kilęs iš galingos šeimos, ir tai matyti. Nemačiau jo jau metus, bet jis kasnakt aplanko mano sapnus. Tuomet jis buvo pats karščiausias vyras, kokį tik buvau regėjusi, – tad kas ten žino, kaip jis atrodo dabar. Realiame gyvenime jis beveik kaip vaiduoklis: jokių socialinių tinklų, jokio viešo pėdsako. Braisas jų irgi neturi. Galbūt jie abu mano, kad tai vaikiška. „Taip, panele Flečer. Man buvo nurodyta kol kas nuvežti jus į pono Haroldo namus,“ pasakė Deividas, grąžindamas mane į realybę. Ką? Į Kalano namus? O ne. Tai nieko gero. „Ir kur tiksliai tai yra?“ paklausiau įsitaisydama ant galinės prabangaus automobilio sėdynės. „Rumuolos vila, rytinėje Port Harkorto pusėje,“ atsakė jis. Mums artėjant, miesto panorama darėsi vis ryškesnė, atverdama įspūdingą, drąsiais kampais iškirstą šviesą atspindinčio mėlyno stiklo bokštą. Kiekvienas naujas pastatas, kurį pravažiavome, buvo dar labiau gniaužiantis kvapą nei ankstesnis. „Šioje pusėje jie turi prabangių parduotuvių, meno galerijų ir nuostabių parkų,“ tarp kitko pridūrė Deividas. „Ar ponas Haroldas gyvena viename iš šių dangoraižių?“ pasilenkiau į priekį tarp priekinių sėdynių, rodydama į žėrinčią miesto panoramą. Jis kilstelėjo trumpą pirštą vieno išsiskiriančio pastato link. „Ten Rumuolos vila. Įspūdinga, ar ne?“ Forma buvo siurreali – stiklinio fasado sienos kilo iš stačiakampio pagrindo, grakščiai linkdamos tol, kol pastatas tapo panašus į keturlapį dobilą. Atrodė, lyg jis pervertų pačius debesis. „Kokiam verslui jis vadovauja?“ paklausiau, bandydama išgauti detalių apie amžinai paslaptingą Kalaną Haroldą. Deivido tamsios akys žybtelėjo galinio vaizdo veidrodėlyje, o po to grįžo į kelią. „Jam priklauso daug skirtingų verslų,“ miglotai atsakė jis, prieš pakeisdamas temą. „Šiame pastate yra penkiasdešimt penkių pėdų ilgio baseinas, be juokų. Skaičiau apie tai žurnale.“ „Ar jūs esate pono Haroldo vairuotojas?“ pabandžiau dar kartą. „Aš greičiau asmeninis padėjėjas,“ pasakė jis gūžtelėdamas pečiais. „O kaip mano brolis?“ neatlyžau. „Aš dirbu ir jam,“ paprastai atsakė jis. Prie šviesoforo Deividas iš pultelio ištraukė brošiūrą ir padavė ją man atgal. „Štai, žvilgtelėkite.“ Kadangi įstrigome spūstyje, peržvelgiau ją. Pirmoji ryški antraštė skelbė: „Penthauzas danguje“. Straipsnyje Vilos prabanga buvo aprašoma svaiginančiomis detalėmis. „Skamba kaip labai daug visko,“ išsiblaškiusi sumurmėjau. „Pamatysite, kad ponas Haroldas yra... labai daug visko,“ mįslingai ištarė Deividas. Nespėjus man paklausti, ką jis turėjo omenyje, jis parodė į privatų įvažiavimą, skirtą tik penthauzo gyventojams. Garažas atrodė įprastai – kol nepastebėjau jame stovinčių automobilių. Egzotiški, tviskantys, neįmanomai brangūs. Man atvipo žandikaulis. Ką tik praleidau trejus metus dalindamasi ankštu kambariu su netvarkingais nepažįstamaisiais, o dabar žengiau į visai kitą visatą. Užvaldyta emocijų, pajutau, kaip vėl atsėlina pažįstamas nepilnavertiškumo jausmas. Per daug savo gyvenimo metų praleidau jausdamasi menka. 2 skyrius: Saugus ir patikimas 2 skyrius: Saugu ir patikima Briana Mano tėvas dievino mane psichologiškai terorizuoti, ir jo mėgstamiausias užsiėmimas buvo aiškinti, kad man reikia būti gražesnei, geriau rengtis ir naudoti makiažą. Jis taip dažnai vadino mane prastesne, kad galėjai pamanyti, jog tai mano antrasis vardas. Kai šiomis dienomis žmonės sako, kad esu labai graži, nuo šio komplimento susigūžiu, nes ta maža mergaitė mano viduje kužda, kad jie meluoja. Gyvenimas skurde nuo pat vidurinės mokyklos baigimo atrodė kaip man skirta bausmė. Šūdinas gyvenimas šūdinai mergaitei, ypač po to, kai palikau tėvus ir nutraukiau su jais ryšius. Mano tėvas visada jautėsi lyg dievas, ir sunkiomis naktimis galėdavau prisiekti, kad būtent jis visa tai užsuko, net ir nebebūdamas mano gyvenime. Visuomet jaučiau, lyg jo rankos būtų apsivijusios mano kaklą kaip pavadėlis, ir kuo labiau muisčiausi ar bandžiau pabėgti, tuo labiau dūsau. Esu beveik tikra, kad jei tėvas mane surastų, sumuštų iki mirties už tai, kad išėjau iš namų. Žinau, kad jis bandė manęs ieškoti, nors brolio išsižadėjo jau seniai. Jis sakė: Braisas yra vyras, ir jis turėtų gyventi savo gyvenimą, bet manė, kad aš priklausau jam, lygiai taip pat, kaip jam priklausė mano motina. Mano motina yra stulbinamo grožio ir visiška kvailutė. Ji apsėsta jo, o jis apsėstas savęs. Jei mano tėvas pamatytų šį pastatą šiame rajone ir penthauzą, kuriame ruošiausi apsigyventi, jį ištiktų priepuolis. Jis visada buvo pavydus ir tiesiog pamišęs. Jis nori būti turtingas ir svarbus, bet toks nėra. Jis dirba sėkmingoje investicijų kompanijoje, bet nėra generalinis direktorius ar kas nors panašaus. Tai vidurinės grandies pozicija, ir jis visada apsupdavo save įspūdingais žmonėmis, kad kiti tiesiog manytų, jog jis yra svarbus, ir priskirtų mus aukštesniajai viduriniajai klasei. Nors realybėje mes tokie nebuvome. Nameluosiu sakydama, kad trijų metų atotrūkis tarp Port Harkorto ir Ogumės manęs negąsdino. Man pavyko pabėgti nuo tėvo, nes buvau tiesioginėje to žodžio prasmėje kitoje šalies pusėje. Nors Braisas jau ne vienerius metus gyvena Port Harkorte ir negirdėjo nė žodžio iš mano tėvų, todėl manau, kad tai prabilo mano pačios paranoja. Ėmiausi kraštutinių priemonių, kad atsikirčiau nuo tų žmonių, man teko užblokuoti pusę savo šeimos, kuri pranešdavo tėvui apie dalykus, matytus socialiniuose tinkluose. Viskas nustatyta kaip privatu. Man teko nutraukti ryšius su geriausia drauge Ogumėje, nes jos ir mano tėvai taip pat buvo geriausi draugai, ir jos tėvas spaudė ją pasakoti manajam dalykus apie mane. Nesu lengvai pasiekiamas žmogus, turiu naują telefono numerį ir niekur nenurodytą adresą. Turiu savo mokslo įrašus, bet yra daugybė mados dizaino mokyklų, kad jie net nežinotų, kurioje aš apskritai galėčiau būti. Be to, aš nesu nepilnametė, o koledžas mano tėvams jokios informacijos vis tiek nesuteiktų. Turėjau galybę svajonių ir norų tapti sėkminga dizainere, bet tas tylus balselis mano galvoje sako, kad nesu pakankamai gera. Tačiau dar vienas įkyrus balsas kužda, kad jei būsiu pakankamai gera, mano vardas taps viešas, o šeima vėl turės prieigą prie manęs. Port Harkortas yra mados centras, bet ar būsiu pakankamai drąsi? Anksčiau turėjau Braisą, savo vyresnįjį brolį, kaip savo gynėją. Būdama vienuolikos, turėjau išmokti pati save ginti. Nuo ko man dabar reikia apsaugos, mąsčiau, ir kas toliau? Kalano penthauzas buvo nepriekaištingas, pirmajame aukšte buvo svetainė su dvidešimties pėdų aukščio lubomis ir miesto panoramos vaizdu pro langus. Ten buvo juodo skalūno dujinis židinys, suteikęs erdvei savotiško vyriškumo, ir erdvi atskira virtuvė bei valgomasis. Antrajame aukšte, pasirodo, yra medijų kambarys su baru. Pagrindinis miegamasis su dvigubu vonios kambariu, persirengimo erdve ir papildomais kambariais, turinčiais atskiras vonias. Nespėjau jo deramai apžiūrėti, nes Deividas buvo labai nervingas ir be paliovos kalbėjo. „Ponas Haroldas yra priekabus žmogus, jam nepatiktų, jei apžiūrinėtumėte ar liestumėte jo daiktus,“ sumurmėjo jis, ir atrodė, lyg šis Deividas tą dieną būtų buvęs mano auklė. Vienintelė vieta, kurią man iš esmės leido liesti, buvo svetainės sofa, ant kurios mudu skubiai atsisėdome ir kelias valandas žiūrėjome mados pasirodymus. „Tai tam, kad pajusčiau Port Harkorto nuotaiką,“ pasakiau jam. Anksčiau dievinau Veeky James ir madą, kuria ji garsėjo. Norėjau jos gyvenimo, nors jis ir ne visada buvo prabangus. Būdama vaikas ir atsidūrusi tokioje situacijoje, jaučiausi taip, lyg būčiau sutverta dalyvauti tame šou. Tai buvo eskapizmas, bet dabar aš esu čia, gyvensiu Port Harkorte, tai nebuvo tai, ko tikėjausi. „Koks tavo mėgstamiausias personažas?“ paklausiau jo, sėdinčio visiškai kitame labai ilgos sofos gale. „Margaretė,“ nedvejodamas atsakė jis. „Kodėl? Nes ji priklausoma nuo sekso?“ paklausiau, ir jis paraudo, tai mane prajuokino. „Ji tiesiog valinga ir pasitikinti savimi,“ atsakė jis. Pasitikinti savimi? Man tai svetima. „Ar ir tu toks? Pasitikintis savimi?“ pasiteiravau. „Aš geras savo darbe, bet esu linkęs į nervingumą,“ jis mostelėjo ranka. Išgirdę lifto skambutį, abu atsisukome į fojė, į kurią jis atsivėrė. Išlipo mano brolis, kurio nemačiau tiek daug metų. Jis atrodė brandesnis, be abejonės, išvaizdus vyras. Mokykloje merginos ėjo dėl jo iš proto, visos mano draugės buvo jį įsimylėjusios, ir aš to nekentėjau. Mūsų plaukų spalva buvo vienoda – kaštoninė, o akys – vandenyno mėlynumo. Jo akys buvo gilios, o tai suteikė veidui vyriškesnių bruožų nei mano smulkiam veideliui. Jis taip pat turėjo kelias tatuiruotes ir pasitikėjimo savimi kupiną laikyseną, kurios neturėjo prieš visus tuos metus, dar iki kariuomenės. Jis nebuvo kostiumų mėgėjas, bet štai jis išlipo iš lifto vilkėdamas vieną labiausiai gniaužiančių kvapą kostiumų, kokius tik esu mačiusi. Pašokau ant kojų dar nespėjusi to suvokti ir puoliau link jo. Jis buvo daug aukštesnis už mane, bet aš vis tiek apvijau rankas aplink jo tvirtą liemenį. „Labas, aš taip tavęs pasiilgau,“ išpyškinau, jo rankos apglėbė mane ir jis lengvai paglostė man nugarą. „Sveika, mažėle.“ Jis pavartojo vaikystės pravardę. Esu smulki mergina, ir jis visada vadino mane mažėle. Jis atitraukė mane per ištiestos rankos atstumą, kad apžiūrėtų. „Šūdas, tu sensti,“ jis papurtė galvą, matydamas mano subrendusią išvaizdą. Aš prunkštelėjau ir pavadinau jį taip pat senu. Jis nusivedė mane atgal į svetainę ir pasakė Deividui, kad šis gali eiti. Jis kalbėjo kaip bosas, ir man tai atrodė labai keista. „Tai mes čia gyvensime mėnesį, ar tiesiog norėjai, kad būčiau čia, kol susirasiu darbą?“ pakreipiau galvą į jį. Jei Kalanas Haroldas toks priekabus, kaip sakė Deividas, abejoju, ar jis nori mūsų čia kaip kambariokų mėnesiui. „Ne, tai saugus ir patikimas pastatas. Norėčiau, kad liktum čia,“ atsakė jis. „Saugus?“ paklausiau, ir jis akimirką tylėjo. „Taip, Port Harkortas yra didelis miestas, ir jaunoms merginoms čia nesaugu.“ Aš pavarčiau akis. „Asaboje aš gyvenu visiškai viena, Braisai. Nepradėk su manim elgtis kaip su maža mergaite vien todėl, kad įstrigai laike, kai man buvo vienuolika,“ papurčiau jam galvą. Tai buvo laikas, kai jis manimi rūpinosi, ir dažnai atrodė, lyg su manimi būtų įstrigęs tame laiko rėme. Jam nepatiko ši tema, tad jis ją pakeitė. Susikišęs rankas į kišenes, jis užtikrintai atsistojo ir pažvelgė į mane iš viršaus. „Kur tavo krepšiai? Nunešime juos į tavo kambary.“ Apsidairiau ir tada susiraukiau, kai jis pamatė mano lagaminą kreivais ratukais už sofos, virtuvės pusėje. „Kur visi mano daiktai iš perkraustymo sunkvežimio?“ Apsidairiau taip, lyg staiga būčiau pamačiusi savo daiktus. „Nesiruošiau užgriozdinti Kalano namų, viskuo pasirūpinau. Po kelių savaičių turėsime savo erdvę.“ Jis mostelėjo norėdamas paimti mano krepšį, bet jo nerideno, tiesiog pakėlė ir patraukė link elegantiškų „kabančių“ laiptų, o aš nusekiau iš paskos. „Žinai, aš tikrai vertinu, kad išsikraustei iš savo senosios vietos,“ pasakiau jam iš užnugario. Jis vos žvilgtelėjo į mane per petį, pasiekęs antrojo aukšto aikštelę. Medijų kambarys buvo tarsi už laiptų aikštelės, o tada koridorius atvedė mus prie kelių durų. Esančios pačiame gale, pasirodo, buvo Kalano, o mane atvedė prie pirmųjų durų kairėje. Kai durys atsidarė, iškart negalėjau visko pamatyti, nes jo didelis kūnas užstojo vaizdą. „Viskas gerai, aš išaugau tą vietą ir nebenorėjau, kad daugiau gyventum viena. Tavo vieta čia.“ Jis nustebino mane savo žodžiais, ir tai sušildė mano širdį. Kai jis numetė krepšį, vogčiomis pažvelgė į mane, bet aš apsimečiau nepastebėjusi tylios įtampos, kuri plykstelėjo jam užsiminus apie tai, kad paliko mane vieną. Jis vis dar nešiojasi kaltę dėl to, kad pabėgo nuo mūsų tėvų – kad pasirinko laisvę ir paliko mane kęsti tą griuvėsių pragarą. Po to, kai jis išėjo, man viskas tik pablogėjo, bet niekada jo nekaltinau. Kariuomenė suteikė jam naują gyvenimą, privertė greitai suaugti. Mes abu suaugome, bet skirtinguose pasauliuose ir priešinguose karuose. Dabar, pirmą kartą per aštuonerius metus, mes ruošiamės gyventi po vienu stogu – ir aš jau jaučiu, kaip praeitis artinasi, pasiruošusi sprogti į dabartį. 3 skyrius: Jūs negalite mums dirbti 3 skyrius: Tu negali dirbti mums Briana „Na štai,“ pasakė Braisas, modamas į kambarį. „Jis gražus ir prabangus, ar mūsų vieta bus panaši į šią? Kaip tu gali tai sau leisti?“ privalėjau paklausti. Kambarys buvo dekoruotas švelniais aukso atspalviais bei atitinkamu apšvietimu, su didžiausia lova, kokią tik buvau mačiusi. „Ne toks prašmatnus, bet jis bus šiame pastate,“ pasakė jis. „Pala, ką? Maniau, kad mes gyvensime...“ Nespėjau baigti, nes jis papurtė galvą. „Kalanas išsakė svarių argumentų, kad tai saugesnis rajonas, turintis aukštos klasės meno galerijų ir visų tų parduotuvių. Nematau priežasčių, kodėl tau čia nepatiktų.“ Jis prisimerkė žiūrėdamas į mane. Kalanas pasiūlė mums gyventi šiame pastate? Tai bent įdomybė. „Tad vėl klausiu, kaip tu gali tai sau leisti?