The room was cloaked in shadows, the only light seeping in through the cracks of drawn curtains, casting eerie streaks across the floor.
The distant hum of the city below barely penetrated the thick, oppressive silence that hung in the air.
Everything about this place felt wrong—too quiet, too still.
The walls, painted in deep shades of charcoal, seemed to absorb what little light there was, giving the space a suffocating, almost lifeless quality.
In the middle of the room, a man stood by the large, floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, his silhouette barely visible against the faint glow of the city lights outside.
His posture was rigid, unmoving, as if carved from stone.
He watched the city below with cold detachment, as though the world beneath him didn't matter, as though he was above it all.
The occasional flicker of headlights or the distant honk of a car seemed worlds away, irrelevant in this suffocating tower of darkness.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge the presence of someone standing quietly in the corner, hidden in the shadows like a forgotten ghost. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence with a chilling edge.
"Has she received the flowers?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. There was no emotion in his tone, no concern, no warmth—just an eerie calm that made the silence even more oppressive. He didn't move, didn't turn fully to face the person behind him. It was as if he already knew the answer, as if this was all part of some larger plan, one meticulously crafted in the dark recesses of his mind.
The shadow in the corner shifted slightly, hesitant. A small, almost imperceptible nod followed.
"Yes, sir," came the reply, quiet and careful, as though any louder might provoke something dangerous.
The man's lips barely twitched, a ghost of a smile flickering and vanishing just as quickly. He turned his gaze back to the city, his eyes narrowing as if he could see straight through the buildings, right to the very person who now held those flowers.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his slow, deliberate breathing.
"Good," he murmured, his voice barely audible but carrying a weight that felt suffocating.
The air grew heavier, colder. Something dark lurked in his presence, a quiet, simmering menace that filled the room. It was clear—nothing in this place was left to chance. Every detail, every move, every thought had been planned. The flowers, the gesture, all of it was deliberate.
And somewhere in the city below, Kiara was part of that plan.
The man stood there for a moment longer, his gaze distant, unreadable. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the room as lifeless and cold as before.
****
Kiara's POV
I slumped down on the couch, staring at the stack of bills on the coffee table. They seemed to mock me.
I wasn't financial stable enough to have the life I wanted. I could buy some stocks and crypto that I was sure would bring more cash in the future.
But I would have to wait for salary.
Ugh. Curse you Gabriel.
After all the work I'd done to keep Gabriel off my trail, after all the lies I'd left behind, I still couldn't escape the weight of financial reality.
My high-rise apartment was sleek, modern, a far cry from the dump I used to stay after giving my inheritance to him.
But keeping this place meant money, and the bills were stacking up faster than I expected.
I rubbed my temples, adjusting my glasses as I glanced at my laptop. How much longer can I keep doing this?
Hacking had always been a skill I kept hidden. It was easy money, but too risky to lean on long-term. It wasn't enough. Not for the future I wanted.
My fingers brushed against the edge of the table as I started to think of what else I could do. Apart from hacking, I always had this dream, buried deep inside, of owning something that was truly mine. A luxury brand, maybe—a boutique hotel, or a chain of high-end restaurants.
Anything to get away from depending on other people, especially men like Gabriel.
I always dreamed of it in my past life but… it never happened. Because all my money, my effort, my dreams had gone into him. To further his education, his career.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. And what did I get in return? Betrayal and dead with a twisted neck.
I sighed, pushing the thoughts away as I rose from the couch. The weight of the past had a habit of creeping in when I least expected it. Right now, all I needed was a hot shower. Maybe that would clear my head.
The water hit my skin like a wave of warmth, easing some of the tension in my muscles as I closed my eyes. I let the heat pour over me, hoping it would wash away the frustration, the doubt. But as the steam filled the bathroom, a strange sound cut through the silence—a soft cry, faint but unmistakable. A baby's cry.
My heart clenched.
Suddenly, the memory hit me like a freight train. I was back there, back in that cold, sterile hospital room. The smell of disinfectant, the harsh fluorescent lights, the nurse's voice saying words that crushed my soul.
"Your baby… the baby is dying."
I was seven months pregnant, the ache in my belly was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Gabriel had hit me, hard, right across the face because I'd dared to raise my voice to his mother.
I could still feel the sting of his slap, the way my body crumpled under the weight of his rage. His mother had smiled while I lay bleeding. They'd both told me I was overreacting.
But I wasn't. I was dying. And so was my child.
The pain seared through me as I was forced into labor, too soon, too fast. I could still hear the tiny, fragile cry as my baby was born.
But it was weak. So weak. I screamed, begged for them to save my child, but the nurse's face told me everything I needed to know. My baby was gone.
Gone before I could even hold them.
The memory clawed at me, ripping me apart inside. The grief, the loss—it was all too real, too raw, even now. I let out a silent scream, my body trembling under the hot spray of the shower as the image of my lifeless baby flashed before my eyes again and again.
Then, in an instant, I was back—standing in my bathroom, my legs shaking as the water poured down my naked back. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.
I gripped the edge of the shower wall, trying to steady myself, trying to remind myself that I wasn't in that hospital anymore. This is the new life.
But some things you never forget. Some things don't go away. No matter how far you run.
With trembling hands, I turned off the water, standing there for a long moment, letting the droplets fall in silence. My body still shook from the memory, but I forced myself to breathe, to push it all away. The past was dead. I wasn't that woman anymore—broken, weak, begging for love from a man who didn't deserve a second of my time.
I grabbed my robe, wrapping it tightly around myself as I stepped out of the shower. The cool air hit my skin, and I let it ground me, clearing my mind of the lingering pain. There wasn't time to dwell on ghosts. I had work to do.
I walked into the kitchen, throwing together a quick dinner—something light, barely enough to keep me going. My real focus was elsewhere, waiting just behind the door of my private office. The one place where I had control. Where I could shape my future, bend reality to my will.
After finishing my meal, I slipped into the darkened room, the soft hum of the multiple desktops greeting me like an old friend. The screens flickered to life, casting a faint blue glow across the room as I sat down, pulling up the files I'd been working on for days.
The Williams family.
My family—if you could even call them that. They had disowned me, thrown me out like trash, and all because I had chosen the wrong person to love. It wasn't enough that they had taken everything from me in my past life. No, this time I was taking something back. Even if I had to claw my way through their ironclad defenses.
I tapped my fingers across the keyboard, methodically breaking through layers of security. Their system was tight—encrypted in ways that even made me pause for a second. But nothing was impossible. Not for me. Stealing from them outright would be a hassle, more trouble than it was worth. I wasn't here for their money. Not yet.
I was here to ruin their carefully constructed image.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, line after line of code flowing effortlessly from my mind to the screen. The Williams family had been spotless for years, their reputation pristine. Old money, the kind that walked with a certain arrogance, heads held high, thinking they were untouchable. They had no idea that their downfall was already set in motion.
With a final stroke, I pressed enter. The screens flickered, and then—boom. Just like that, every major news outlet in the country had a breaking story.
Kiara Williams Reinstated as Williams Family Heir.
Was being disgraced part of a scheme to remove the William's beloved granddaughter?
I leaned back in my chair, watching as the news spread like wildfire across the web. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. Of course, it wasn't true. I wasn't their heir—I was the ghost they'd buried. But now? Now I was back in the spotlight, whether they liked it or not.
I glanced at my phone, watching the seconds tick by.
1.
2.
3.
Ring.
Bingo.
I smiled as the phone lit up, vibrating furiously on the desk.
"Perfect timing," I murmured to myself.