Vivian was back home in her sprawling duplex. She lived alone, though "alone" was a generous word in a house teeming with servants—gatemen, gardeners, cooks, and maids who moved through the halls like ghosts. The opulence was a desperate performance, almost as if her company hadn't gone bankrupt years ago.
"Aina, please bring me a glass of juice… I feel famished," she ordered from the comfort of her sofa in the grand living room, her voice echoing off the marble floors.
"Yes, Madam." Aune, the maid, bowed her head in deference and hurried away, her footsteps swallowed by the silence.
"Is dinner ready? I have a business party to attend," Vivian called out, not bothering to raise her voice above a conversational tone, knowing she would be heard.
"It will be ready in minutes, Madam," the chef answered from the kitchen.
"Hurry up." Vivian's attention was already back on the file in her hand, her fingers tracing the edges of the document. Then, from nowhere, a smile crept across her lips—slow, deliberate, like the first crack in a dam.
"Thank you, Oliver. I will always count on you," she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "Now these transfer papers… they will give me the billions I need."
Her smile deepened.
"It almost feels like Victor still lives here."
The familiar voice sliced through the air like a blade. Vivian's smile vanished, wiped clean in an instant as a flash of rage passed over her features.
"How dare you walk back into my home?" she said, her knuckles already turning white as she strode toward Jonas, who leaned casually against the entrance of the living room, as though he had never left.
"Who let you in… Sam!" Vivian spat, her voice rising to a fever pitch.
Within seconds, Sam the gateman came running, his face a mask of alarm.
"Yes, ma'am?" he said, breathless.
"How dare you let this man into my house? You're not new," Vivian scolded, her fury unleashed.
Jonas, unbothered, lowered himself onto the sofa, pouring himself a glass of wine from the decanter on the table. He let her babble, let the storm rage, knowing it would burn itself out. For now, he was content. It had been a long time since he'd set foot in his brother's dungeon—as he liked to call it.
Ruben's car tore through the streets, the engine a low growl beneath him. His eyes flicked to the tracker on his dashboard, watching the blip that had been moving steadily now come to a complete stop. He frowned.
A coffee shop? He pressed the accelerator harder, confusion knitting his brow. What's happening?
Moments later, he pulled up outside a small café just as Alexander emerged, a paper cup in hand.
Alexander's expression darkened when he spotted Ruben's car. He walked over, his pace measured.
"Were you the one following me?" Alexander asked as he reached the driver's side window.
"No…" Ruben hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I realised you were being followed. I thought you might be in danger. Your adrenaline rate was rapidly raising—"
He stopped abruptly, his mouth snapping shut.
Alexander raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean my adrenaline rate was rising?"
Before Ruben could answer, Alexander's phone rang, sharp and insistent.
"We'll talk later," Alexander said, his tone clipped. "This is important."
He turned and walked toward his car, already lifting the phone to his ear. Ruben watched him for a moment, then drove away, his mind churning.
Evan had barely stepped through the eatery door when he let out a long breath, the weight of the day pressing down on him. He spotted Emily playing near Faith and managed a small smile.
"Afternoon, Ms. Veena," he greeted his neighbour, who sat watching the children.
"How was school, Evan?" Ms. Veena replied, scooping a spoonful of spaghetti into her mouth.
"It's great," Evan said, though the word felt hollow. He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside.
Tonia was seated at the table, her hand resting on her bump in a gesture of relaxation. She straightened immediately when she saw him, her eyes sharp.
"You got off late today," she observed as Evan dropped his school bag by the table.
"Yeah, we had study time." He pulled a soda from the fridge, then paused, looking around. "Where's Vicky?"
A frown creased his forehead.
"She's got a gig at Carlos Resort. Working there today," Tonia replied.
Evan nodded slowly and pulled a chair close to her, sitting down heavily. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Ereyesterday, when I left your house… someone spiked me when I got home."
Tonia's eyes widened. "What do you mean, spiked?"
"Someone was in our house. The moment I entered, he made me breathe in chloroform. I woke up the next day… in the afternoon. I even missed school."
Tonia's hand stilled on her belly. "What does Vicky say?"
"I don't think she knows." Evan stood, pacing now, his thoughts tangling into knots. "And something really isn't right."
He stopped, his eyes distant. "Maybe I should go to them. Maybe they know something I don't. I mean… they knew her past life more than I did."
"And what will you say?" Tonia's voice was calm, measured. "Hey, your best assassin is alive and well, and oh, I compressed her memories? You're spiralling, Evan. We did this for your sister's well-being. You didn't want to continue that life, and we will make sure she doesn't either."
"Levi says that if she doesn't relive the memories—the assassin actions—together with the compression tablets, she'll completely forget her past life." Evan sat again, his voice hardening. "I need to find out who spiked me. And why."
Vivian stood by the sofa, her chest heaving as her rage slowly receded into a simmer. Jonas watched her, calm and deliberate, his wine glass balanced on the armrest.
"Are you done?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter whether I'm done or not. You don't listen to me anyway." Vivian's voice was clipped, controlled. "Why are you here, Jonas? Money? Food?"
She studied him, noting the cut of his clothes, the health in his complexion. Wherever he'd been, he hadn't wanted for anything.
"Did you break up with Sara?" she added.
Jonas leaned forward, his gaze steady. "Did Paige come here yet?"
Vivian shifted almost imperceptibly, then caught herself. "What are you talking about?"
"Three years ago," Jonas said slowly, "a girl who looked almost exactly like Paige—except she had blue eyes—brought me evidence. Evidence that shows how you stole everything my brother worked for. She told me her name was Blue."