“ sukryžiavau rankas. Abu buvome žengę vos kelis žingsnius į kambarį, bet aš atsisukau, kad gerai į jį įsižiūrėčiau. Jis vėl prisimerkęs pažiūrėjo į mane. „Dabar esu sėkmingas verslininkas, Briana, ir galiu mumis pasirūpinti,“ atsakė jis. „Koks tai verslas?“ neatlyžau. „„Harold Group of Company“ valdo daugybę verslų, ir Kalanas padeda savo šeimai vadovauti daugeliui jų, o aš dabar esu jo dešinioji ranka. Taigi, taip, galiu tai sau leisti,“ pasakė jis su savo garsiąja arogantiška gaidele. „Miglota,“ sumurmėjau, bet palikau tai ramybėje. Ieškosiu šio pavadinimo „Google“ iškart, kai tik jis išeis pro tas duris. „Gerai, turiu trumpam išeiti, bet grįšiu vakarienei, atsisėsime ir turėsime progą pasikalbėti, sutarta?“ Jis išsitraukė telefoną iš kišenės, kažką patikrino, o aš susiraukiau. „Kurią valandą tai bus? Jau dabar vėlyva popietė,“ pastebėjau. „Čia Port Harkortas, tad aštuntos valandos vakarienė čia nėra per vėlu,“ atkirto jis, apdovanodamas mane savo arogantiška šypsenėle ir atsisukdamas į duris. „A, tiesa,“ jis sustojo tarpduryje. „Neliesk Kalano daiktų, jis nemėgsta svetimų žmonių savo asmeninėje erdvėje. Jis daro mums didžiulę paslaugą, tad būk gera.“ Jis įspėjo mane – jis ir toliau elgsis su manimi kaip su vaiku, jaučiu tai jau dabar. Apsidairiau po šį švarų, gražų kambarį ir gūžtelėjusi pečiais drėbtelėjau ant lovos, išsitraukdama telefoną. Į paieškos sistemą įvedžiau „Harold Group of Company“ ir prunkštelėjau, išvydusi patį nekonkrečiausią atsakymą. Privatus kapitalas, nieko specifinio, bet kuo mažiau informacijos jie man davė, tuo labiau norėjau knistis giliau. Galiausiai nusiprausiau po dušu ir pasiruošiau aštuntos valandos vakarienei. Nebuvau tikra, ar eisime kur nors į miestą, bet labai abejojau, kad Braisas mėgsta gaminti. Bet kokia proga pasipuošti yra gera proga, tad apsirengiau gražiai, ir kai likus kelioms minutėms iki aštuonių išgirdau lifto skambutį, nupėdinau žemyn paklausti brolio, kur eisime valgyti. Sustingau laiptų apačioje suvokusi, kad tai ne mano brolis. Tai buvo stulbinamai išvaizdus Kalanas Haroldas. Mano širdis ėmė plakti greičiau vos jį išvydus, visi mano beprotiški sapnai dilgčiukais nubėgo stuburu. Deimanto formos veidas – jo žandikaulio raumenys buvo aštrūs ir išraiškingi, seksualios, miegamojo žvilgsnį menančios miško žalumo akys, kurias prisimenu iš savo sapnų. Ryškios rausvos lūpos ir vakarėja barzdelė, deranti prie jo blizgių juodų plaukų. Tatuiruotės ant hantelių, masyvus vyriškas žiedas ir gyslotos rankos. Jūs turbūt juokaujate? Sudėtas kaip pats suknistas velnias, šis vyras buvo sutvertas nuodėmei. Jis būtų tobulas seksualaus piktadario personažas bet kokiame filme. Jo šaknys pernelyg tamsios, kad jis būtų istorijos herojus, tai gali justi iš jo auros. Kostiumas išryškino jo tobulai nuaugusį kūną, o jis stovėjo plačiai atmetęs kojas, tarytum žinotų, kad nesvarbu, kur bebūtų, jo pasididžiavimas yra didžiausias visame kambaryje. Jis spinduliavo tokia aura, ir velnias, tai buvo seksualu. Jis stabtelėjo svetainėje prie laiptų, kuriais leidžiausi, ir dabar, toje pačioje plačioje stovėsenoje, susikišęs rankas į kišenes, atvirai nužiūrinėjo mane nuo galvos iki kojų. Mano skruostai šiek tiek kaito, o putytė tvinkčiojo nuo jo vaizdo ir to gilaus žvilgsnio. Jam trisdešimt dveji, ir jis – tikrų tikriausias vyras, kiekvienas jo centimetras rėkė apie alfa patiną. „Umm, labas,“ sukenčiau, jo kūnas nepajudėjo nė per plauką, tik akys, kurios grįžo prie mano veido, kai vėl prabilau. „Aš esu, Briana...“ nutylau, jausdamasi netikra be jokios svarios priežasties. Jo žvilgsnis baugino, ir visas mano kūnas į jį reagavo. „Aš žinau, kas tu esi,“ ištarė jis savo giliu, seksuoliu balsu. Žinoma, kad žino, jis mane sutiko prieš kelerius metus, kokia aš idiotė. Tiesiog buvau sustingusi ant apatinio laiptelio, nežinodama, kaip elgtis toliau. „A.. ačiū, kad leidai mums čia apsistoti,“ sumurmėjau. Žinau, kad skambėjau apgailėtinai, mane savotiškai apėmė panika, nes jis buvo karščiausias vyras, kokį kada nors buvau mačiusi. Viskas, ką jis darė – tai žiūrėjo į mane nepratardamas nė žodžio, ir mano kūnas į tai reagavo daugybe skirtingų būdų. Jis trumpai linktelėjo išgirdęs mano žodžius ir staiga atsuko man nugarą, patraukdamas link to, ką dabar atpažinau kaip jo barą. Jis išsitraukė prabangų butelį ir įsipylė gėrimo. Jis man nieko nepasiūlė ir nebekreipė į mane jokio dėmesio. Tikrai, ir viskas? Kalanas buvo toks bauginantis savo tyloje ir galingoje formoje, kad man teko suspausti šlaunis, jog išvengčiau savo pačios drėgmės pratekėjimo. Priėjau iki to, kad nebegalėjau ilgiau tverti, ir turėjau skuosti atgal į savo kambarį, kad pasislėpčiau ir nusiramintų seksualinė frustracija. Nulipau žemyn tik tada, kai išgirdau mane šaukiantį brolį; jis vilkėjo labiau atsipalaiduotą savo kostiumo versiją. „Mes neisime vakarieniauti į miestą?“ paklausiau, matydama, kaip dabar esu pasipuošusi. „Pamaniau, kad būtų ramiau pasikalbėti čia, šiame pastate mes turime vietinį šefą, ir aš užsakiau mums maisto,“ sumurmėjo jis, ir aš linktelėjau. Vis dar jaučiau Kalano žvilgsnį kažkur už brolio nugaros, bet atsisakiau į jį žiūrėti, likau susitelkusi į Braisą. „Ar tau tai nepatinka? Norėjai eiti į miestą?“ paklausė jis, palaikęs mano tylų elgesį pykčiu, bet aš nepykau. Mane tiesiog pribloškė jo geriausias draugas. „Ne, viskas gerai, mes turime daug apie ką pasikalbėti,“ sutikau, sekdama jį į valgomąjį, kur ant stalo jau buvo išdėlioti visi patiekalai. Pamačiau tris lėkščių komplektus, ir mano širdies ritmas padažnėjo. Jis valgys kartu su mumis? Nebuvo jokios staigmenos, kai jis atsisėdo stalo gale, o mes su Braisu įsitaisėme arčiau stalo vidurio, vienas priešais kitą. Dėl elegantiško nuleidžiamo šviestuvo kelias sekundes žiūrėjau aukštyn, kol suvokiau, kad brolis kažką pasakė. „Valgyk,“ sumurmėjo jis, jau bandydamas įdėti man maisto, kurio norėjo, kad paragaučiau. Kalanas išliko visiškai tylus, jis susikrovė savo kepsnį ir garnyrą, ir pjaustė mėsą lyg tai būtų sviestas, tuo pat metu akivaizdžiai ignoruodamas mūsų pokalbį, tarsi manęs čia nė nebūtų. „Mažėle, koks tavo planas? Ar ketini šiek tiek atsipūsti, ar toliau mokytis? Arba susirasti darbą, spręsti tau, aš galiu finansiškai išlaikyti mus abu. Neprivalai jaustis įpareigota kažką daryti.“ Mano brolis nustebino mane tai sakydamas. „Leisi man dykaduoniauti?“ kilstelėjau antakį į jį. „Aš tai pavadinčiau kitaip, tu ilgą laiką sunkiai dirbai, ir manau, kad laikas padaryti pertrauką.“ Jis priminė man, vėl jausdamas kaltę ten, kur neturėtų jos jausti. „Artimiausiu metu tikrai nesiruošiu atrasti savyje mados dizainerės talento, bet norėčiau dirbti, kad užsidirbčiau šiek tiek savų pinigų,“ pasakiau lėtai, nepakeldama akių nuo savo lėkštės. Jaučiausi taip, lyg prašyčiau leidimo, ir man tai nepatiko. „Pavyzdžiui?“ paklausė jis, keldamas vyno taurę. Oho, jis dabar geria vyną. „Tėjausi, kad leisi man dirbti viename iš savo verslų, bet tu man dar nepasakei, koks tai ver...“ nutylau. Mano širdis subyrėjo į šipulius, kai pastebėjau, jog Kalano akys susitiko su manosiomis; buvau beveik pamiršusi, kad jis ten yra, nes jis mane ignoravo. Spėju, kad jis išgirdo šią dalį, o tai buvo jo verslas, ne mano brolio. Braisas susiraukė. „Aš nenoriu, kad dirbtum mums.“ Jis greitai atmetė tokias idėjas. Kūstelėjau lūpą, bandydama nuspręsti, kaip plėtoti šią temą toliau, neužkliudant niekieno jautrių vietų. Buvau per daug išsigandusi, todėl atsitraukiau ir nieko nesakiau, o man nutilus brolis atsiduso. „Galiu pasikalbėti su keliais draugais ir pažiūrėti, gal kas ieško darbuotojų,“ pasakė jis, o aš gūžtelėjau pečiais, sutikdama. „Jaučiuosi taip, lyg net nežinočiau, ko tavęs paklausti; taip, mes kalbamės, bet tikrai nepakankamai, kad žinočiau, kas vyksta tavo kasdieniniame gyvenime,“ sumurmėjau, o jis vėl nutaisė tą kaltą veido išraišką. „Bet aš turiu šiek tiek patirties, studijų metais dirbau barmene,“ pasakiau, ir vėl nepažvelgiau į jį. Buvau užsiėmusi maistu; jei Kalanas ir žiūrėjo į mane, nebūčiau to žinojusi, nes visiškai atsisakiau žvilgčioti į tą stalo pusę. Nenorėjau vėl apsikvailinti brolio akivaizdoje. „Jei ji turi barmenės patirties, gali dirbti „The Soul Lounge“,“ įsiterpė gilus balsas, ir kai pakėliau akis, Kalanas žiūrėjo į mano brolį, o ne į mane. Braisas timptelėjo savo ir taip jau atraitotas rankoves ir papurtė galvą. „Ne, aš nenoriu, kad ji dirbtų jokioje mūsų vietoje,“ atšovė jis. Kodėl? Ar tai blogos vietos? Po velnių, aš noriu žinoti, ką jis slepia. Ar tai susiję su pornografija, ar kažkuo panašiu, keistu? Būčiau labai pasišlykštėjusi, jei taip būtų, bet jis užsiminė apie barmenės darbą, tad galbūt ne. 4 skyrius: Jis yra tamsesnio atspalvio 4 skyrius: Jis slepia tamsesnius šešėlius Briana Stebėjau, kaip Kalanas perbraukia ranka per savo tamsią vakarėjančią barzdelę; vien tų tatuiruočių ir masyvaus vyriško žiedo pakako, kad priversčiau save suspausti kojas. Jis toks patrauklus, kad vien nuo jo rankų vaizdo aš visa sudrėkau. „Galėsi ją prižiūrėti,“ tyliai ištarė Kalanas, bet kadangi jo balsas toks gilus, tai nuskambėjo kaip dundėjimas. „Aš ką nors sugalvosiu,“ atsakė mano brolis, ir tai buvo jo būdas užbaigti temą. Braisas ir aš galiausiai įsitraukėme į lengvą pokalbį, kol Kalanas mus ignoravo, ypač mane, o baigęs valgyti atsiprašė ir pradingo. „Mažėle, norėjau tavęs paklausti, bet nebuvau tikras, kaip tai pradėti. Ar bent kiek bendravai su motina ir tėvu?“ Mano skrandis susitraukė vien nuo užuominos apie juos, ir jis tai žinojo. „Ne, visiškai ne, jau daug metų. O tu?“ Staiga pasijutau labai nejaukiai nuo šios minties. „Ne, bet aš taip ilgai buvau išvykęs iš šalies ir buvau užsiėmęs savo karjeros kūrimu, tiesiog nenoriu praleisti nieko svarbaus. Tu man niekada tiksliai nepapasakojai, kaip atsidūrei ten, kur buvai.“ Jis žvilgtelėjo į mane prieš išgerdamas savo antrą vyno taurę. Ar dėl to jis taip drąsiai tai pradėjo? Aš per vakarienę negėriau vyno, bet galbūt reikėjo. „Nuo kada mes pradedame prisiminti praeitį? Mes esame čia, dabar, manau, turėtume gyventi tuo.“ Pasakiau, modama į šią prabangią vietą. Kelioms sekundėms jis atrodė susimąstęs, bet galiausiai sutiko, kad krapštytis nemalonioje praeityje – kvaila. Baigę valgyti atsistojome, ir aš pradėjau viską tvarkyti. Jis nusijuokė ir mane sustabdė. „Jie ateis ir viską sutvarkys,“ pasakė jis. „Kas tie jie?“ Buvau sutrikusi. „Virtuvės personalas, kuris tai atnešė.“ Jis pažvelgė į mane tokiu „nejaugi neaišku“ žvilgsniu; kartu įėjome į svetainę, bet aš vis atsigręždavau į likusią netvarką. „Ar tu tikras? Jaučiuosi blogai, versdama kažką tvarkyti mūsų jovalą...“ Susiraukiau. „Turėsi prie to priprasti, nes aš taip gyvenu pastaruosius kelerius metus, mažoji sesute. Daugiau jokio gyvenimo skurde.“ Jis žaismingai mane stumtelėjo. Buvau įpratusi tvarkytis, nes augdama namuose vaikščiojau ant pirštų galų, rūpindamasi, kad manęs beveik nesimatytų, kai tėvas būdavo šalia ir prastos nuotaikos. Visada užtikrindavau, kad namai būtų švarūs, ir mano motina taip pat – ji nuolat tvarkydavosi, šluostydavo jo paliktą netvarką ir jam gamindavo. Ji daug to užkrovė ant manęs, kai man buvo dvylika, ir aš vis dar turiu įprotį susitvarkyti po savęs bei pradingti iš bendrų erdvių. Tai bus įdomus ritmo pokytis. Dėl to man netgi darosi šiek tiek neramu; jaučiausi taip, lyg brolis matytų mano mintis, stebėdamas mane atsijungusią nuo realybės. Lyg jis norėtų pasakyti: aš nesu tėvas. Nusipurčiau tas mintis ir atsiprašiau nakčiai. Negaliu dalintis vakaru su juo ir jo draugu, ne tada, kai jo geriausias draugas ignoruoja mano buvimą, o aš pati negaliu jausti nieko kito, tik jo artumą. Čia, Port Harkorte, neturėsiu jokių draugų; tiesą sakant, neturėjau geriausio draugo nuo vidurinės mokyklos laikų, ir tai baigėsi prastai. Didžiąją laiko dalį praleidžiu viena arba palaikau paviršutiniškas draugystes, pavyzdžiui, kai kartais savaitgaliais išeidavau į miestą savo miestelyje. Niekas nebuvo pakankamai artimas, kad parašytų man ir paklaustų, ar šį rytą saugiai nusileidau, niekas nebūtų buvęs toks artimas, kad nupirktų man gimtadienio dovanų ar žinotų kokias nors intymias detales apie mane. Kartais aš pametu savo telefoną, nes jis visada tylus, ir niekas man nerašo ir neskambina. Tik mano brolis, kol mus skyrė atstumas, arba savaitgaliais, kai kokia nors pažįstama norėdavo išeiti pasilinksminti. Net nemanau, kad jiems patikau kaip žmogus, manau, jiems patiko mano estetika, jei tai skamba logiškai. Toks tas miestas, ypač su mados srities žmonėmis – įvaizdis yra viskas. Aš net neturiu jokių sportinių kelnių, nė vienos pižamos. Mano tėvas taip bjaurėjosi netvarkinga išvaizda, kad net mano naktiniai drabužiai buvo šilko pižamų komplektai ir panašūs dalykai. Ne todėl, kad būčiau galėjusi išeiti iš savo kambario su jais, tiesiog miestas man neatrodė toks svetimas, nes, manau, jį gali valdyti narcizai. Žinau, kad sportinės kelnės, džemperis turbūt yra tokie patogūs, bet tiesiog