Luis's POV
"Xavier Stones — you kissed my gem right in front of me!" he roared, his voice echoing off the marble walls as he flung his plate across the dining table.
The crash was deafening — glass shattered, food splattered, and silence swallowed the room whole.
"I will have her back," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Even if it's just for a while… Rachelle, you can never escape me."
He began pacing like a caged lion, fury rolling off him in waves.
"Three years ago, I stooped to her pauper level for the company in her name, which she isn't aware of, I had secretly invested in that company for years . And now she plans to ruin everything " He slammed a fist into his palm. "Never."
He leaned over the table, his reflection quivering in the wine glass.
"My lucky gem isn't Rachelle," he muttered darkly. "And Xavier doesn't even know what he's stolen."
His breathing was uneven now, half rage, half obsession.
"First, I need to see her," he whispered, lips curling into a smirk. "I'll make her miss me… and when she does, I'll take back everything that's mine."
His fist came down hard on the table — the echo sounded like a vow.
No more waiting. No more sidelines.
This time, he would fight dirty.
---
Xavier's POV (At the Office)
"Any updates?" I asked, my voice calm — too calm.
The young man sitting across from me nodded nervously.
"Yesterday," he said, sliding a small player across the desk. "We found something."
The screen flickered to life.
Grainy footage showed Luis with a woman — her face mostly hidden by shadows.
His voice was low but clear:
> "Once I get what I need from Rachelle, I'll make you my wife. She's just a step toward what I deserve."
The tape clicked off.
For a moment, the only sound in the office was the steady tick of the clock.
"He doesn't love her," I muttered, the truth hitting colder than I expected.
"I guess not," the man replied quietly. "But… what's he really after?"
That was the question that had been gnawing at me.
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, staring at the frozen frame of Luis's smirk.
"Dig deeper," I ordered. "Find everything — his partners, his motives, who that woman is. Hire more people if you have to. I'll pay."
I scribbled a cheque and handed it over.
"I want details, not scraps of rumor," I added, my tone like ice. "Bring me something real."
The man nodded quickly and left.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Silence settled again.
I leaned back, eyes fixed on the dark screen — my reflection staring back at me.
Luis wanted to play games.
Fine.
He had no idea what kind of monster he'd just awakened.
---
Rachelle's POV
I couldn't take it anymore.
Every day felt heavier than the last, like the walls were closing in on me, pressing until I could barely breathe. I knew—deep down—that some of this was my fault, that maybe my own negligence had led me here. But what could I have done differently? I was helpless. Trapped in a storm I didn't see coming.
Food had lost its taste. Even the sight of it made my stomach twist in knots. My appetite was gone, replaced by a hollow ache that no amount of rest could fill. Nights were worse. The silence grew louder, and I found myself reaching for memories of my mum—her soft voice, her laughter, the way she used to hum while cooking. I missed her so much it hurt to breathe.
And my sister… my only friend, my anchor. I longed for her presence, for the comfort of her words, for someone who could tell me everything would be okay, even if it was a lie, but she was gone her sudden death also took mum away and her husband never said a word.
But I couldn't tell Dad. Not a single word. Every time I looked at him, the weight in my chest grew heavier. He already had too much on his shoulders. How could I add my brokenness to it?
So I kept quiet.
And slowly, my world began to crumble—piece by fragile piece
Xavier's POV
Lately, I could barely feel Rachelle's presence in the house.
It was as if she'd become a shadow—here, yet distant, drifting somewhere far beyond my reach. The once lively sound of her footsteps in the hallway had faded into silence. She rarely came down for breakfast or dinner anymore, and even when she did, she barely said a word.
Today was no different. Her plate sat untouched again, the food now cold and lifeless—much like the space she left behind. I told myself I didn't care, that it shouldn't matter whether she ate or not. But it did. More than I wanted to admit.
It bothered me—how much her absence disturbed me. I couldn't understand it. Since when did her silence echo this loud inside me? Since when did the sight of her empty chair make me lose my own appetite?
I tried to focus on my meal, but every bite tasted wrong. Bland. Hollow. The truth was simple and unsettling: I couldn't eat well without her.
And worse, I didn't know why.