She leaned closer to him, her expression deadly and serious. Mrs. Sampson sneered ingratiatingly. "Let me be crystal clear: if anything like this happens again, you'll drown in your own filth. Don't ever call for my assistance! Understood?" The supervisor paled but forced a chuckle. "Of course! It won’t happen again." Fiona stepped forward, her sickly-sweet smile, she uttered, "We’re truly grateful, Mrs Sampson. Nicholas was becoming a thorn in our flesh. ." Mrs. Sampson ignored her, her face flushed in rage. "I don't give a fuçk about you say! Just remember, you both have a foavour to reciprocate!” With that final threat hanging in the air like a sharp blade, she snatched her designer handbag from the desk and waltzed out of the room. The supervisor remained frozen for a long moment before finally exhaling - a shaky, uneven sound that betrayed his crumbling composure. "Jeez." he muttered, running trembling fingers through his hair. Turning to Fiona, he attempted a laug

The woman he had loved, the person he had trusted more than anyone, had betrayed him in the worst possible way. As he walked away, he felt a surge of anger and determination. He would make them pay for what they had done. ~~~ Meanwhile, back in the office, Fiona and the supervisor were left in stunned silence. The weight of Nicholas ’s threat hung heavily in the air. Fiona turned to the supervisor, her face pale with fear. “What are we going to do? He’s going to report us. We’ll lose everything.” The supervisor, however, seemed unfazed. A slow, sinister smile spread across his face as an idea began to form in his mind. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm and calculating. “I have a plan. If we play our cards right, Nicholas will be the one who regrets ever crossing us.” Fiona’s eyes widened as the supervisor leaned in and whispered his plan into her ear. Her initial fear was replaced by a sly smile as she nodded in agreement. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice filled with

“ Nicholas’s heart stopped. ‘Bellingham dynasty?’ His parents had died when he was young, leaving him and Olivia with nothing but their names. They had struggled every day just to survive. "You’ve been lost to us for years," the old man continued. "But now, you’ve been found." Nicholas couldn’t process it. None of this made sense. "Who… who are you?" The old man placed a hand on his shoulder. "My name is Alfred Graves. I served your family for decades. And now, it’s time for you to come home." Nicholas’s legs threatened to give out. Home? He had no home. Just a tiny apartment he could barely afford. Nicholas Bellingham stood frozen, his mind reeling from the old man’s words. ‘Young Master of the Bellingham family?’ The richest family in the world? It sounded like something out of a fantasy novel—not his life. “You must have mistaken me for someone else,” Nicholas insisted, shaking his head on denial. “I grew up in an orphanage. My parents died when I was yo

“Good morning, Miss! I’m here for an—” he blurted out, desperate to speak to someone, anyone who could help. But before he could finish, the bank clerk, without even looking up from her desk, snapped at him harshly, “Hey! How can you be so rude and impolite? Join the queue like everyone else!” The words hit him like a slap. He blinked and looked around, only now noticing the long line of people waiting to be served. Murmurs began to spread through the line, and he could feel the eyes on him—some curious, others filled with disdain. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, almost a whisper, bowing his head slightly before retreating to the back of the queue. He stood there, fists clenched, trying to stay calm. The line moved slowly, and with each passing second, a cold dread grew inside his chest. The thought of his sister lying on that hospital bed, fighting for her life, made his stomach churn. After what felt like an eternity, his turn finally came. He approached the desk again, h

“Good morning, Miss! I’m here for an—” he blurted out, desperate to speak to someone, anyone who could help. But before he could finish, the bank clerk, without even looking up from her desk, snapped at him harshly, “Hey! How can you be so rude and impolite? Join the queue like everyone else!” The words hit him like a slap. He blinked and looked around, only now noticing the long line of people waiting to be served. Murmurs began to spread through the line, and he could feel the eyes on him—some curious, others filled with disdain. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, almost a whisper, bowing his head slightly before retreating to the back of the queue. He stood there, fists clenched, trying to stay calm. The line moved slowly, and with each passing second, a cold dread grew inside his chest. The thought of his sister lying on that hospital bed, fighting for her life, made his stomach churn. After what felt like an eternity, his turn finally came. He approached the desk again, h