neturėjau tokios prabangos. Bet dabar aš noriu maištauti ir eiti nusipirkti sportines kelnes. Mano gyvenimas keistas. *** Pirmąją naktį čia, savo kambaryje, tyloje viena skaičiau knygą, ir mano telefonas nė karto nesuskambo, niekas namuose manęs nepasigedo. Viena, mano normalus gyvenimas. Negi aš visą mėnesį gyvensiu su Kalanu Haroldu, ar išvis tai ištversiu? Netgi čia, lovoje, aš vis įsivaizdavau jo išvaizdžią kaulų struktūrą ir treniruotą kūną. Kokie tamsūs iš tiesų yra jo plaukai ir kokios stulbinamai gražios, palyginus, yra jo akys. Mėlyna spalva kaip jokia kita, unikali savo tobulumu. Vis mačiau jį, stovintį laiptų apačioje plačioje stovėsenoje, su miegamojo žvilgsniu, kuriam nerūpėjo, kad nužiūrinėja mane nuo galvos iki kojų. Bet daugiau į mane nebepažvelgė, kodėl? Esu tikra, kad tai todėl, jog jis visiškai nesužavėtas, jis yra seksualus ir vyriškas, o aš... bjauri. Norėčiau būti toje lygoje, man patinka jo tamsi aura. Nors žinau, kad tikriausiai neturėtų. Jis toks turtingas, ir aš norėjau žinoti viską apie jį, bet kartu norėjau nuo jo slėptis. Jis paslaptingas ir aukštas, tamsus ir išvaizdus. Argi tai nėra receptas katastrofai? Tikriausiai, bet iš smalsumo nieko blogo nenutiks. Esu tikra, kad visos moterys juo smalsauja; žinau, kad jis ir mano brolis tikriausiai lankosi su šimtais moterų po visą Port Harkortą dėl savo turtų ir geros išvaizdos, net nenoriu to žinoti. Mano protas nutilo, kai išgirdau gilaus balso aidą – tai buvo pokalbis su mano broliu arba telefonu. Jis buvo per toli, kad suprasčiau žodžius, bet tada išgirdau žingsnius, ir keista, mano širdies plakimas dažnėjo su kiekvienu artėjančiu žingsniu. Kai išgirdau jį praeinant pro mano kambarį ir įžengiant į savąjį, susimąsčiau, kaip jis atrodo viduje, ar šią savaitę jis ten atsives kokią nors moterį. Tikiuosi, kad ne, nes jei išgirsčiau jį dulkint kitą moterį, manau, mirčiau. Jis yra mano brolio draugas, neturėjau norėti įsivaizduoti jo nuogo, bet aš jau buvau jį taip įsivaizdavusi, ir net nežinau, kiek tiksliai tatuiruočių jis turi. Bet mano vaizduotė kužda, kad jų yra daug, ir dėl to jis atrodo dar didesnis blogiukas, nei jau atrodo. Nedaugžodžiaujantis vyras dažniausiai yra vyras, žinantis savo žodžių vertę. Esu mačiusi vyrų, kurie kalba per daug, mano tėvas buvo vienas iš jų. Savo įspūdingų draugų kompanijoje jis visada ieškojo dėmesio ir juokindavo juos, kol jie gėrė škotišką viskį ir rūkė cigarus. Mano tėvas taip pat yra išvaizdus vyras, todėl jam dėmesį skirdavo ne tik patalpoje esantys vyrai; jis buvo garsus ir šnekus, jis mėgo puikuotis. Kalanas Haroldas išlieka tylus, tobulai ramus, nesistengdamas padaryti įspūdžio. Jis neklausia, ar man patinka jo dvaras, ir nesigiria imperija, kurią sukūrė. Ir kažkokiu būdu tas santūrumas yra kur kas labiau bauginantis nei garsiai demonstruojama mano tėvo galia – nes vyras, kuriam nereikia demonstruoti jėgos, yra pats pavojingiausias. Ypač tas, kuris parengtas kariuomenės specialiosiose pajėgose. Mano brolis nešiojasi savo šešėlius, bet Kalano – tamsesni. Kalanas Haroldas nėra tik pavojingas. Jis – tyli audra, laukianti, kada galės smogti. 5 skyrius: Ji yra mirtinai graži 5 skyrius: Ji stulbinamo grožio Kalanas Buvau biure „The Emerald Lounge“, kadangi jis atsidarys tik vėliau šįvakar. Čia galiu turėti šiek tiek ramybės ir tylos, turiu susitikimą su keliais sąjungininkais. Jie įrodė esą naudingi mano imperijai dar seniai, kai mano tėvas viskam vadovavo. Mano tėvas dievina valdyti kazino, jis privertė ma atitarnauti kariuomenėje, lygiai taip pat, kaip jo tėvas privertė jį. Tada jis praleido ne vienerius metus lėtai kraudamas kiekvieną atsakomybę ant mano pečių, kol aš pakilau iš parankinio į Doną, tapdamas pačiu jauniausiu iki šiol. Mano tėvas dabar yra labiau mano konsiljeris, mano taryba ir patarėjas bei vienas iš tų vyrų, kurie gali užginčyti mano sprendimus ir nuomones. Galiausiai mano tėvas susilaukė sūnaus ir dviejų dukrų, tad dabar aš esu Donas, o mano tėvo brolio sūnus Andželas yra mano parankinis; Braisas yra vienas iš mano kapo, bet tiesą sakant, jis labiau kaip mano dešinioji ranka. Jis paprastai būna su manimi, atlikdamas užduotis tiesiogiai man, nors techniškai ir nėra šeimos narys. Tačiau jis yra įšventintasis, jis davė tylos priesaiką, aš patikėjau jam savo gyvybę dar kariuomenėje ir vis dar ja pasitikiu. Žinau, kad jis toks pat pamišęs, kaip ir aš, žinau, kad jis padaro tai, kas turi būti padaryta. Mano imperija nėra maža, „Harold Group of Company“ valdo naktinius klubus, sekso ir BDSM klubus, restoranus, kazino bei atliekų tvarkymo įmones. Tai buvo visiškai atskiras dalykas, bet labai naudinga operacija. Naktinis klubas „The Emerald Lounge“ buvo pirmasis oficialus verslas, kurį aš visiškai perėmiau grįžęs iš kariuomenės, todėl, spėju, dažniausiai atvykstu čia kaip į savo pagrindinę biuro erdvę. Aš nuolat esu visur, viskam vadovauju, nors esu bosas ir galėčiau leisti kitiems prižiūrėti viską po manimi. Esu kontrolės maniakas, perfekcionistas, tikras košmaras visiems, kurie susimauna su mano reikalais. Aš visada viską prižiūriu. Braisas prisiekia, kad perdegsiu, bet jis puikiai žino, jog aš meistriškai atlieku viską, ko tik imuosi. Buvau geriausias savo laidoje kariuomenėje, mane pastebėjo karinis jūrų laivynas ir prisijungiau prie specialiųjų pajėgų mokymų. Ten taip pat tapau geriausiu. Fiziškai esu labai geros formos, psichiškai – tvirtas kaip uola, o agresija yra mano požiūris beveik į viską. Dirbu tokį darbą, kur viskas imama jėga. Tačiau aš gyvenu dėl šio šūdo, esu velniškai geras tame. Turiu penkis legalius verslus, kurie tarnauja kaip tobula operacinė priedanga mano nelegaliems reikalams. Turiu žmonių, valdančių importo, eksporto ir laivybos įmones. Turiu draugų labai aukštuose postuose. Tarnaudamas kariuomenės specialiosiose pajėgose, sukaupiau daugybę gilių, tamsių paslapčių ir turiu daug ypatingų draugų – milijardierių politikų ir kitų elitų, jūs net neįsivaizduojate. Šiame gyvenime jie man negalėtų prikabinti „RICO“ kaltinimo. Haroldų šeima dabar yra per stipri, ir aš negaliu tvirtinti, kad aš ją sukūriau. Mano senelis, o prieš jį ir jo tėvas dešimtmečius dalyvavo organizuotame nusikalstamume, dar tais laikais, kai mafija atvirai sėjo chaosą gatvėse ir viską kontroliavo. Dabar mes tai darome tyliau, nors ir lygiai taip pat pavojingai. Biure aš sėdėjau už masyvaus stalo, o Braisas buvo priešais mane, įsitaisęs odinėje kėdėje. Jis sėdėjo susmukęs, paskendęs mintyse. „Kur dabar tavo mintys?“ paklausiau. Jei vėliau susitiksime su „Velvet Vipers“, man reikia, kad jis būtų susikaupęs; išsiblaškiusi galva – tai negyva galva. Jis atsitokėjo ir pasitaisė palto atlapus. „Nieko, tiesiog galvojau, ką turėčiau daryti su savo seserimi.“ Jis numojo į mane ranka. Aš atsiremiau į stalą ir perbraukiau nykščiu per savo šiurkštų smakrą. „Juk sakiau tau, ji gali dirbti mums; barmenas nėra įtrauktas į tokį gyvenimo būdą, ir tu tai žinai,“ pasakiau. „Aš tiesiog nenoriu, kad Briana būtų įtraukta į bet ką, kas susiję su organizuotu nusikalstamumu, legalu tai ar ne,“ atšovė jis, žinodamas, kad ruošiuosi išsakyti būtent šį argumentą. „The Emerald Lounge“ yra visiškai veikiantis legalus verslas; pogrindžio reikalai paprastam darbuotojui nepastebimi. „Galvojau paklausti Zaverio, gal jis turėtų jai kokio darbo salone,“ pasakė jis, pakildamas iš kėdės ir išsitraukdamas telefoną, o aš susiraukiau. „Kodėl pas jį?“ paklausiau, ir jis gūžtelėjo pečiais. „Ten mes daromės tatuiruotes, jis labai artimas mano draugas ir jie nesusiję su mafija.“ Spėju, supratau jo mintį, bet nežinau, kodėl man ši idėja nepatiko. Visgi patylėjau, nes tai ne mano reikalas, ir aš nenoriu paversti to savo reikalu. Turiu vadovauti saviems reikalams. Buvau nustebintas, kai išgirdau, kad jo mažoji sesuo ruošiasi persikraustyti į Port Harkortą. Pažįstu Braisą nuo pirmųjų specialiųjų pajėgų mokymų, kai buvome paskirti į tą pačią grupę – tai buvo mažiausiai prieš aštuonerius metus, ir aš tą merginą mačiau tik vieną kartą. Žinau jo šeimos istoriją, nors jis visada šykštėdavo detalių apie savo seserį ir tai, kaip ją visa tai paveikė. Žinau, kad kartą jis buvo paskirtas į kitą vietą ir pasakojo, kaip kaltai jautėsi palikęs ją vieną pasirūpinti savimi tokiame jauname amžiuje. Nemanau, kad žinau, kaip ji ištrūko iš tų namų ar ką ji veikė nuo to laiko. Vėlgi, tai ne mano reikalas. Nors Briana Flečer yra stulbinamo grožio, nesvarbu, ar ji tai žino, ar ne. Ilgos blakstienos ir prislopintos miško žalumo akys paverčia ją seksualia, jai net nesistengiant tokiai būti. Ji nešioja sklastymą per vidurį, jos plaukai ilgi, tinkami sugniaužti saujoje, ir ji turi tobulo kontūro lūpas – putlias, bet neužgožiančias jos tiesios, mažos kaip sagutė nosies bei kitų smulkių bruožų. Jos kaklas elegantiškas, ji turi tokią kaulų struktūrą, kokią galima išvysti žurnaluose. Žinau, kad skambu kvailai tai sakydamas, bet tik taip galiu ją apibūdinti. Mane žudo jos kūnas – toli gražu ne per daug apvalus, bet ji turi pilną, stangrią krūtinę ir smėlio laikrodžio figūrą, kur jos klubai, šlaunys ir užpakaliukas yra gerokai iškilesni nei smulki viršutinė kūno dalis. Dėl to ji atrodo patogi vartyti lovoje. Ji yra mano geriausio draugo ir trečio pagal rangą vyro mažoji sesuo, todėl net nežiūrėčiau į tą pusę, bet patikėkite manimi, dulkinti ją galėčiau ištisą savaitę, jei ji tokia nebūtų. Ji atrodė kaip aukštosios mados modelis tobulu lyg iš paveikslėlio veidu, tad įsivaizduoju ją pasiekiančią aukštumų dizaino versle. Jai tereikia atverti tinkamas duris; aš galiu atverti jai tas duris, bet tai ne mano reikalas. Spėju, kad tai palieka ją Zaveriui ir jo dvyniui, kuriems priklauso tatuiruočių salonas, kur man daromos visos tatuiruotės. „Ką mes darome rytoj? Zaveris prašė pirmiau su ja susitikti. Jis mano, kad gali man padėti – rasti jai kokio darbo salone, o kartu ir prižiūrėti ją dėl manęs,“ pasakė jis, pakėlęs akis nuo savo telefono, o aš, jau spausdindamas savo nešiojamuoju kompiuteriu, pažvelgiau į jį, kai atsakiau. „Rytojus tinka, nes poryt turime siuntų,“ priminiau jam. 6 skyrius: Mes nenorime jokių problemų 6 skyrius: Mes nenorime jokių problemų Kalanas Po sėkmingo susitikimo nebuvau labai geros nuotaikos. Pasakiau Andželui ir Braisui, kad turėtume nueiti į „The Emerald Lounge“ galinį kambarį sužaisti kortomis. Organizuoju nelegalius žaidimus tam tikrose įstaigose, tačiau jie yra išskirtiniai, o įėjimo mokesčiai – dideli. Čia renkasi daug vaikinų, kuriuos pažįstame, bet pasitaiko ir tokių, kurių ne. Paprastai, norint pasirodyti viename iš mano žaidimų, kas nors turi už tave laiduoti, ir nors sudedamosios kėdės bei stalai nėra blogai, tai ne tas pogrindinis pokerio kambarys. Čia yra baras su geriausiomis cigaretėmis ir rudaisiais gėrimais, o dizainas sukurtas taip, kad būtų atmosferiškas ir elegantiškas. Ne visi galiniame kambaryje būtinai yra tie dešimt žaidėjų. Kai kurie čia ateina išgerti ir privačiai pasikalbėti, tačiau centrinė ašis yra stalas su nuolat vykstančiu žaidimu. Mums trims įžengus, visi pagarbiai linktelėjo, ir mes nuėjome prie baro. Mostelėjau barmenui, kad įpiltų mums viskio, ir apžvelgiau kambarį; mano akys akimirksniu nukrypo į tris naujus vaikinus. – Kas jie tokie? – pasilenkiau prie Andželo. – Nežinau, tikriausiai atėjo su kitais vyrukais. – Jis atsilošė į baro stalviršį ir atsisegė švarko sagą. Andželas yra stambaus sudėjimo, be to, burnoje visada turi prakeiktą dantų krapštuką. Jis perkėlė jį iš vieno lūpų kampo į kitą ir toliau stebėjo juos. – Aš jį pažįstu, – tarė Braisas, pasilenkęs prie manęs ir vos pastebimai linktelėdamas vieno iš trijulės pusėn. – Kas jis? – paklausiau ne todėl, kad mums trūktų naujų žaidėjų. Kol jie gali susimokėti, gali ir žaisti, bet privalo ką nors pažinoti. Niekas nenori, kad federalai ar kiti problemų ieškotojai įsispraustų prie stalo. Žinau, kad mano vyrai išmano savo darbą ir būtų patikrinę tuos vaikinus, bet mums vis tiek buvo smalsu. – Jis dirba su Frenku Kostelu, kitų dviejų nepažįstu. – Braisas gūžtelėjo pečiais, paimdamas savo stiklinę iš barmeno. Nustojome kalbėtis, kai vienas iš mūsų vyrų priėjo ir nusilenkė mums. – Bosai, – jis linktelėjo man, mano pusbroliui, o tada Braisui; mes jam atsakėme linktelėjimu ir jis pasitraukė iš kelio. Šnekučiavomės, mūsų pokalbis niekuo ypatingu neišsiskyrė. – Kas tai buvo? – Braisas palinko į priekį, ir tai privertė mane ištiesti nugarą bei vėl užsisegti švarką. – Kas? Braisas lakstė akimis, tarsi kažką skenuotų ir analizuotų. Andželas liko atsirėmęs alkūnėmis į baro stalviršį, išskėtęs rankas lyg erelis, o aš ramiai stovėjau tarp jų. – Tai subtilu, velniškai subtilu, bet pažiūrėk į dalintoją. – Braisas apsimetė, kad braukia ranka per žandikaulį, norėdamas pridengti burną, kol kalbėjo su manimi. Mano akys nukrypo į dalintoją ir ėmiau stebėti. – Aš nieko nemačiau. – Andželas gūžtelėjo pečiais, bet aš stebėjau toliau. Niekada nesu matęs, kad kas nors tai darytų taip gerai, bet mes vadiname tokius