Sunlight poured through the towering glass windows of the anatomy lecture hall, catching on polished desks and glinting off the preserved specimens lining the walls. Anissa sat ramrod straight in the front row, pen flying across her notebook as Professor Marlowe dissected the intricacies of the human circulatory system with his usual intensity.
"And that, class," he concluded, gesturing to the projected diagram, "is precisely why the brachial artery is crucial for upper-limb circulation."
His gaze swept the room and landed on Anissa with unmistakable approval. As students began packing bags and shuffling out, he made his way down the aisle to her desk.
"Anissa," he said, voice low but warm. "Excellent work on your last assessment. You've reclaimed your top spot in anatomy—and then some. I'm proud of the focus you've shown these past weeks. Keep this up… greatness is within reach."
A genuine, if weary, smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
He gave a curt nod of satisfaction and moved on.
For the first time in months, Anissa felt a flicker of something like pride.
By afternoon, that flicker grew in the campus courtyard. Anissa sprawled on sun-warmed grass with Nelly, Doris, and Hannah, the four of them laughing over pointless gossip and bad cafeteria stories. The breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut lawns, and for one brief, fragile moment, Anissa felt weightless—almost normal.
Nelly nudged her with an elbow. "Girl, the way you crushed that test? Even Marlowe couldn't hide his grin. Drinks on you tonight."
Anissa laughed softly, the sound foreign in her own ears. "Once my bank account decides to resurrect itself, sure."
Their laughter rang out, bright and easy.
Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She fished it out casually—until the screen lit up.
TEXT FROM UNKNOWN NUMBER:
I know your secret. See me or it goes viral.
The world tilted. Blood drained from her face so fast her vision spotted at the edges.
Doris noticed first. "Yo, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
Anissa forced a smile that felt like plastic. "Yeah… probably just spam."
But her pulse screamed otherwise. The courtyard laughter faded to muffled noise. She excused herself early, mumbling something about a headache.
That night, alone in the darkened dorm room, the phone became her tormentor again.
Another notification—this one from Terry.
TERRY:
Sis… Mom's worse. The cancer's spreading fast. She's barely breathing some days. Doctors say we need to start the stronger treatment now, or… we might lose her. Please.
Anissa's throat closed like a fist. A lump rose, choking her. Tears blurred the screen as she read the message again and again. She wiped at her eyes, but they kept coming.
She opened the banking app with shaking fingers. The balance mocked her—millions sitting there, tainted by every degrading night, every forced photo, every surrender. She transferred another large chunk home without hesitation, adding a note: For Mom's treatment. Use it all.
The confirmation pinged like a hollow victory.
Across the city, midnight shadows stretched long in Steven Derulo's sprawling estate. He lounged on a deep leather couch in the living room, sports highlights flickering silently on the massive TV. His inner circle filled the space: Miles, his sharp-eyed lawyer; Vic, the immovable bodyguard; and Gina, his ruthless manager.
Steven swirled whiskey in a crystal glass, voice smooth and lethal. "She thinks I don't know. Tanya's been riding my name, my money, my brand for years. And the fertility issues?" He chuckled darkly. "I been knew. Barren as a wasteland."
Miles leaned forward. "We pressing charges? Breach of contract, fraud?"
Steven's smile was all teeth. "Not just that. I want every deal she ever signed because of me revoked. Modeling contracts, endorsements, brand collabs—gone. I want her broke, on her knees, begging just to breathe my air."
Gina's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. "Consider it done. By next week, she won't have a runway left to walk."
Steven leaned back, savoring the moment. "No room for snakes in my world."
Early the next morning, Anissa locked herself in the dorm bathroom, harsh fluorescent light buzzing overhead. She stared at her reflection—pale skin, shadowed eyes, a body that suddenly felt foreign.
Her stomach twisted with persistent nausea that had plagued her for days. Her breasts ached in a way she couldn't ignore anymore.
Hands trembling, she opened her calendar app and counted the days since her last period.
Once. Twice.
Her breath hitched sharply.
No… no way.
A cold chill raced down her spine, settling heavy in her gut.
This wasn't stress.
This wasn't exhaustion.
A pregnancy test wasn't a maybe anymore.
It was inevitable.
She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, vision swimming as the full weight crashed over her.
The child of the man who owned her nightmares.
A secret that could destroy everything—or become the only weapon she had left.