Vivian's jaw tightened. "Why didn't you show them in court when we split?"
Jonas ignored the question. He stood, stepping close to her, close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. The tension between them was a living thing, coiled and ready to strike.
"I just pray," he said, his voice low, "so hard, that you and Catherine get what you deserve. For love, I became your fool—"
"…and murdered your brother's family." Vivian cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade. "It's not for love, Jonas. It's because of your own greed."
The silence that followed was deafening. Neither moved. Neither blinked.
Vicky finished loading the shopping bags into the boot of her car, brushing her hands together in satisfaction.
"You're leaving already?"
She turned to find the woman she'd met earlier in the store approaching, her own arms laden with bags.
"Yes, Kuku," Vicky said with a smile. "I have an event to plan."
Kuku Veronica's eyebrows rose. "You plan events?"
"Yes… catering too. Today I'm working with Carlos Resorts." Vicky beamed.
In just a few hours, this warm, effusive woman had already begun to feel like family.
"My son—the one I told you about—he's getting married," Kuku Veronica began, resting her bags on the boot of Vicky's car.
"Oh, you should invite me. Then we can dance like there's no tomorrow." Vicky swayed her hips playfully, and Kuku Veronica laughed, a light, musical sound.
"Better," Kuku Veronica said, patting Vicky's shoulder. "You should plan it."
Vicky's eyes widened. For a moment, she thought the woman was joking—but Kuku Veronica's expression was serious.
"He said he'd look for a planner because he doesn't like the way we do things. He likes grand gestures." Kuku Veronica shrugged. "Just show me your work, and we can take it from there."
"Okay." Vicky scrambled for her phone. "I'll send you a WhatsApp message later. Just give me your number."
They exchanged numbers just as a man approached, carrying several large, expensive-looking jewellery boxes—the kind Vicky had only ever seen in magazines.
"Kuku Veronica, here's the collection. Catherine went to pick up a few things first; she said I should bring these here."
"Oh, thank you. Come, open them up."
They squatted by Vicky's car, the boxes balanced on the boot. Kuku Veronica made quick introductions.
"This is Timo, Lauren's jeweller. Timo, this is Victoria, my friend."
They exchanged pleasantries as Timo opened the boxes, revealing diamond rings that caught the sunlight and threw it back in dazzling bursts.
"Those are expensive rings," Vicky breathed.
"Yes. Catherine packed them all so we could have a better look at home." Kuku Veronica tilted her head, studying Vicky. "If you were to choose one for your fiancé… which one would it be?"
Vicky frowned. She glanced at Timo, who only shrugged.
"I don't have a fiancé, Kuku," she said, a sudden discomfort prickling at her.
"Yeah, theoretically." Kuku Veronica pressed, her eyes glinting. "Just take a look. Think of someone you once loved—or just crushed on. Which ring would you adorn them with?"
For a moment, Vicky was somewhere else. A memory surfaced—a boy smiling at her, her prince charming, as she'd liked to call him. A warmth spread through her chest.
"I would give him this one," she said softly, picking up a man's ring: a strip of platinum sandwiched with a sprinkling of diamonds.
Kuku Veronica smiled, her gaze lingering on Vicky a moment too long.
That look again, Vicky thought, suddenly aware of how intently the woman was watching her. She glanced at her watch.
"I'm running late, Kuku," she said quickly, stepping back. "I'll text you."
She was in the car and pulling away before the awkwardness could settle, her heart beating just a little too fast.
Three hours later, Vicky stood in the after-party venue, surveying her work. The boardroom, the conference room, the venue itself—all of it was immaculate. She had cooked, arranged, and directed the resort staff until every last detail was in place. Exhaustion hummed in her bones, but satisfaction burned brighter.
"Oooh… this is… new."
She spun at the sound of the familiar voice. Mr. Timly stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the space.
"Hi, Mr. Timly. What do you think?" Vicky asked, her nerves flickering back to life. Something about this man always set her on edge.
"I'm not the judge. My clients are." His eyes lingered on her creation a moment longer. "But I would definitely book you for my events in the future."
Vicky smiled, relief washing through her.
"There's a box by the kitchen. It's a dress. I hope they got the right size," Mr. Timly added. "Hurry up. People are already pouring in. The conference meeting is in progress."
Vicky nodded and hurried toward the kitchen, her heels clicking against the marble floors.
The resort was alive now—guests streaming in, voices rising in laughter and conversation, the air thick with perfume and anticipation. Vicky rounded a corner too quickly, her foot slipping on the polished floor. A scream caught in her throat as she began to fall—
Strong arms caught her.
They held her, suspended in a pose that would have looked rehearsed on a film set, the kind of dip reserved for ballroom dancers and lovers. Vicky's heart hammered against her ribs as she stared up at the man who held her.
She recognised him immediately. Alexander.
But something was off. He wore black pants and a hoodie, an earpiece nestled in his ear—more like an intruder hiding from the crowd than a guest at a high-end event. And yet his gaze… his gaze was steady, warm, entirely unlike the Alexander she thought she knew.
"You again," he said, his voice low, calm, familiar in a way that made her breath catch.
His heart beat fast beneath her palm, where her hand had landed against his chest. His skin was warm. Touching him felt like remembering something she had forgotten.
"I'm sorry… I…" Vicky stammered, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Thank you."
She pulled away, stumbling slightly, and fled without looking back.
The man stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the spot where she had disappeared.
"Xavier, are you in?" a voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Yeah… I am," Xavier answered, though he didn't move, didn't blink.
His gaze remained on the empty doorway, as though she might reappear at any moment.