vaikinus „mechanikais“. Tai profesionalūs sukčiai, klastojantys žaidimus; jie dalija kortas nuo kaladės apačios. Taip jie kontroliuoja, kas kokias kortas gauna, ir paprastai turi partnerį, kuriam dalija geras kortas. Jie protingi, tai atliekama mikliais rankų judesiais lyg fokusininkų, ir tai labai sunku pastebėti, nebent turi tokią akį kaip Braisas ar aš. Mechanikai turi vieną partnerį, kuris pralaimi šiek tiek pinigų, kad pridengtų kitą, laimintį daug daugiau, o po to, suklastoję žaidimus, jie pasidalija pelną pusiau, kad padengtų tai, ką prarado kiti partneriai. Tai buvo ilga versija pasakymo, kad šie du vaikinai, po velnių, mane apvaginėja. Prastas jų ėjimas. Nusijuokiau ir negalėjau susilaikyti. Andželas vis dar nesuprato, bet aš palikau jį stovėti ten ir, pasiėmęs stiklinę, priėjau arčiau stalo. Keli iš jų įsitempė, ir tai buvo suprantama – mano buvimas verčia daugelį nervintis. Nieko nesakiau, vietoj to atsukau nugarą žaidimui ir kalbėjausi su kuo kitu. Tačiau žinojau, kad Braisas stebės. – Tu esi Kostelo sūnėnas, tiesa? – paklausiau vieno iš jaunų vaikinų. – Taip, sere. – Jis buvo toks pagarbus, koks ir turėtų būti. Tai, kad jis yra nusikalstamos šeimos dalis, nereiškia, kad turi svorio būti mažiau nei pagarbus man ir mano įstaigai. Tokia turi būti Gambinų mafija. Rodai pagarbą – gauni pagarbą. Vėl prisijungiau prie Braiso ir Andželo; pastarasis norėjo cigaretės, tad pasakiau jam, kad eitų parūkyti. Aš kažko laukiau, ir kai žaidimas baigėsi bei buvo atlikti išmokėjimai, keli vyrai atsistojo ketindami palikti stalą. Jie baigė žaisti ir ruošėsi užleisti vietą kitiems, bet aš pakėliau ranką. – Likite vietose, – pareikalavau. Keli kūnai sustingo, o kiti vis dar buvo susitelkę į kortas ir nelabai domėjosi kuo kitu. Priėjau prie dviejų mechanikų ir ištraukiau laimėjimą iš pirmojo vyro, dalintojo, rankų. – Hmmm, ne tavo laiminga naktis, – pasakiau jam. Jis šyptelėjo ir gūžtelėjo pečiais. – Kartais pasitaiko, – sumurmėjo jis, ir aš nusijuokiau. – Pasitaiko, – sumurmėjau ir tėškiau pinigus priešais antrąjį vyrą. – Tau buvo gera naktis, kodėl nepasilikus dar vienam žaidimui? – įtikinėjau jį. Na, nepavadinčiau to įtikinėjimu, nes mano veidas buvo mirtinai rimtas ir akmeninis. – Bandau savo sėkmę, sere. Kol kas pasitraukiu. – Jis vis dar išliko mandagus. Pasilaižiau lūpas ir linktelėjau, tada čiupau jį už pakaušio ir tėškiau jo veidą į stalą. Keli žmonės atšoko atgal, ir visų akys nukrypo į mus. Patalpoje stojo tyla, išskyrus vyro, kurio veidą ką tik sutraiškiau, dejonę, o Braisas priėjo prie mūsų. – Sere, mes nenorime jokių problemų. – Dalintojas iškėlė rankas pasiduodamas. – Ne? Tai kodėl, po velnių, bandote mane apvogti? – paklausiau, ir visų akys išsiplėtė. Niekas nepastebėjo nieko keisto, tad visi buvo labai neužtikrinti dėl to, kas netrukus įvyks. 7 skyrius: Parduotuvės vadybininkas 7 skyrius: Parduotuvės vadovė Kalanas – Apvogti? – mechanikas apsimetė kvaileliu. Braisas čiupo vaikiną ir nustūmė jį atgal į kėdę. – Kol dar nenužudėme jūsų už sukčiavimą mūsų įstaigoje, noriu, kad parodytumėte man, kaip tai padarėte, – pasakiau, ir jo akys dar labiau išsiplėtė; jis pakartotinai papurtė galvą, mikčiodamas. – Aš nežinau, apie ką jūs kalbate? – Patraukiau aukštyn jo bičiulį, kuriam iš nosies ir burnos bėgo kraujas, ir pasodinau priešais jį; visas kambarys sustingo stebėdamas. – Ar nori būti sukčius ir melagis prieš man tave nušaunant? Turėk bent kiek garbės, – pasišaipiau be šypsenos. Vaikinas, kuriam bėgo kraujas, bandė nusivalyti veidą. Braisas trenkė rankomis į stalą, priversdamas jį laikyti jas ten, kol Andželas suskaičiavo jo laimėjimą ir įsidėjo į kišenę. – Kiek kartų judu čia buvote? Kiek pinigų esate mums skolingi už praėjusius žaidimus? – paklausiau ir nesulaukiau jokio atsakymo. – Kas už jus laidavo? – Apsidairiau aplinkui, ir, žinoma, Kostelo sūnėnas nuleido galvą ir pakėlė ranką. – Aš nežinojau, kad jie sukčiai, – sumurmėjo jis. – Ar kas nors žinojo? Sakykite dabar, nes jums nepatiks mano reakcija, jei sužinosiu vėliau, – kreipiausi į minią. Visų akys buvo nuleistos, galvos purtėsi – ne. Suaugę vyrai, ir nė vienas iš jų negalėjo pažiūrėti man į akis, kai ore tvyrojo žmogžudystės nuojauta. – Braisai, išvesk šiuodu iš čia pasikalbėti, – pasakiau jam. Vaikinai bandė greitai atsistoti tikėdamiesi pabėgti, bet viskas, ką jie padarė, tai atsimušė į mano apsauginius. Du didžiuliai mėsos gabalai – štai kas jie tokie; jiedu buvo sučiupti ir išvesti į atskirą, privatesnį kambarį. Apsidairiau minioje ir pristūmiau nuverstą kėdę į jai skirtą vietą. – Tęskite, džentelmenai. – Mostelėjau visiems atsipalaiduoti ir grįžti prie to, ką darė. Žinojau, kad tie vyrai nėra problemiški žmonės, pakankamai protingi, kad manęs nebandytų. Kai nuėjome į rūsį, pamačiau tuos du mechanikus, arba profesionalius kortų apgavikus; jie muistėsi ir nervinosi. Vienas kraujavo visur, kur tik įmanoma, o kitas buvo beveik pasiruošęs pravirkti. Numečiau kortų kaladę jam po kojomis ir liepiau pakelti. Buvome tuščiame kambaryje, kuriame nebuvo nieko, tik stalas ir kelios sudedamosios kėdės. Vieta, kurioje kai kurie mano kariai laukdavo siuntų; šiuo metu naudojau ją tardymui. Kai vaikinas pakėlė kortas, uždaviau jam tą patį klausimą. – Parodyk man, kaip tai padarei. Manau, jis pagaliau suvokė viso to rimtumą, todėl pakluso ir be kvailų paistalų atsakė. Savo mažaisiais pirštais jis galėjo judėti taip greitai, kad vargu ar spėtum užfiksuoti bent vieną judesį. Akies mirksnis, ir pagalvotum, kad išsikraustei iš proto; jis tikriausiai buvo vienas geriausių, kokius esu matęs dalijant nuo kaladės apačios.
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I've been a legal drug dealer for nearly a decade, yet nobody believes me when I tell them these things. When I say "legal drug dealer," I mean I've been in the health and wellness industry for almost 10 years, watching people spend thousands of dollars on temporary relief instead of addressing what's actually happening in their bodies. And the truth is, most people over 40 are walking around with a lymphatic system so clogged and stagnant that it is slowly destroying their quality of life. And it's not your fault. By age 40, your lymphatic system's natural drainage capacity slows down by nearly 50%. So cellular waste, excess fluid, and metabolic debris start accumulating in your tissues. They can't drain out naturally, can't move properly, and just slowly build up day after day. So what do you do? If your legs feel heavy and swollen, you wear compression stockings. Your joints are stiff and painful, you take ibuprofen. If you're constantly bloated, you cut out foods. You can't sleep through the night, you take melatonin. You feel drained with no energy, you drink more coffee. Your inflammation won't go away, you use pain relief creams. Your digestion feels off, you try probiotics. But here's what nobody tells you... Most people are trying 5, 6, even 10 different remedies every week, spending $300+ per month, and still dealing with achy legs, puffy ankles, constant fatigue, disrupted sleep, and feeling like their body is breaking down. Why? Because they're treating individual symptoms instead of clearing the lymphatic congestion that's been accumulating in their body from years of sedentary lifestyle, compromised circulation, and stagnant lymphatic flow that weighs you down from the inside out. I've seen this pattern with thousands of patients over the years. They come to me with medicine cabinets full of pain creams and heating pads, frustrated they're still trapped in the same cycle of pain, swelling, and exhaustion day after day. And when I tell them there's one simple 30-minute trick that can reverse it by activating lymphatic drainage and reactivating their body's natural waste removal systems, they look at me like I'm crazy. But three weeks later, they always come back in tears thanking me because they feel like a new person. Their legs feel lighter, their swelling and inflammation have disappeared, their joint stiffness is gone, their energy is back throughout the entire day, their bloating has vanished, they're sleeping more deeply, and they feel years younger without that constant heavy, dragging feeling. So that 30 minute trick is a simple at-home lymphatic activation session using an ionic foot soak. And every time I mention it, I get the look. Wide eyes. Raised eyebrows. That "You mean that water color change scam thing?" face. And honestly? I get it. It sounds like a scam and super weird. But when you choose an ionic foot soak with the right technology to stimulate circulation and activate lymphatic drainage through your feet, something remarkable happens. Your lymphatic system activates and starts flushing out the accumulated waste. Your circulation improves as the ionic field stimulates blood flow throughout your legs and feet. And as the stagnant fluid leaves your body, your legs begin to feel noticeably lighter. Here's why other foot soaks and remedies haven't worked for you. Regular Epsom salt baths only provide temporary surface-level relief without moving lymphatic fluid from your body, so you're basically just making your feet smell nice while the congestion stays trapped inside. Lymphatic drainage massage promises to move fluid manually overnight, but they have zero sustainability and do absolutely nothing long-term. You wake up with temporary relief that costs hundreds of dollars per session, and zero actual change in how you feel longterm. So, without an active mechanism to stimulate and move the lymphatic fluid, you're just treating symptoms instead of eliminating the cause. What you need is negatively charged ions that activate sluggish lymphatic vessels in your body, mobilizing cellular waste, metabolic byproducts, excess fluid, and other stagnant materials, and moving them through the thousands of drainage pathways in your feet, like opening a drain valve for your entire system. And when you add the warm water and salt, it amplifies the lymphatic stimulation even more, making it more powerful while simultaneously relaxing your muscles and improving circulation. That's why this works when nothing else has, you're addressing the root cause, not just masking the symptoms. I've used it myself, every evening for the past 3 years. And I recommend it to nearly every patient I see who's dealing with heavy legs, swelling, inflammation, joint stiffness, bloating, poor sleep, constant fatigue, and digestive issues. Why? Because it's the daily lymphatic activation trick that moves the stagnant congestion accumulating in your tissues, activates your body's natural drainage systems, and gives relief from all the swelling, inflammation, joint stiffness, bloating, poor sleep, and exhaustion that's been dragging you down day after day. It helps replace multiple expensive treatments and remedies by giving your body the one fundamental lymphatic drainage method that powers mobility, energy, and restful sleep. Just 30 minutes a day with this ionic foot spa every evening could help you: 👣 Replace 5-10 different pain relief products with one powerful lymphatic ritual 👣 Wake up with legs that feel light and energized all day 👣 Stop feeling that dragging heaviness and build lasting mobility 👣 See your swelling disappear within the first week 👣 Watch stagnant fluid leave your body through visible circulation improvement 👣 Feel your joints move without stiffness or pain 👣 Experience deep, restful sleep you haven't had in years 👣 Save hundreds of dollars every month on ineffective treatments It's safe. It's powerful. And when done right, it works. No prescriptions. No subscriptions. No gimmicks. Just real support for your complete lymphatic drainage. But before you go buy any ionic foot spa, there's one thing you need to know. Most ionic foot spas? Not helpful. Too weak. Too low-quality. Most are made with inferior single arrays that corrode within 10-15 uses, releasing rust and metal particles into your water instead of activating lymphatic flow in your body. The ionic field strength is so weak that even after 30 minutes, you'll see minimal circulation change, which is your first sign that nothing is actually being activated. I tried dozens. And I saw my patients wasting money on brands that didn't deliver. After all that testing, I've identified exactly what separates a professional-grade lymphatic activation system from a cheap imitation. So, to make sure you're getting a pure ionic foot spa that actually helps your body move stagnant fluid and restore energy, you need a dual stainless steel array that won't degrade, clinically-verified ionic field strength, and independent third-party lab testing to confirm both safety and effectiveness. The only brand I know that meets that standard is a trusted company called Healifeco. Sadly, other brands claim to sell quality ionic foot spas, but use cheap materials and weak ionic output just to increase profits. Healifeco's Ionic Foot Spa contains: 👣 Professional-grade dual stainless steel array for maximum lymphatic activation 👣 Made in the USA with rigorous quality standards 👣 3rd party tested for safety and ionic output strength 👣 No fillers, no cheap components - just powerful lymphatic drainage technology your body needs to move congestion, reduce swelling, and restore lightness naturally 👣 Simple 30-minute sessions that visibly show what's moving through your body I use it every evening. And now... so do my patients. It's become a daily ritual. Basin. Water. Relief. Repeat. If you read the thousands of reviews, you'll see why everyone dealing with constant swelling, inflammation, stiffness, bloating, poor sleep, and exhaustion buys only from this brand. This simple device changed their health, and it could change yours, too. 90-day money-back guarantee, because I'm confident it will work for you like it has for thousands of my patients. Most people buy it at regular price, but right now they're doing a special promotion where you can save significantly for a limited time. The only problem is that they're a small company and they're getting popular, so they can't keep up with the demand. So I want to apologize because if you click the link below, you might see that they're sold out. My patients have waited for weeks before they found them back in stock, but I suggest you click the button so you can see for yourself if they have anything left. So if you want a natural way to activate lymphatic drainage, restore energy, remove swelling, bloating, inflammation, and heaviness, I'd run and grab some before they're gone again.
