The days rolled on like soft clouds across a clear summer sky. After two peaceful days, Selira and her mom decided to visit Arlo's spice shop. The small shop, nestled near the heart of Weed village, looked completely transformed. Shiny new glass jars lined the shelves, each filled with vibrant spices—paprika red, turmeric gold, pepper black. The sweet and spicy aroma wrapped around them like a cuddle puddle of scents. Customers buzzed in and out, giving warm nods to Arlo and praising the shop's makeover.
Selira's eyes sparkled with pride as she stood beside her dad. "Dad, it's beautiful. I can't believe you did all this in just a week!"
Arlo chuckled, wiping his brow. "That's what dads do, sweetheart. Just seven more days and we're off to Los Angeles. Your dreams are waiting."
Without hesitation, Selira threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're really the best, Daddy. My one and only heartthrob!"
They spent the next few hours together, laughing, sipping tea, and munching on crispy snacks in the corner of the shop. It was one of those goo-goo eyes family moments—full of love, hope, and warmth.
But fate had its own cruel timing.
Later that evening, after Selira and Mireya returned home, Arlo stayed back to prepare more spice packets. The sun dipped low behind the trees, casting an orange glow over the small backyard of the shop. He hummed softly as he worked, carefully sealing each pouch.
Then, without warning, a low buzzing sound came from the electrical box nearby.
A power surge.
Sparks flew.
A flash.
Then fire.
The flames licked up the wooden shelves like a higgledy-piggledy monster. The strong spice powders in the air made it harder for Arlo to breathe. His eyes burned. The air turned topsy-turvy, thick with smoke and chaos. He tried to douse the fire with a cloth, but the flames only grew taller.
His heart pounded. "My life is more important to them. If I stay here, what will happen to my Selira and Mireya?"
With trembling legs, Arlo dashed toward the door, the fire roaring behind him. But in the panic, he didn't see the road ahead.
And neither did the driver of the black SUV rushing down the street.
A sickening thud.
Time froze.
Arlo hit the ground—blood flowing, his body still.
Minutes later, fire trucks arrived, spraying water, shouting directions, trying to control the blaze. The shop—once a pride of his hard work—was gone. Everything inside burned to ash.
And just a few streets away, an ambulance's siren wailed like a sorrowful scream. Arlo lay unconscious, blood soaked into the dirt, the flames still dancing in his mind.
Back at home, Selira and her mom were sipping tea when a neighbor came running.
"There's been an accident! It's Arlo!"
The words hit like a thunderbolt. Selira's mug crashed to the floor.
They rushed to the hospital, hearts pounding, eyes wide with dread.
But it was too late.
"Sorry, madam," the doctor said with a quiet sigh. "We tried our best… but we couldn't save him."
Selira fell to her knees. "No! No, Daddy! No!"
Mireya clutched her daughter and cried, her sobs like a broken lullaby. It was a mushy-gushy mess of grief, pain, and disbelief. The man who had promised her the world, the man who stood like a wall for their dreams, was now gone.
They brought Arlo's body home. Neighbors gathered. Silence sat heavy in the air.
Among the visitors were Braylon Hart and Ira Danvers.
Braylon, dressed in a black shirt and jeans, carried an expression of fake sorrow. He helped with the funeral arrangements, staying close to Selira, comforting her. Ira, as always, stayed quietly beside him, pretending to be the good friend.
Mireya noticed the help. She whispered to Selira, "He's a good man… he stood with us in our worst time."
Selira just nodded.
Days passed, each one dragging like a sad song. The house felt too quiet, too hollow without Arlo's laugh echoing through it.
Meanwhile, in the city, Zavian sat at his sleek glass desk when his secretary entered.
"Sir, all permits are ready. We can begin work in Weed the day after tomorrow."
Zavian didn't look up. "Good. Make the arrangements."
"There's a small issue," the secretary added. "That village doesn't have any 5-star or 7-star hotels. Just some 2-star or 3-star lodges."
Zavian sighed. "I know. Last time I stayed at Goodwell Hotel. It's not our standard, but acceptable. Book it."
"Yes, sir."
---
Back in Weed, another blow came.
A man in formal wear knocked on Selira's door. She and her mom stepped out.
"I'm the financer," he began. "Your husband mortgaged this house. Now he's gone. The shop's destroyed. You have no income. I need to recover my money."
Mireya gasped. Selira froze.
"This house…" Selira whispered. "It's my dad's dream. We can't lose it."
"Then pay," the man said coldly. "Seven days. Or the house is ours."
Selira clenched her fists. Her voice shook, but her eyes were steady. "Okay. I'll pay. I don't know how yet, but I will. Please give us those seven days."
The man nodded and left.
As soon as the loan officer left, Selira slumped into the chair near the doorway, her fingers tangled in her hair, her mind spinning. Mireya sat beside her, equally shaken.
"Selira... how can we repay that much in just seven days?" her mom whispered, her voice cracking.
Before she could respond, Braylon Hart walked in through the gate, with Ira Danvers quietly behind him.
"I heard the financer came," Braylon said with concern. "Is it true? He's threatening to take the house?"
Selira nodded slowly. "Yes... this is Dad's dream house. I can't let it go. But I don't know how..."
Braylon took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Listen, I know someone. A private financier in the nearby town. He helps in emergencies like this. No questions, no delays. I can talk to him for you."
Mireya looked up with hope. "Will he really help us, Braylon?"
"I believe he will," Braylon said smoothly. "We just need to get the house back from the current financer first. Then, we can think about the rest. But we must act quickly."
Selira stared at him, unsure but desperate. "I don't know if it's right... but we have no other way. Okay, let's try."
Braylon placed a hand over hers. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you or Auntie. I'll talk to him tomorrow."
Beside them, Ira gave a small nod and an encouraging smile. "Everything will be okay. Trust us."
Mireya sighed. "God bless you both… You're doing what even family members might not."
But once they stepped outside, walking away from the house, their true faces returned.
"This is the perfect moment," Ira muttered, glancing back once. "Her father ruined our last plan, but now? He gifted us the opportunity himself by dying."
Braylon smirked and pulled her into a quick, sneaky hug. "Let's finish what we started."
That night, he made a call.
"Yes, I'll be back tomorrow night. Take her to Goodwell Hotel the next day. I'll be there."
The person on the other end agreed.
Fate had turned a happy, bubbly dream into a chaotic, topsy-turvy nightmare.
But this was only the beginning.