The days that followed Michael’s collapse seemed longer than usual. The offices of both Donovan Industries and Ainsley Group carried a strange calm — the kind that comes after a storm, when everyone waits to see if another will rise.Clarissa found herself checking in on him every day. At first, it was through calls, small and polite. “Sir, just wanted to confirm you received the report.” Or, “Sir, should I forward the investor summary to your mail?”But the truth was, she didn’t care about the reports. She just wanted to hear his voice, to know he was alright.Michael always sounded calm, sometimes tired, but he kept insisting he was fine. “Clarissa,” he would say in that even, steady tone of his, “you don’t have to worry. I’m back on my feet.”Yet, every time she hung up, her heart said otherwise.By midweek, she couldn’t hold back anymore. She drove to Donovan Industries after work hours, claiming she needed his signature on a few documents. When she walked into his office, she

The morning began like any other. Nothing about the day hinted at what was coming.At exactly 10:15 a.m., Mrs. Oduah received a call from the reception. She spoke briefly, then looked toward Michael.“Sir, there’s someone here to see you. She says she’s an old friend — Miss Angela Morris.”Michael’s hand froze midway through signing a document. He slowly looked up. “Angela?” he repeated, almost as if the name carried a ghost.“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Oduah confirmed, adjusting her glasses.For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then he nodded faintly. “Send her in.”When the door opened, time itself seemed to pause.Angela Morris stepped in with the same quiet grace she once had. Her hair, darker now, fell neatly to her shoulders. Her eyes still held that warm sharpness he remembered — confident, knowing, but a little older, a little wiser.“Michael,” she said softly, her voice familiar yet distant.“Angela,” he replied, rising to his feet.For a moment, neither moved. Then he offered a faint s

The boardroom of Donovan Industries was quieter than usual that morning. The negotiation meeting with Hemsworth Alliance, represented by Angela Morris, had just begun. Michael sat at the head of the table, his expression calm but unreadable, while Angela spoke fluently about the proposal — her tone confident, persuasive, and charming as always.Across the table, the senior executives listened with cautious interest. They had seen skilled negotiators before, but Angela was in a league of her own. She spoke like someone who already knew the answer to every question before it was asked.“The partnership will open Ainsley Group and Donovan Industries to wider international markets,” Angela explained, her eyes briefly meeting Michael’s. “We’re offering technology integration, export channels, and policy support. In exchange, Hemsworth Alliance seeks a minority investment stake, purely advisory.”Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Advisory stake only?”“Yes,” she said smoothly, her tone steady

The news reached Sophia not through gossip this time, but through an internal memo that made its way across the departments at Donovan Industries. It was brief, almost too brief but every line carried the weight of what could have been a full-blown disaster.The Hemsworth partnership deal had been temporarily suspended pending further verification.No one outside the boardroom knew the full story, but Sophia didn’t need a detailed report to piece it together. She knew Michael well enough to recognise when he had been close to another storm and when someone had stepped in to pull him out.And this time, that someone was Clarissa McCann.The knowledge hit Sophia harder than she expected. She sat at her desk, staring blankly at the printed memo in her hands, her eyes scanning the lines again and again though the words had already sunk deep into her heart.“Protected him again,” she muttered under her breath. “Always her.”Her phone buzzed. It was Victoria, asking if she was free to tal

The evening rain had just stopped, leaving a faint scent of wet earth in the air. Inside Donovan Industries, most of the offices were empty, lights turned off, except for one — Michael’s. A soft glow poured out through the frosted glass of his door, faintly illuminating the corridor.Clarissa stood outside for a few seconds, holding a brown envelope filled with financial summaries and project reports. She had told herself she was only here to drop the documents and leave. But somehow, her heart had other plans.She took a quiet breath and knocked gently.“Come in,” Michael’s voice called from inside.When she entered, he was seated behind his desk, half-absorbed in paperwork. He looked up, surprised. “Clarissa? You’re still here?”“I wanted to hand you the final reports for the quarter,” she said, placing the envelope on his desk. “The audit team completed the review this evening. I thought it was better you got it tonight instead of waiting till tomorrow.”He smiled faintly. “You