🔥Pajutau prie manųjų prispaustas lūpas ir sudejavau, jos bučiavo mane taip aistringai, o jo rankos traukė mane prie savęs. Jis ėmė plėšti nuo manęs drabužius; atmerkusi akis pamačiau virš manęs pasilenkusį Kalaną, jo lūpos spaudėsi prie manųjų. Jo lūpos leidosi žemyn, lėtai bučiuodamos mano kaklą, ir aš atlošiau galvą, suteikdama jam daugiau erdvės. Jis nuslydo bučiniais per mano raktikaulį link krūtų, švelniai imdamas mano spenelius į burną, o mano dejonės darėsi vis garsesnės. Jis kando mano spenelį, tempdamas jį, o aš stūmiau krūtis link jo burnos, maldaudama žįsti dar stipriau. Jausmas buvo toks neįtikėtinas, galėčiau likti čia su juo amžinai, leisti jam mane gundyti. Jo rankos lėtai ėmė maukti mano kelnaites žemyn, o manosios atseginėjo jo marškinius; nutraukusi juos, spoksojau į jo tobulą presą, padengtą nuostabiomis tatuiruotėmis. Noras apžioti jo spenelius buvo toks stiprus, aš norėjau jo, norėjau ragauti jo kūną. Gulint čia nuogiems ir susipynusiems, kiekvienas mano kūno centimetras jo geidė. Jo lūpos ėmė bučiuoti mano bambą, lėtai leisdamosi gaktikaulio link, o mano nugara išsilenkė, spausdamasi prie jo burnos. Jo liežuvis nuslydo iki mano putytės ir tuomet atakavo klitorį; aš sudejavau, kai jo liežuvis suko ratus ir erzino mane vis greičiau bei stipriau. Mano rankos įsikibo į jo plaukus, spausdamos jį žemyn ir bandydamos priversti skverbtis giliau. Jo liežuvis ėmė judėti greičiau, jis įstūmė du pirštus į mano angą ir pradėjo jais lėtai judėti. Jis žindo mano klitorį ir dulkino mane pirštais, ir aš galėjau jausti, kaip orgazmas užvaldo mano kūną. Jo pirštai pagreitino tempą, vis greičiau smigdami į mane ir išlysdami, kol jo liežuvis darbavosi su klitoriu. Suklykiau atsidūrusi ant kulminacijos ribos, atlošdama galvą; pats intensyviausias orgazmas pervėrė mano kūną, o mano ranka laikė jo galvą prispaustą, kol jis toliau mane tenkino. Staiga tolumoje ėmiau girdėti savo žadintuvo garsą. Bet man nerūpėjo, aš nenorėjau, kad jis sustotų. Garsas stiprėjo, aš pašokau ir mano akys atsimerkė. Apsidairiusi supratau esanti savo kambaryje, visiškai viena, o kai nuleidau ranką prie savo putytės, pajutau, kad esu kiaurai permirkusi. „Šūdas,“ nusikeikiau, tai bent sapnelis. Tai negali vykti, aš negaliu sapnuoti tokių sapnų apie geriausią savo brolio draugą. Jis man yra uždraustas vaisius ir tarp mūsų niekada nieko panašaus nebus. O gal bus? Dabar aš apsistosiu su juo, o mano brolis ir Kalanas gyvena kartu. Tai bus tikrai įdomu. ***** Keturis savo gyvenimo metus praleidau baigdama mados mokyklą, ir persikraustymas pas brolį į Port Harkortą atrodė kaip didžiulis žingsnis – ypač būnant ką tik studijas baigusia absolvente be jokio aiškaus tolesnio plano. Per tuos metus sukaupiau daugiau drabužių, nei galėjau suskaičiuoti, ir ištisą kalną batų. Dizainas buvo mano aistra, ir jos vaikymasis man brangiai kainavo, bet davė dar daugiau. Mano vyresnysis brolis Braisas maloniai apmokėjo perkraustymo įmonės paslaugas, kad ši pervežtų mano daiktus per visą miestą. Ridenėdama savo lagaminą iš atsiėmimo punkto, tikėjausi išvysti jį belaukiantį. Vietoj to ten stovėjo niekada nematytas vyras, laikantis lentelę su ryškiai užrašytu Brianos Flečer vardu. Kai priėjau prie jo, iškart galėjau atpažinti, kad jis – Ogumės vyras, kaip ir mano šeima. Jis atrodė kaip žmogus, mėgstantis makaronus, o jo tvirta, buldogiška stovėsena darė jį lengvai pastebimą. „Umm... sveiki?“ pasisveikinau, nežinodama, kaip kreiptis į šį nepažįstamąjį. Jo akys smigo į mane, ir jis trumpai linktelėjo. „Panelė Flečer?“ paklausė jis. Aš linktelėjau. „Mano vardas Deividas. Jūsų brolis šiandien užimtas, todėl atsiuntė mane jūsų paimti,“ paaiškino jis. „Kaip miela. Ar jis minėjo, kur mane vežate? Kiek girdėjau, į jo naująjį butą negalėsime įsikelti dar visą mėnesį,“ pasakiau, lūkesčio kupinu žvilgsniu stebėdama jį. Deividas, vilkintis pilną kostiumą, pasikišo lentelę po pažaščia, pačiupo mano lagaminą ir patraukė link elegantiško automobilio. Mes su Braisu visada buvome artimi, bet gyvenimas mus išskyrė ne vieneriems metams. Kilome iš probleminės šeimos – narciziško, smurtaujančio tėvo ir silpnos, nuolankios motinos, kuri visada jį iškeldavo aukščiau už mus. Braisas to negalėjo pakęsti. Būdamas dvidešimties, vos baigęs vidurinę, jis užsirašė į kariuomenę. Man tuomet buvo vienuolika, ir po to sekę metai buvo grynas pragaras. Jis trejus metus praleido mokymuose ir dar šešerius – specialiosiose pajėgose. Aštuonerius ilgus metus brolį matydavau vos retkarčiais. Aš išėjau iš namų būdama septyniolikos – tai buvo desperatiškas pabėgimas, palikęs randų. Dirbau pas siuvėją, kuri mane išmokė visko apie siuvimą ir drabužių dizainą. Augant mano tėvas reikalavo tobulos išvaizdos, kad išlaikytų savo viešąjį įvaizdį, o aš atradau laisvę madoje. Mano tėvai atsisakė palaikyti mano svajonę – tėvas norėjo teisininkės, kuria galėtų girtis, – tad aš kovojau dėl stipendijos ir, deivės malone, laimėjau ją studijoms Asaboje trejiems metams. Mados mokykla tapo mano pabėgimu tiek nuo tėvų, tiek nuo vyro, su kuriuo kažkada gyvenau tomis desperatiškomis ankstyvosiomis dienomis. Laisvė nebuvo lengva. Kovojau su pinigų stygiumi ir viskuo kitu. Dabar, būdama dvidešimt aštuonerių, vis dar jaučiuosi taip, lyg beveik nepažinočiau Braiso. Jis nebėra tas problematiškas paauglys, palikęs namus; jis – patyręs kariuomenės veteranas ir sėkmingas verslininkas, iš dalies dėka savo geriausio draugo Kalano Haroldo – vyro, kuris persekioja mano sapnus visokiausiomis uždraustomis fantazijomis. Su Kalanu susipažinau prieš daugelį metų, kai jis ir Braisas tik prisijungė prie kariuomenės. Jis kilęs iš galingos šeimos, ir tai matyti. Nemačiau jo jau metus, bet jis kasnakt aplanko mano sapnus. Tuomet jis buvo pats karščiausias vyras, kokį tik buvau regėjusi, – tad kas ten žino, kaip jis atrodo dabar. Realiame gyvenime jis beveik kaip vaiduoklis: jokių socialinių tinklų, jokio viešo pėdsako. Braisas jų irgi neturi. Galbūt jie abu mano, kad tai vaikiška. „Taip, panele Flečer. Man buvo nurodyta kol kas nuvežti jus į pono Haroldo namus,“ pasakė Deividas, grąžindamas mane į realybę. Ką? Į Kalano namus? O ne. Tai nieko gero. „Ir kur tiksliai tai yra?“ paklausiau įsitaisydama ant galinės prabangaus automobilio sėdynės. „Rumuolos vila, rytinėje Port Harkorto pusėje,“ atsakė jis. Mums artėjant, miesto panorama darėsi vis ryškesnė, atverdama įspūdingą, drąsiais kampais iškirstą šviesą atspindinčio mėlyno stiklo bokštą. Kiekvienas naujas pastatas, kurį pravažiavome, buvo dar labiau gniaužiantis kvapą nei ankstesnis. „Šioje pusėje jie turi prabangių parduotuvių, meno galerijų ir nuostabių parkų,“ tarp kitko pridūrė Deividas. „Ar ponas Haroldas gyvena viename iš šių dangoraižių?“ pasilenkiau į priekį tarp priekinių sėdynių, rodydama į žėrinčią miesto panoramą. Jis kilstelėjo trumpą pirštą vieno išsiskiriančio pastato link. „Ten Rumuolos vila. Įspūdinga, ar ne?“ Forma buvo siurreali – stiklinio fasado sienos kilo iš stačiakampio pagrindo, grakščiai linkdamos tol, kol pastatas tapo panašus į keturlapį dobilą. Atrodė, lyg jis pervertų pačius debesis. „Kokiam verslui jis vadovauja?“ paklausiau, bandydama išgauti detalių apie amžinai paslaptingą Kalaną Haroldą. Deivido tamsios akys žybtelėjo galinio vaizdo veidrodėlyje, o po to grįžo į kelią. „Jam priklauso daug skirtingų verslų,“ miglotai atsakė jis, prieš pakeisdamas temą. „Šiame pastate yra penkiasdešimt penkių pėdų ilgio baseinas, be juokų. Skaičiau apie tai žurnale.“ „Ar jūs esate pono Haroldo vairuotojas?“ pabandžiau dar kartą. „Aš greičiau asmeninis padėjėjas,“ pasakė jis gūžtelėdamas pečiais. „O kaip mano brolis?“ neatlyžau. „Aš dirbu ir jam,“ paprastai atsakė jis. Prie šviesoforo Deividas iš pultelio ištraukė brošiūrą ir padavė ją man atgal. „Štai, žvilgtelėkite.“ Kadangi įstrigome spūstyje, peržvelgiau ją. Pirmoji ryški antraštė skelbė: „Penthauzas danguje“. Straipsnyje Vilos prabanga buvo aprašoma svaiginančiomis detalėmis. „Skamba kaip labai daug visko,“ išsiblaškiusi sumurmėjau. „Pamatysite, kad ponas Haroldas yra... labai daug visko,“ mįslingai ištarė Deividas. Nespėjus man paklausti, ką jis turėjo omenyje, jis parodė į privatų įvažiavimą, skirtą tik penthauzo gyventojams. Garažas atrodė įprastai – kol nepastebėjau jame stovinčių automobilių. Egzotiški, tviskantys, neįmanomai brangūs. Man atvipo žandikaulis. Ką tik praleidau trejus metus dalindamasi ankštu kambariu su netvarkingais nepažįstamaisiais, o dabar žengiau į visai kitą visatą. Užvaldyta emocijų, pajutau, kaip vėl atsėlina pažįstamas nepilnavertiškumo jausmas. Per daug savo gyvenimo metų praleidau jausdamasi menka. 2 skyrius: Saugus ir patikimas 2 skyrius: Saugu ir patikima Briana Mano tėvas dievino mane psichologiškai terorizuoti, ir jo mėgstamiausias užsiėmimas buvo aiškinti, kad man reikia būti gražesnei, geriau rengtis ir naudoti makiažą. Jis taip dažnai vadino mane prastesne, kad galėjai pamanyti, jog tai mano antrasis vardas. Kai šiomis dienomis žmonės sako, kad esu labai graži, nuo šio komplimento susigūžiu, nes ta maža mergaitė mano viduje kužda, kad jie meluoja. Gyvenimas skurde nuo pat vidurinės mokyklos baigimo atrodė kaip man skirta bausmė. Šūdinas gyvenimas šūdinai mergaitei, ypač po to, kai palikau tėvus ir nutraukiau su jais ryšius. Mano tėvas visada jautėsi lyg dievas, ir sunkiomis naktimis galėdavau prisiekti, kad būtent jis visa tai užsuko, net ir nebebūdamas mano gyvenime. Visuomet jaučiau, lyg jo rankos būtų apsivijusios mano kaklą kaip pavadėlis, ir kuo labiau muisčiausi ar bandžiau pabėgti, tuo labiau dūsau. Esu beveik tikra, kad jei tėvas mane surastų, sumuštų iki mirties už tai, kad išėjau iš namų. Žinau, kad jis bandė manęs ieškoti, nors brolio išsižadėjo jau seniai. Jis sakė: Braisas yra vyras, ir jis turėtų gyventi savo gyvenimą, bet manė, kad aš priklausau jam, lygiai taip pat, kaip jam priklausė mano motina. Mano motina yra stulbinamo grožio ir visiška kvailutė. Ji apsėsta jo, o jis apsėstas savęs. Jei mano tėvas pamatytų šį pastatą šiame rajone ir penthauzą, kuriame ruošiausi apsigyventi, jį ištiktų priepuolis. Jis visada buvo pavydus ir tiesiog pamišęs. Jis nori būti turtingas ir svarbus, bet toks nėra. Jis dirba sėkmingoje investicijų kompanijoje, bet nėra generalinis direktorius ar kas nors panašaus. Tai vidurinės grandies pozicija, ir jis visada apsupdavo save įspūdingais žmonėmis, kad kiti tiesiog manytų, jog jis yra svarbus, ir priskirtų mus aukštesniajai viduriniajai klasei. Nors realybėje mes tokie nebuvome. Nameluosiu sakydama, kad trijų metų atotrūkis tarp Port Harkorto ir Ogumės manęs negąsdino. Man pavyko pabėgti nuo tėvo, nes buvau tiesioginėje to žodžio prasmėje kitoje šalies pusėje. Nors Braisas jau ne vienerius metus gyvena Port Harkorte ir negirdėjo nė žodžio iš mano tėvų, todėl manau, kad tai prabilo mano pačios paranoja. Ėmiausi kraštutinių priemonių, kad atsikirčiau nuo tų žmonių, man teko užblokuoti pusę savo šeimos, kuri pranešdavo tėvui apie dalykus, matytus socialiniuose tinkluose. Viskas nustatyta kaip privatu. Man teko nutraukti ryšius su geriausia drauge Ogumėje, nes jos ir mano tėvai taip pat buvo geriausi draugai, ir jos tėvas spaudė ją pasakoti manajam dalykus apie mane. Nesu lengvai pasiekiamas žmogus, turiu naują telefono numerį ir niekur nenurodytą adresą. Turiu savo mokslo įrašus, bet yra daugybė mados dizaino mokyklų, kad jie net nežinotų, kurioje aš apskritai galėčiau būti. Be to, aš nesu nepilnametė, o koledžas mano tėvams jokios informacijos vis tiek nesuteiktų. Turėjau galybę svajonių ir norų tapti sėkminga dizainere, bet tas tylus balselis mano galvoje sako, kad nesu pakankamai gera. Tačiau dar vienas įkyrus balsas kužda, kad jei būsiu pakankamai gera, mano vardas taps viešas, o šeima vėl turės prieigą prie manęs. Port Harkortas yra mados centras, bet ar būsiu pakankamai drąsi? Anksčiau turėjau Braisą, savo vyresnįjį brolį, kaip savo gynėją. Būdama vienuolikos, turėjau išmokti pati save ginti. Nuo ko man dabar reikia apsaugos, mąsčiau, ir kas toliau? Kalano penthauzas buvo nepriekaištingas, pirmajame aukšte buvo svetainė su dvidešimties pėdų aukščio lubomis ir miesto panoramos vaizdu pro langus. Ten buvo juodo skalūno dujinis židinys, suteikęs erdvei savotiško vyriškumo, ir erdvi atskira virtuvė bei valgomasis. Antrajame aukšte, pasirodo, yra medijų kambarys su baru. Pagrindinis miegamasis su dvigubu vonios kambariu, persirengimo erdve ir papildomais kambariais, turinčiais atskiras vonias. Nespėjau jo deramai apžiūrėti, nes Deividas buvo labai nervingas ir be paliovos kalbėjo. „Ponas Haroldas yra priekabus žmogus, jam nepatiktų, jei apžiūrinėtumėte ar liestumėte jo daiktus,“ sumurmėjo jis, ir atrodė, lyg šis Deividas tą dieną būtų buvęs mano auklė. Vienintelė vieta, kurią man iš esmės leido liesti, buvo svetainės sofa, ant kurios mudu skubiai atsisėdome ir kelias valandas žiūrėjome mados pasirodymus. „Tai tam, kad pajusčiau Port Harkorto nuotaiką,“ pasakiau jam. Anksčiau dievinau Veeky James ir madą, kuria ji garsėjo. Norėjau jos gyvenimo, nors jis ir ne visada buvo prabangus. Būdama vaikas ir atsidūrusi tokioje situacijoje, jaučiausi taip, lyg būčiau sutverta dalyvauti tame šou. Tai buvo eskapizmas, bet dabar aš esu čia, gyvensiu Port Harkorte, tai nebuvo tai, ko tikėjausi. „Koks tavo mėgstamiausias personažas?“ paklausiau jo, sėdinčio visiškai kitame labai ilgos sofos gale. „Margaretė,“ nedvejodamas atsakė jis. „Kodėl? Nes ji priklausoma nuo sekso?“ paklausiau, ir jis paraudo, tai mane prajuokino. „Ji tiesiog valinga ir pasitikinti savimi,“ atsakė jis. Pasitikinti savimi? Man tai svetima. „Ar ir tu toks? Pasitikintis savimi?“ pasiteiravau. „Aš geras savo darbe, bet esu linkęs į nervingumą,“ jis mostelėjo ranka. Išgirdę lifto skambutį, abu atsisukome į fojė, į kurią jis atsivėrė. Išlipo mano brolis, kurio nemačiau tiek daug metų. Jis atrodė brandesnis, be abejonės, išvaizdus vyras. Mokykloje merginos ėjo dėl jo iš proto, visos mano draugės buvo jį įsimylėjusios, ir aš to nekentėjau. Mūsų plaukų spalva buvo vienoda – kaštoninė, o akys – vandenyno mėlynumo. Jo akys buvo gilios, o tai suteikė veidui vyriškesnių bruožų nei mano smulkiam veideliui. Jis taip pat turėjo kelias tatuiruotes ir pasitikėjimo savimi kupiną laikyseną, kurios neturėjo prieš visus tuos metus, dar iki kariuomenės. Jis nebuvo kostiumų mėgėjas, bet štai jis išlipo iš lifto vilkėdamas vieną labiausiai gniaužiančių kvapą kostiumų, kokius tik esu mačiusi. Pašokau ant kojų dar nespėjusi to suvokti ir puoliau link jo. Jis buvo daug aukštesnis už mane, bet aš vis tiek apvijau rankas aplink jo tvirtą liemenį. „Labas, aš taip tavęs pasiilgau,“ išpyškinau, jo rankos apglėbė mane ir jis lengvai paglostė man nugarą. „Sveika, mažėle.“ Jis pavartojo vaikystės pravardę. Esu smulki mergina, ir jis visada vadino mane mažėle. Jis atitraukė mane per ištiestos rankos atstumą, kad apžiūrėtų. „Šūdas, tu sensti,“ jis papurtė galvą, matydamas mano subrendusią išvaizdą. Aš prunkštelėjau ir pavadinau jį taip pat senu. Jis nusivedė mane atgal į svetainę ir pasakė Deividui, kad šis gali eiti. Jis kalbėjo kaip bosas, ir man tai atrodė labai keista. „Tai mes čia gyvensime mėnesį, ar tiesiog norėjai, kad būčiau čia, kol susirasiu darbą?“ pakreipiau galvą į jį. Jei Kalanas Haroldas toks priekabus, kaip sakė Deividas, abejoju, ar jis nori mūsų čia kaip kambariokų mėnesiui. „Ne, tai saugus ir patikimas pastatas. Norėčiau, kad liktum čia,“ atsakė jis. „Saugus?“ paklausiau, ir jis akimirką tylėjo. „Taip, Port Harkortas yra didelis miestas, ir jaunoms merginoms čia nesaugu.“ Aš pavarčiau akis. „Asaboje aš gyvenu visiškai viena, Braisai. Nepradėk su manim elgtis kaip su maža mergaite vien todėl, kad įstrigai laike, kai man buvo vienuolika,“ papurčiau jam galvą. Tai buvo laikas, kai jis manimi rūpinosi, ir dažnai atrodė, lyg su manimi būtų įstrigęs tame laiko rėme. Jam nepatiko ši tema, tad jis ją pakeitė. Susikišęs rankas į kišenes, jis užtikrintai atsistojo ir pažvelgė į mane iš viršaus. „Kur tavo krepšiai? Nunešime juos į tavo kambary.“ Apsidairiau ir tada susiraukiau, kai jis pamatė mano lagaminą kreivais ratukais už sofos, virtuvės pusėje. „Kur visi mano daiktai iš perkraustymo sunkvežimio?“ Apsidairiau taip, lyg staiga būčiau pamačiusi savo daiktus. „Nesiruošiau užgriozdinti Kalano namų, viskuo pasirūpinau. Po kelių savaičių turėsime savo erdvę.“ Jis mostelėjo norėdamas paimti mano krepšį, bet jo nerideno, tiesiog pakėlė ir patraukė link elegantiškų „kabančių“ laiptų, o aš nusekiau iš paskos. „Žinai, aš tikrai vertinu, kad išsikraustei iš savo senosios vietos,“ pasakiau jam iš užnugario. Jis vos žvilgtelėjo į mane per petį, pasiekęs antrojo aukšto aikštelę. Medijų kambarys buvo tarsi už laiptų aikštelės, o tada koridorius atvedė mus prie kelių durų. Esančios pačiame gale, pasirodo, buvo Kalano, o mane atvedė prie pirmųjų durų kairėje. Kai durys atsidarė, iškart negalėjau visko pamatyti, nes jo didelis kūnas užstojo vaizdą. „Viskas gerai, aš išaugau tą vietą ir nebenorėjau, kad daugiau gyventum viena. Tavo vieta čia.“ Jis nustebino mane savo žodžiais, ir tai sušildė mano širdį. Kai jis numetė krepšį, vogčiomis pažvelgė į mane, bet aš apsimečiau nepastebėjusi tylios įtampos, kuri plykstelėjo jam užsiminus apie tai, kad paliko mane vieną. Jis vis dar nešiojasi kaltę dėl to, kad pabėgo nuo mūsų tėvų – kad pasirinko laisvę ir paliko mane kęsti tą griuvėsių pragarą. Po to, kai jis išėjo, man viskas tik pablogėjo, bet niekada jo nekaltinau. Kariuomenė suteikė jam naują gyvenimą, privertė greitai suaugti. Mes abu suaugome, bet skirtinguose pasauliuose ir priešinguose karuose. Dabar, pirmą kartą per aštuonerius metus, mes ruošiamės gyventi po vienu stogu – ir aš jau jaučiu, kaip praeitis artinasi, pasiruošusi sprogti į dabartį. 3 skyrius: Jūs negalite mums dirbti 3 skyrius: Tu negali dirbti mums Briana „Na štai,“ pasakė Braisas, modamas į kambarį. „Jis gražus ir prabangus, ar mūsų vieta bus panaši į šią? Kaip tu gali tai sau leisti?“ privalėjau paklausti. Kambarys buvo dekoruotas švelniais aukso atspalviais bei atitinkamu apšvietimu, su didžiausia lova, kokią tik buvau mačiusi. „Ne toks prašmatnus, bet jis bus šiame pastate,“ pasakė jis. „Pala, ką? Maniau, kad mes gyvensime...“ Nespėjau baigti, nes jis papurtė galvą. „Kalanas išsakė svarių argumentų, kad tai saugesnis rajonas, turintis aukštos klasės meno galerijų ir visų tų parduotuvių. Nematau priežasčių, kodėl tau čia nepatiktų.“ Jis prisimerkė žiūrėdamas į mane. Kalanas pasiūlė mums gyventi šiame pastate? Tai bent įdomybė. „Tad vėl klausiu, kaip tu gali tai sau leisti?“ sukryžiavau rankas. Abu buvome žengę vos kelis žingsnius į kambarį, bet aš atsisukau, kad gerai į jį įsižiūrėčiau. Jis vėl prisimerkęs pažiūrėjo į mane. „Dabar esu sėkmingas verslininkas, Briana, ir galiu mumis pasirūpinti,“ atsakė jis. „Koks tai verslas?“ neatlyžau. „„Harold Group of Company“ valdo daugybę verslų, ir Kalanas padeda savo šeimai vadovauti daugeliui jų, o aš dabar esu jo dešinioji ranka. Taigi, taip, galiu tai sau leisti,“ pasakė jis su savo garsiąja arogantiška gaidele. „Miglota,“ sumurmėjau, bet palikau tai ramybėje. Ieškosiu šio pavadinimo „Google“ iškart, kai tik jis išeis pro tas duris. „Gerai, turiu trumpam išeiti, bet grįšiu vakarienei, atsisėsime ir turėsime progą pasikalbėti, sutarta?“ Jis išsitraukė telefoną iš kišenės, kažką patikrino, o aš susiraukiau. „Kurią valandą tai bus? Jau dabar vėlyva popietė,“ pastebėjau. „Čia Port Harkortas, tad aštuntos valandos vakarienė čia nėra per vėlu,“ atkirto jis, apdovanodamas mane savo arogantiška šypsenėle ir atsisukdamas į duris. „A, tiesa,“ jis sustojo tarpduryje. „Neliesk Kalano daiktų, jis nemėgsta svetimų žmonių savo asmeninėje erdvėje. Jis daro mums didžiulę paslaugą, tad būk gera.“ Jis įspėjo mane – jis ir toliau elgsis su manimi kaip su vaiku, jaučiu tai jau dabar. Apsidairiau po šį švarų, gražų kambarį ir gūžtelėjusi pečiais drėbtelėjau ant lovos, išsitraukdama telefoną. Į paieškos sistemą įvedžiau „Harold Group of Company“ ir prunkštelėjau, išvydusi patį nekonkrečiausią atsakymą. Privatus kapitalas, nieko specifinio, bet kuo mažiau informacijos jie man davė, tuo labiau norėjau knistis giliau. Galiausiai nusiprausiau po dušu ir pasiruošiau aštuntos valandos vakarienei. Nebuvau tikra, ar eisime kur nors į miestą, bet labai abejojau, kad Braisas mėgsta gaminti. Bet kokia proga pasipuošti yra gera proga, tad apsirengiau gražiai, ir kai likus kelioms minutėms iki aštuonių išgirdau lifto skambutį, nupėdinau žemyn paklausti brolio, kur eisime valgyti. Sustingau laiptų apačioje suvokusi, kad tai ne mano brolis. Tai buvo stulbinamai išvaizdus Kalanas Haroldas. Mano širdis ėmė plakti greičiau vos jį išvydus, visi mano beprotiški sapnai dilgčiukais nubėgo stuburu. Deimanto formos veidas – jo žandikaulio raumenys buvo aštrūs ir išraiškingi, seksualios, miegamojo žvilgsnį menančios miško žalumo akys, kurias prisimenu iš savo sapnų. Ryškios rausvos lūpos ir vakarėja barzdelė, deranti prie jo blizgių juodų plaukų. Tatuiruotės ant hantelių, masyvus vyriškas žiedas ir gyslotos rankos. Jūs turbūt juokaujate? Sudėtas kaip pats suknistas velnias, šis vyras buvo sutvertas nuodėmei. Jis būtų tobulas seksualaus piktadario personažas bet kokiame filme. Jo šaknys pernelyg tamsios, kad jis būtų istorijos herojus, tai gali justi iš jo auros. Kostiumas išryškino jo tobulai nuaugusį kūną, o jis stovėjo plačiai atmetęs kojas, tarytum žinotų, kad nesvarbu, kur bebūtų, jo pasididžiavimas yra didžiausias visame kambaryje. Jis spinduliavo tokia aura, ir velnias, tai buvo seksualu. Jis stabtelėjo svetainėje prie laiptų, kuriais leidžiausi, ir dabar, toje pačioje plačioje stovėsenoje, susikišęs rankas į kišenes, atvirai nužiūrinėjo mane nuo galvos iki kojų. Mano skruostai šiek tiek kaito, o putytė tvinkčiojo nuo jo vaizdo ir to gilaus žvilgsnio. Jam trisdešimt dveji, ir jis – tikrų tikriausias vyras, kiekvienas jo centimetras rėkė apie alfa patiną. „Umm, labas,“ sukenčiau, jo kūnas nepajudėjo nė per plauką, tik akys, kurios grįžo prie mano veido, kai vėl prabilau. „Aš esu, Briana...“ nutylau, jausdamasi netikra be jokios svarios priežasties. Jo žvilgsnis baugino, ir visas mano kūnas į jį reagavo. „Aš žinau, kas tu esi,“ ištarė jis savo giliu, seksuoliu balsu. Žinoma, kad žino, jis mane sutiko prieš kelerius metus, kokia aš idiotė. Tiesiog buvau sustingusi ant apatinio laiptelio, nežinodama, kaip elgtis toliau. „A.. ačiū, kad leidai mums čia apsistoti,“ sumurmėjau. Žinau, kad skambėjau apgailėtinai, mane savotiškai apėmė panika, nes jis buvo karščiausias vyras, kokį kada nors buvau mačiusi. Viskas, ką jis darė – tai žiūrėjo į mane nepratardamas nė žodžio, ir mano kūnas į tai reagavo daugybe skirtingų būdų. Jis trumpai linktelėjo išgirdęs mano žodžius ir staiga atsuko man nugarą, patraukdamas link to, ką dabar atpažinau kaip jo barą. Jis išsitraukė prabangų butelį ir įsipylė gėrimo. Jis man nieko nepasiūlė ir nebekreipė į mane jokio dėmesio. Tikrai, ir viskas? Kalanas buvo toks bauginantis savo tyloje ir galingoje formoje, kad man teko suspausti šlaunis, jog išvengčiau savo pačios drėgmės pratekėjimo. Priėjau iki to, kad nebegalėjau ilgiau tverti, ir turėjau skuosti atgal į savo kambarį, kad pasislėpčiau ir nusiramintų seksualinė frustracija. Nulipau žemyn tik tada, kai išgirdau mane šaukiantį brolį; jis vilkėjo labiau atsipalaiduotą savo kostiumo versiją. „Mes neisime vakarieniauti į miestą?“ paklausiau, matydama, kaip dabar esu pasipuošusi. „Pamaniau, kad būtų ramiau pasikalbėti čia, šiame pastate mes turime vietinį šefą, ir aš užsakiau mums maisto,“ sumurmėjo jis, ir aš linktelėjau. Vis dar jaučiau Kalano žvilgsnį kažkur už brolio nugaros, bet atsisakiau į jį žiūrėti, likau susitelkusi į Braisą. „Ar tau tai nepatinka? Norėjai eiti į miestą?“ paklausė jis, palaikęs mano tylų elgesį pykčiu, bet aš nepykau. Mane tiesiog pribloškė jo geriausias draugas. „Ne, viskas gerai, mes turime daug apie ką pasikalbėti,“ sutikau, sekdama jį į valgomąjį, kur ant stalo jau buvo išdėlioti visi patiekalai. Pamačiau tris lėkščių komplektus, ir mano širdies ritmas padažnėjo. Jis valgys kartu su mumis? Nebuvo jokios staigmenos, kai jis atsisėdo stalo gale, o mes su Braisu įsitaisėme arčiau stalo vidurio, vienas priešais kitą. Dėl elegantiško nuleidžiamo šviestuvo kelias sekundes žiūrėjau aukštyn, kol suvokiau, kad brolis kažką pasakė. „Valgyk,“ sumurmėjo jis, jau bandydamas įdėti man maisto, kurio norėjo, kad paragaučiau. Kalanas išliko visiškai tylus, jis susikrovė savo kepsnį ir garnyrą, ir pjaustė mėsą lyg tai būtų sviestas, tuo pat metu akivaizdžiai ignoruodamas mūsų pokalbį, tarsi manęs čia nė nebūtų. „Mažėle, koks tavo planas? Ar ketini šiek tiek atsipūsti, ar toliau mokytis? Arba susirasti darbą, spręsti tau, aš galiu finansiškai išlaikyti mus abu. Neprivalai jaustis įpareigota kažką daryti.“ Mano brolis nustebino mane tai sakydamas. „Leisi man dykaduoniauti?“ kilstelėjau antakį į jį. „Aš tai pavadinčiau kitaip, tu ilgą laiką sunkiai dirbai, ir manau, kad laikas padaryti pertrauką.“ Jis priminė man, vėl jausdamas kaltę ten, kur neturėtų jos jausti. „Artimiausiu metu tikrai nesiruošiu atrasti savyje mados dizainerės talento, bet norėčiau dirbti, kad užsidirbčiau šiek tiek savų pinigų,“ pasakiau lėtai, nepakeldama akių nuo savo lėkštės. Jaučiausi taip, lyg prašyčiau leidimo, ir man tai nepatiko. „Pavyzdžiui?“ paklausė jis, keldamas vyno taurę. Oho, jis dabar geria vyną. „Tėjausi, kad leisi man dirbti viename iš savo verslų, bet tu man dar nepasakei, koks tai ver...“ nutylau. Mano širdis subyrėjo į šipulius, kai pastebėjau, jog Kalano akys susitiko su manosiomis; buvau beveik pamiršusi, kad jis ten yra, nes jis mane ignoravo. Spėju, kad jis išgirdo šią dalį, o tai buvo jo verslas, ne mano brolio. Braisas susiraukė. „Aš nenoriu, kad dirbtum mums.“ Jis greitai atmetė tokias idėjas. Kūstelėjau lūpą, bandydama nuspręsti, kaip plėtoti šią temą toliau, neužkliudant niekieno jautrių vietų. Buvau per daug išsigandusi, todėl atsitraukiau ir nieko nesakiau, o man nutilus brolis atsiduso. „Galiu pasikalbėti su keliais draugais ir pažiūrėti, gal kas ieško darbuotojų,“ pasakė jis, o aš gūžtelėjau pečiais, sutikdama. „Jaučiuosi taip, lyg net nežinočiau, ko tavęs paklausti; taip, mes kalbamės, bet tikrai nepakankamai, kad žinočiau, kas vyksta tavo kasdieniniame gyvenime,“ sumurmėjau, o jis vėl nutaisė tą kaltą veido išraišką. „Bet aš turiu šiek tiek patirties, studijų metais dirbau barmene,“ pasakiau, ir vėl nepažvelgiau į jį. Buvau užsiėmusi maistu; jei Kalanas ir žiūrėjo į mane, nebūčiau to žinojusi, nes visiškai atsisakiau žvilgčioti į tą stalo pusę. Nenorėjau vėl apsikvailinti brolio akivaizdoje. „Jei ji turi barmenės patirties, gali dirbti „The Soul Lounge“,“ įsiterpė gilus balsas, ir kai pakėliau akis, Kalanas žiūrėjo į mano brolį, o ne į mane. Braisas timptelėjo savo ir taip jau atraitotas rankoves ir papurtė galvą. „Ne, aš nenoriu, kad ji dirbtų jokioje mūsų vietoje,“ atšovė jis. Kodėl? Ar tai blogos vietos? Po velnių, aš noriu žinoti, ką jis slepia. Ar tai susiję su pornografija, ar kažkuo panašiu, keistu? Būčiau labai pasišlykštėjusi, jei taip būtų, bet jis užsiminė apie barmenės darbą, tad galbūt ne. 4 skyrius: Jis yra tamsesnio atspalvio 4 skyrius: Jis slepia tamsesnius šešėlius Briana Stebėjau, kaip Kalanas perbraukia ranka per savo tamsią vakarėjančią barzdelę; vien tų tatuiruočių ir masyvaus vyriško žiedo pakako, kad priversčiau save suspausti kojas. Jis toks patrauklus, kad vien nuo jo rankų vaizdo aš visa sudrėkau. „Galėsi ją prižiūrėti,“ tyliai ištarė Kalanas, bet kadangi jo balsas toks gilus, tai nuskambėjo kaip dundėjimas. „Aš ką nors sugalvosiu,“ atsakė mano brolis, ir tai buvo jo būdas užbaigti temą. Braisas ir aš galiausiai įsitraukėme į lengvą pokalbį, kol Kalanas mus ignoravo, ypač mane, o baigęs valgyti atsiprašė ir pradingo. „Mažėle, norėjau tavęs paklausti, bet nebuvau tikras, kaip tai pradėti. Ar bent kiek bendravai su motina ir tėvu?“ Mano skrandis susitraukė vien nuo užuominos apie juos, ir jis tai žinojo. „Ne, visiškai ne, jau daug metų. O tu?“ Staiga pasijutau labai nejaukiai nuo šios minties. „Ne, bet aš taip ilgai buvau išvykęs iš šalies ir buvau užsiėmęs savo karjeros kūrimu, tiesiog nenoriu praleisti nieko svarbaus. Tu man niekada tiksliai nepapasakojai, kaip atsidūrei ten, kur buvai.“ Jis žvilgtelėjo į mane prieš išgerdamas savo antrą vyno taurę. Ar dėl to jis taip drąsiai tai pradėjo? Aš per vakarienę negėriau vyno, bet galbūt reikėjo. „Nuo kada mes pradedame prisiminti praeitį? Mes esame čia, dabar, manau, turėtume gyventi tuo.“ Pasakiau, modama į šią prabangią vietą. Kelioms sekundėms jis atrodė susimąstęs, bet galiausiai sutiko, kad krapštytis nemalonioje praeityje – kvaila. Baigę valgyti atsistojome, ir aš pradėjau viską tvarkyti. Jis nusijuokė ir mane sustabdė. „Jie ateis ir viską sutvarkys,“ pasakė jis. „Kas tie jie?“ Buvau sutrikusi. „Virtuvės personalas, kuris tai atnešė.“ Jis pažvelgė į mane tokiu „nejaugi neaišku“ žvilgsniu; kartu įėjome į svetainę, bet aš vis atsigręždavau į likusią netvarką. „Ar tu tikras? Jaučiuosi blogai, versdama kažką tvarkyti mūsų jovalą...“ Susiraukiau. „Turėsi prie to priprasti, nes aš taip gyvenu pastaruosius kelerius metus, mažoji sesute. Daugiau jokio gyvenimo skurde.“ Jis žaismingai mane stumtelėjo. Buvau įpratusi tvarkytis, nes augdama namuose vaikščiojau ant pirštų galų, rūpindamasi, kad manęs beveik nesimatytų, kai tėvas būdavo šalia ir prastos nuotaikos. Visada užtikrindavau, kad namai būtų švarūs, ir mano motina taip pat – ji nuolat tvarkydavosi, šluostydavo jo paliktą netvarką ir jam gamindavo. Ji daug to užkrovė ant manęs, kai man buvo dvylika, ir aš vis dar turiu įprotį susitvarkyti po savęs bei pradingti iš bendrų erdvių. Tai bus įdomus ritmo pokytis. Dėl to man netgi darosi šiek tiek neramu; jaučiausi taip, lyg brolis matytų mano mintis, stebėdamas mane atsijungusią nuo realybės. Lyg jis norėtų pasakyti: aš nesu tėvas. Nusipurčiau tas mintis ir atsiprašiau nakčiai. Negaliu dalintis vakaru su juo ir jo draugu, ne tada, kai jo geriausias draugas ignoruoja mano buvimą, o aš pati negaliu jausti nieko kito, tik jo artumą. Čia, Port Harkorte, neturėsiu jokių draugų; tiesą sakant, neturėjau geriausio draugo nuo vidurinės mokyklos laikų, ir tai baigėsi prastai. Didžiąją laiko dalį praleidžiu viena arba palaikau paviršutiniškas draugystes, pavyzdžiui, kai kartais savaitgaliais išeidavau į miestą savo miestelyje. Niekas nebuvo pakankamai artimas, kad parašytų man ir paklaustų, ar šį rytą saugiai nusileidau, niekas nebūtų buvęs toks artimas, kad nupirktų man gimtadienio dovanų ar žinotų kokias nors intymias detales apie mane. Kartais aš pametu savo telefoną, nes jis visada tylus, ir niekas man nerašo ir neskambina. Tik mano brolis, kol mus skyrė atstumas, arba savaitgaliais, kai kokia nors pažįstama norėdavo išeiti pasilinksminti. Net nemanau, kad jiems patikau kaip žmogus, manau, jiems patiko mano estetika, jei tai skamba logiškai. Toks tas miestas, ypač su mados srities žmonėmis – įvaizdis yra viskas. Aš net neturiu jokių sportinių kelnių, nė vienos pižamos. Mano tėvas taip bjaurėjosi netvarkinga išvaizda, kad net mano naktiniai drabužiai buvo šilko pižamų komplektai ir panašūs dalykai. Ne todėl, kad būčiau galėjusi išeiti iš savo kambario su jais, tiesiog miestas man neatrodė toks svetimas, nes, manau, jį gali valdyti narcizai. Žinau, kad sportinės kelnės, džemperis turbūt yra tokie patogūs, bet tiesiog neturėjau tokios prabangos. Bet dabar aš noriu maištauti ir eiti nusipirkti sportines kelnes. Mano gyvenimas keistas. *** Pirmąją naktį čia, savo kambaryje, tyloje viena skaičiau knygą, ir mano telefonas nė karto nesuskambo, niekas namuose manęs nepasigedo. Viena, mano normalus gyvenimas. Negi aš visą mėnesį gyvensiu su Kalanu Haroldu, ar išvis tai ištversiu? Netgi čia, lovoje, aš vis įsivaizdavau jo išvaizdžią kaulų struktūrą ir treniruotą kūną. Kokie tamsūs iš tiesų yra jo plaukai ir kokios stulbinamai gražios, palyginus, yra jo akys. Mėlyna spalva kaip jokia kita, unikali savo tobulumu. Vis mačiau jį, stovintį laiptų apačioje plačioje stovėsenoje, su miegamojo žvilgsniu, kuriam nerūpėjo, kad nužiūrinėja mane nuo galvos iki kojų. Bet daugiau į mane nebepažvelgė, kodėl? Esu tikra, kad tai todėl, jog jis visiškai nesužavėtas, jis yra seksualus ir vyriškas, o aš... bjauri. Norėčiau būti toje lygoje, man patinka jo tamsi aura. Nors žinau, kad tikriausiai neturėtų. Jis toks turtingas, ir aš norėjau žinoti viską apie jį, bet kartu norėjau nuo jo slėptis. Jis paslaptingas ir aukštas, tamsus ir išvaizdus. Argi tai nėra receptas katastrofai? Tikriausiai, bet iš smalsumo nieko blogo nenutiks. Esu tikra, kad visos moterys juo smalsauja; žinau, kad jis ir mano brolis tikriausiai lankosi su šimtais moterų po visą Port Harkortą dėl savo turtų ir geros išvaizdos, net nenoriu to žinoti. Mano protas nutilo, kai išgirdau gilaus balso aidą – tai buvo pokalbis su mano broliu arba telefonu. Jis buvo per toli, kad suprasčiau žodžius, bet tada išgirdau žingsnius, ir keista, mano širdies plakimas dažnėjo su kiekvienu artėjančiu žingsniu. Kai išgirdau jį praeinant pro mano kambarį ir įžengiant į savąjį, susimąsčiau, kaip jis atrodo viduje, ar šią savaitę jis ten atsives kokią nors moterį. Tikiuosi, kad ne, nes jei išgirsčiau jį dulkint kitą moterį, manau, mirčiau. Jis yra mano brolio draugas, neturėjau norėti įsivaizduoti jo nuogo, bet aš jau buvau jį taip įsivaizdavusi, ir net nežinau, kiek tiksliai tatuiruočių jis turi. Bet mano vaizduotė kužda, kad jų yra daug, ir dėl to jis atrodo dar didesnis blogiukas, nei jau atrodo. Nedaugžodžiaujantis vyras dažniausiai yra vyras, žinantis savo žodžių vertę. Esu mačiusi vyrų, kurie kalba per daug, mano tėvas buvo vienas iš jų. Savo įspūdingų draugų kompanijoje jis visada ieškojo dėmesio ir juokindavo juos, kol jie gėrė škotišką viskį ir rūkė cigarus. Mano tėvas taip pat yra išvaizdus vyras, todėl jam dėmesį skirdavo ne tik patalpoje esantys vyrai; jis buvo garsus ir šnekus, jis mėgo puikuotis. Kalanas Haroldas išlieka tylus, tobulai ramus, nesistengdamas padaryti įspūdžio. Jis neklausia, ar man patinka jo dvaras, ir nesigiria imperija, kurią sukūrė. Ir kažkokiu būdu tas santūrumas yra kur kas labiau bauginantis nei garsiai demonstruojama mano tėvo galia – nes vyras, kuriam nereikia demonstruoti jėgos, yra pats pavojingiausias. Ypač tas, kuris parengtas kariuomenės specialiosiose pajėgose. Mano brolis nešiojasi savo šešėlius, bet Kalano – tamsesni. Kalanas Haroldas nėra tik pavojingas. Jis – tyli audra, laukianti, kada galės smogti. 5 skyrius: Ji yra mirtinai graži 5 skyrius: Ji stulbinamo grožio Kalanas Buvau biure „The Emerald Lounge“, kadangi jis atsidarys tik vėliau šįvakar. Čia galiu turėti šiek tiek ramybės ir tylos, turiu susitikimą su keliais sąjungininkais. Jie įrodė esą naudingi mano imperijai dar seniai, kai mano tėvas viskam vadovavo. Mano tėvas dievina valdyti kazino, jis privertė ma atitarnauti kariuomenėje, lygiai taip pat, kaip jo tėvas privertė jį. Tada jis praleido ne vienerius metus lėtai kraudamas kiekvieną atsakomybę ant mano pečių, kol aš pakilau iš parankinio į Doną, tapdamas pačiu jauniausiu iki šiol. Mano tėvas dabar yra labiau mano konsiljeris, mano taryba ir patarėjas bei vienas iš tų vyrų, kurie gali užginčyti mano sprendimus ir nuomones. Galiausiai mano tėvas susilaukė sūnaus ir dviejų dukrų, tad dabar aš esu Donas, o mano tėvo brolio sūnus Andželas yra mano parankinis; Braisas yra vienas iš mano kapo, bet tiesą sakant, jis labiau kaip mano dešinioji ranka. Jis paprastai būna su manimi, atlikdamas užduotis tiesiogiai man, nors techniškai ir nėra šeimos narys. Tačiau jis yra įšventintasis, jis davė tylos priesaiką, aš patikėjau jam savo gyvybę dar kariuomenėje ir vis dar ja pasitikiu. Žinau, kad jis toks pat pamišęs, kaip ir aš, žinau, kad jis padaro tai, kas turi būti padaryta. Mano imperija nėra maža, „Harold Group of Company“ valdo naktinius klubus, sekso ir BDSM klubus, restoranus, kazino bei atliekų tvarkymo įmones. Tai buvo visiškai atskiras dalykas, bet labai naudinga operacija. Naktinis klubas „The Emerald Lounge“ buvo pirmasis oficialus verslas, kurį aš visiškai perėmiau grįžęs iš kariuomenės, todėl, spėju, dažniausiai atvykstu čia kaip į savo pagrindinę biuro erdvę. Aš nuolat esu visur, viskam vadovauju, nors esu bosas ir galėčiau leisti kitiems prižiūrėti viską po manimi. Esu kontrolės maniakas, perfekcionistas, tikras košmaras visiems, kurie susimauna su mano reikalais. Aš visada viską prižiūriu. Braisas prisiekia, kad perdegsiu, bet jis puikiai žino, jog aš meistriškai atlieku viską, ko tik imuosi. Buvau geriausias savo laidoje kariuomenėje, mane pastebėjo karinis jūrų laivynas ir prisijungiau prie specialiųjų pajėgų mokymų. Ten taip pat tapau geriausiu. Fiziškai esu labai geros formos, psichiškai – tvirtas kaip uola, o agresija yra mano požiūris beveik į viską. Dirbu tokį darbą, kur viskas imama jėga. Tačiau aš gyvenu dėl šio šūdo, esu velniškai geras tame. Turiu penkis legalius verslus, kurie tarnauja kaip tobula operacinė priedanga mano nelegaliems reikalams. Turiu žmonių, valdančių importo, eksporto ir laivybos įmones. Turiu draugų labai aukštuose postuose. Tarnaudamas kariuomenės specialiosiose pajėgose, sukaupiau daugybę gilių, tamsių paslapčių ir turiu daug ypatingų draugų – milijardierių politikų ir kitų elitų, jūs net neįsivaizduojate. Šiame gyvenime jie man negalėtų prikabinti „RICO“ kaltinimo. Haroldų šeima dabar yra per stipri, ir aš negaliu tvirtinti, kad aš ją sukūriau. Mano senelis, o prieš jį ir jo tėvas dešimtmečius dalyvavo organizuotame nusikalstamume, dar tais laikais, kai mafija atvirai sėjo chaosą gatvėse ir viską kontroliavo. Dabar mes tai darome tyliau, nors ir lygiai taip pat pavojingai. Biure aš sėdėjau už masyvaus stalo, o Braisas buvo priešais mane, įsitaisęs odinėje kėdėje. Jis sėdėjo susmukęs, paskendęs mintyse. „Kur dabar tavo mintys?“ paklausiau. Jei vėliau susitiksime su „Velvet Vipers“, man reikia, kad jis būtų susikaupęs; išsiblaškiusi galva – tai negyva galva. Jis atsitokėjo ir pasitaisė palto atlapus. „Nieko, tiesiog galvojau, ką turėčiau daryti su savo seserimi.“ Jis numojo į mane ranka. Aš atsiremiau į stalą ir perbraukiau nykščiu per savo šiurkštų smakrą. „Juk sakiau tau, ji gali dirbti mums; barmenas nėra įtrauktas į tokį gyvenimo būdą, ir tu tai žinai,“ pasakiau. „Aš tiesiog nenoriu, kad Briana būtų įtraukta į bet ką, kas susiję su organizuotu nusikalstamumu, legalu tai ar ne,“ atšovė jis, žinodamas, kad ruošiuosi išsakyti būtent šį argumentą. „The Emerald Lounge“ yra visiškai veikiantis legalus verslas; pogrindžio reikalai paprastam darbuotojui nepastebimi. „Galvojau paklausti Zaverio, gal jis turėtų jai kokio darbo salone,“ pasakė jis, pakildamas iš kėdės ir išsitraukdamas telefoną, o aš susiraukiau. „Kodėl pas jį?“ paklausiau, ir jis gūžtelėjo pečiais. „Ten mes daromės tatuiruotes, jis labai artimas mano draugas ir jie nesusiję su mafija.“ Spėju, supratau jo mintį, bet nežinau, kodėl man ši idėja nepatiko. Visgi patylėjau, nes tai ne mano reikalas, ir aš nenoriu paversti to savo reikalu. Turiu vadovauti saviems reikalams. Buvau nustebintas, kai išgirdau, kad jo mažoji sesuo ruošiasi persikraustyti į Port Harkortą. Pažįstu Braisą nuo pirmųjų specialiųjų pajėgų mokymų, kai buvome paskirti į tą pačią grupę – tai buvo mažiausiai prieš aštuonerius metus, ir aš tą merginą mačiau tik vieną kartą. Žinau jo šeimos istoriją, nors jis visada šykštėdavo detalių apie savo seserį ir tai, kaip ją visa tai paveikė. Žinau, kad kartą jis buvo paskirtas į kitą vietą ir pasakojo, kaip kaltai jautėsi palikęs ją vieną pasirūpinti savimi tokiame jauname amžiuje. Nemanau, kad žinau, kaip ji ištrūko iš tų namų ar ką ji veikė nuo to laiko. Vėlgi, tai ne mano reikalas. Nors Briana Flečer yra stulbinamo grožio, nesvarbu, ar ji tai žino, ar ne. Ilgos blakstienos ir prislopintos miško žalumo akys paverčia ją seksualia, jai net nesistengiant tokiai būti. Ji nešioja sklastymą per vidurį, jos plaukai ilgi, tinkami sugniaužti saujoje, ir ji turi tobulo kontūro lūpas – putlias, bet neužgožiančias jos tiesios, mažos kaip sagutė nosies bei kitų smulkių bruožų. Jos kaklas elegantiškas, ji turi tokią kaulų struktūrą, kokią galima išvysti žurnaluose. Žinau, kad skambu kvailai tai sakydamas, bet tik taip galiu ją apibūdinti. Mane žudo jos kūnas – toli gražu ne per daug apvalus, bet ji turi pilną, stangrią krūtinę ir smėlio laikrodžio figūrą, kur jos klubai, šlaunys ir užpakaliukas yra gerokai iškilesni nei smulki viršutinė kūno dalis. Dėl to ji atrodo patogi vartyti lovoje. Ji yra mano geriausio draugo ir trečio pagal rangą vyro mažoji sesuo, todėl net nežiūrėčiau į tą pusę, bet patikėkite manimi, dulkinti ją galėčiau ištisą savaitę, jei ji tokia nebūtų. Ji atrodė kaip aukštosios mados modelis tobulu lyg iš paveikslėlio veidu, tad įsivaizduoju ją pasiekiančią aukštumų dizaino versle. Jai tereikia atverti tinkamas duris; aš galiu atverti jai tas duris, bet tai ne mano reikalas. Spėju, kad tai palieka ją Zaveriui ir jo dvyniui, kuriems priklauso tatuiruočių salonas, kur man daromos visos tatuiruotės. „Ką mes darome rytoj? Zaveris prašė pirmiau su ja susitikti. Jis mano, kad gali man padėti – rasti jai kokio darbo salone, o kartu ir prižiūrėti ją dėl manęs,“ pasakė jis, pakėlęs akis nuo savo telefono, o aš, jau spausdindamas savo nešiojamuoju kompiuteriu, pažvelgiau į jį, kai atsakiau. „Rytojus tinka, nes poryt turime siuntų,“ priminiau jam. 6 skyrius: Mes nenorime jokių problemų 6 skyrius: Mes nenorime jokių problemų Kalanas Po sėkmingo susitikimo nebuvau labai geros nuotaikos. Pasakiau Andželui ir Braisui, kad turėtume nueiti į „The Emerald Lounge“ galinį kambarį sužaisti kortomis. Organizuoju nelegalius žaidimus tam tikrose įstaigose, tačiau jie yra išskirtiniai, o įėjimo mokesčiai – dideli. Čia renkasi daug vaikinų, kuriuos pažįstame, bet pasitaiko ir tokių, kurių ne. Paprastai, norint pasirodyti viename iš mano žaidimų, kas nors turi už tave laiduoti, ir nors sudedamosios kėdės bei stalai nėra blogai, tai ne tas pogrindinis pokerio kambarys. Čia yra baras su geriausiomis cigaretėmis ir rudaisiais gėrimais, o dizainas sukurtas taip, kad būtų atmosferiškas ir elegantiškas. Ne visi galiniame kambaryje būtinai yra tie dešimt žaidėjų. Kai kurie čia ateina išgerti ir privačiai pasikalbėti, tačiau centrinė ašis yra stalas su nuolat vykstančiu žaidimu. Mums trims įžengus, visi pagarbiai linktelėjo, ir mes nuėjome prie baro. Mostelėjau barmenui, kad įpiltų mums viskio, ir apžvelgiau kambarį; mano akys akimirksniu nukrypo į tris naujus vaikinus. – Kas jie tokie? – pasilenkiau prie Andželo. – Nežinau, tikriausiai atėjo su kitais vyrukais. – Jis atsilošė į baro stalviršį ir atsisegė švarko sagą. Andželas yra stambaus sudėjimo, be to, burnoje visada turi prakeiktą dantų krapštuką. Jis perkėlė jį iš vieno lūpų kampo į kitą ir toliau stebėjo juos. – Aš jį pažįstu, – tarė Braisas, pasilenkęs prie manęs ir vos pastebimai linktelėdamas vieno iš trijulės pusėn. – Kas jis? – paklausiau ne todėl, kad mums trūktų naujų žaidėjų. Kol jie gali susimokėti, gali ir žaisti, bet privalo ką nors pažinoti. Niekas nenori, kad federalai ar kiti problemų ieškotojai įsispraustų prie stalo. Žinau, kad mano vyrai išmano savo darbą ir būtų patikrinę tuos vaikinus, bet mums vis tiek buvo smalsu. – Jis dirba su Frenku Kostelu, kitų dviejų nepažįstu. – Braisas gūžtelėjo pečiais, paimdamas savo stiklinę iš barmeno. Nustojome kalbėtis, kai vienas iš mūsų vyrų priėjo ir nusilenkė mums. – Bosai, – jis linktelėjo man, mano pusbroliui, o tada Braisui; mes jam atsakėme linktelėjimu ir jis pasitraukė iš kelio. Šnekučiavomės, mūsų pokalbis niekuo ypatingu neišsiskyrė. – Kas tai buvo? – Braisas palinko į priekį, ir tai privertė mane ištiesti nugarą bei vėl užsisegti švarką. – Kas? Braisas lakstė akimis, tarsi kažką skenuotų ir analizuotų. Andželas liko atsirėmęs alkūnėmis į baro stalviršį, išskėtęs rankas lyg erelis, o aš ramiai stovėjau tarp jų. – Tai subtilu, velniškai subtilu, bet pažiūrėk į dalintoją. – Braisas apsimetė, kad braukia ranka per žandikaulį, norėdamas pridengti burną, kol kalbėjo su manimi. Mano akys nukrypo į dalintoją ir ėmiau stebėti. – Aš nieko nemačiau. – Andželas gūžtelėjo pečiais, bet aš stebėjau toliau. Niekada nesu matęs, kad kas nors tai darytų taip gerai, bet mes vadiname tokius vaikinus „mechanikais“. Tai profesionalūs sukčiai, klastojantys žaidimus; jie dalija kortas nuo kaladės apačios. Taip jie kontroliuoja, kas kokias kortas gauna, ir paprastai turi partnerį, kuriam dalija geras kortas. Jie protingi, tai atliekama mikliais rankų judesiais lyg fokusininkų, ir tai labai sunku pastebėti, nebent turi tokią akį kaip Braisas ar aš. Mechanikai turi vieną partnerį, kuris pralaimi šiek tiek pinigų, kad pridengtų kitą, laimintį daug daugiau, o po to, suklastoję žaidimus, jie pasidalija pelną pusiau, kad padengtų tai, ką prarado kiti partneriai. Tai buvo ilga versija pasakymo, kad šie du vaikinai, po velnių, mane apvaginėja. Prastas jų ėjimas. Nusijuokiau ir negalėjau susilaikyti. Andželas vis dar nesuprato, bet aš palikau jį stovėti ten ir, pasiėmęs stiklinę, priėjau arčiau stalo. Keli iš jų įsitempė, ir tai buvo suprantama – mano buvimas verčia daugelį nervintis. Nieko nesakiau, vietoj to atsukau nugarą žaidimui ir kalbėjausi su kuo kitu. Tačiau žinojau, kad Braisas stebės. – Tu esi Kostelo sūnėnas, tiesa? – paklausiau vieno iš jaunų vaikinų. – Taip, sere. – Jis buvo toks pagarbus, koks ir turėtų būti. Tai, kad jis yra nusikalstamos šeimos dalis, nereiškia, kad turi svorio būti mažiau nei pagarbus man ir mano įstaigai. Tokia turi būti Gambinų mafija. Rodai pagarbą – gauni pagarbą. Vėl prisijungiau prie Braiso ir Andželo; pastarasis norėjo cigaretės, tad pasakiau jam, kad eitų parūkyti. Aš kažko laukiau, ir kai žaidimas baigėsi bei buvo atlikti išmokėjimai, keli vyrai atsistojo ketindami palikti stalą. Jie baigė žaisti ir ruošėsi užleisti vietą kitiems, bet aš pakėliau ranką. – Likite vietose, – pareikalavau. Keli kūnai sustingo, o kiti vis dar buvo susitelkę į kortas ir nelabai domėjosi kuo kitu. Priėjau prie dviejų mechanikų ir ištraukiau laimėjimą iš pirmojo vyro, dalintojo, rankų. – Hmmm, ne tavo laiminga naktis, – pasakiau jam. Jis šyptelėjo ir gūžtelėjo pečiais. – Kartais pasitaiko, – sumurmėjo jis, ir aš nusijuokiau. – Pasitaiko, – sumurmėjau ir tėškiau pinigus priešais antrąjį vyrą. – Tau buvo gera naktis, kodėl nepasilikus dar vienam žaidimui? – įtikinėjau jį. Na, nepavadinčiau to įtikinėjimu, nes mano veidas buvo mirtinai rimtas ir akmeninis. – Bandau savo sėkmę, sere. Kol kas pasitraukiu. – Jis vis dar išliko mandagus. Pasilaižiau lūpas ir linktelėjau, tada čiupau jį už pakaušio ir tėškiau jo veidą į stalą. Keli žmonės atšoko atgal, ir visų akys nukrypo į mus. Patalpoje stojo tyla, išskyrus vyro, kurio veidą ką tik sutraiškiau, dejonę, o Braisas priėjo prie mūsų. – Sere, mes nenorime jokių problemų. – Dalintojas iškėlė rankas pasiduodamas. – Ne? Tai kodėl, po velnių, bandote mane apvogti? – paklausiau, ir visų akys išsiplėtė. Niekas nepastebėjo nieko keisto, tad visi buvo labai neužtikrinti dėl to, kas netrukus įvyks. 7 skyrius: Parduotuvės vadybininkas 7 skyrius: Parduotuvės vadovė Kalanas – Apvogti? – mechanikas apsimetė kvaileliu. Braisas čiupo vaikiną ir nustūmė jį atgal į kėdę. – Kol dar nenužudėme jūsų už sukčiavimą mūsų įstaigoje, noriu, kad parodytumėte man, kaip tai padarėte, – pasakiau, ir jo akys dar labiau išsiplėtė; jis pakartotinai papurtė galvą, mikčiodamas. – Aš nežinau, apie ką jūs kalbate? – Patraukiau aukštyn jo bičiulį, kuriam iš nosies ir burnos bėgo kraujas, ir pasodinau priešais jį; visas kambarys sustingo stebėdamas. – Ar nori būti sukčius ir melagis prieš man tave nušaunant? Turėk bent kiek garbės, – pasišaipiau be šypsenos. Vaikinas, kuriam bėgo kraujas, bandė nusivalyti veidą. Braisas trenkė rankomis į stalą, priversdamas jį laikyti jas ten, kol Andželas suskaičiavo jo laimėjimą ir įsidėjo į kišenę. – Kiek kartų judu čia buvote? Kiek pinigų esate mums skolingi už praėjusius žaidimus? – paklausiau ir nesulaukiau jokio atsakymo. – Kas už jus laidavo? – Apsidairiau aplinkui, ir, žinoma, Kostelo sūnėnas nuleido galvą ir pakėlė ranką. – Aš nežinojau, kad jie sukčiai, – sumurmėjo jis. – Ar kas nors žinojo? Sakykite dabar, nes jums nepatiks mano reakcija, jei sužinosiu vėliau, – kreipiausi į minią. Visų akys buvo nuleistos, galvos purtėsi – ne. Suaugę vyrai, ir nė vienas iš jų negalėjo pažiūrėti man į akis, kai ore tvyrojo žmogžudystės nuojauta. – Braisai, išvesk šiuodu iš čia pasikalbėti, – pasakiau jam. Vaikinai bandė greitai atsistoti tikėdamiesi pabėgti, bet viskas, ką jie padarė, tai atsimušė į mano apsauginius. Du didžiuliai mėsos gabalai – štai kas jie tokie; jiedu buvo sučiupti ir išvesti į atskirą, privatesnį kambarį. Apsidairiau minioje ir pristūmiau nuverstą kėdę į jai skirtą vietą. – Tęskite, džentelmenai. – Mostelėjau visiems atsipalaiduoti ir grįžti prie to, ką darė. Žinojau, kad tie vyrai nėra problemiški žmonės, pakankamai protingi, kad manęs nebandytų. Kai nuėjome į rūsį, pamačiau tuos du mechanikus, arba profesionalius kortų apgavikus; jie muistėsi ir nervinosi. Vienas kraujavo visur, kur tik įmanoma, o kitas buvo beveik pasiruošęs pravirkti. Numečiau kortų kaladę jam po kojomis ir liepiau pakelti. Buvome tuščiame kambaryje, kuriame nebuvo nieko, tik stalas ir kelios sudedamosios kėdės. Vieta, kurioje kai kurie mano kariai laukdavo siuntų; šiuo metu naudojau ją tardymui. Kai vaikinas pakėlė kortas, uždaviau jam tą patį klausimą. – Parodyk man, kaip tai padarei. Manau, jis pagaliau suvokė viso to rimtumą, todėl pakluso ir be kvailų paistalų atsakė. Savo mažaisiais pirštais jis galėjo judėti taip greitai, kad vargu ar spėtum užfiksuoti bent vieną judesį. Akies mirksnis, ir pagalvotum, kad išsikraustei iš proto; jis tikriausiai buvo vienas geriausių, kokius esu matęs dalijant nuo kaladės apačios.