The hum of the airplane filled the cabin, a steady drone that almost lulled passengers to sleep. But for one lady seated by the window, peace was far from her. She had endured discomfort for the past twenty minutes, watching in disbelief as the man beside her stretched his long leg and planted it boldly on top of her armrest. His shoe brushed against her elbow more than once, and she had clenched her fists, trying to ignore it. But now it was unbearable. She turned sharply and faced him.“Excuse me, sir,” she said, her voice carrying both irritation and restraint. “Could you please put your leg down? This is my space.”The man tilted his head lazily, chewing gum noisily, his eyes glinting with arrogance. Instead of moving, he leaned back deeper into his seat, grinning like a mischief-maker caught in his favorite game.“Do you know who I am?” he asked loudly, attracting curious stares from nearby passengers. His voice carried a kind of mock pride, almost daring her to challenge him.

The courthouse was buzzing that morning. Security vans lined the street, their sirens muted but their presence a reminder of the seriousness of the trial. Reporters crowded the front steps, cameras raised, microphones stretched forward, their voices overlapping in a restless hum. Inside the building, the air was thick with tension, the kind that settled heavily on the skin and made every step feel like a march to destiny.Martha Donovan walked into the courtroom with her lawyer by her side. She wore a dark suit, her head lifted high, her eyes sharp, as though daring anyone to believe she was guilty of the charges against her. Bohemia trailed behind, seating himself in the second row just behind her. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, though anger burned faintly in his eyes. He had promised himself to stand with Martha, no matter what.On the other side of the courtroom sat Michael, composed and silent, flanked by his lawyer. Sonia and Clarissa were behind him, their faces

The visiting room was quiet, the kind of silence that carried weight. The fluorescent light above hummed faintly, its glow resting coldly on the three figures seated around the metal table. Sophia sat with her back straight, her face sharp with suspicion, her eyes darting from Bohemia to the strange man beside him. She didn’t expect visitors today. And even if she did, Bohemia was the last person on earth she thought she would see.For a long moment, nobody spoke. It was as though the air itself was thick with tension. Then, the stranger leaned forward, adjusting the papers in front of him. His suit was perfectly pressed, his tie drawn tightly around his neck. He looked like a man who lived on order and calculation.“My name is Charles Bennett,” the man said finally, his tone calm but commanding. “I’m a senior partner at a law firm. Mr. Mason here and I have been working on something important—something that concerns you and your sister.”Sophia gave him a long, dry stare. She didn

The system of governance is so corrupt that even a killer can walk out of jail, walking freely under the bright sun, while the innocent rot behind iron bars with no one to plead their cause. A system where the power of wealth bends the law and the poor remain voiceless. How long can society continue this way, where justice and fairness are stolen like cheap ornaments from the hands of the common people? Where truth is twisted until it favors the strong and crushes the weak?Such questions echoed in the hearts of many, but answers never came. Instead, corruption moved like a silent poison in the veins of the land, destroying what was left of morality.Two days later, Michael stepped out of a towering glass building, the reflection of the late afternoon sun bouncing off its windows. He had just completed another long hour of intense discussion with potential partners, the kind of meeting that demanded both mental strength and calm endurance. His mind was heavy with figures, projectio

The atmosphere inside the boardroom was thick with expectation, every man and woman seated around the long polished table waiting for what would unfold. The CEO had just announced that any member who wished to contest for the acting chairman position should identify themselves.There was silence at first, the kind that made the tick of the wall clock sound louder than usual. Then, slowly, a hand rose.It was Mr. Callahan, one of the oldest members of the board. His hair was silver, his eyes slightly dimmed with age, but his voice remained steady. “I will contest,” he said, his tone calm but firm. Heads turned toward him, some nodding in respect. He had been with PresLead Group for more than twenty-five years, and though age slowed him, his reputation still carried weight.Before the murmurs around the table could die down, Bohemia leaned forward with a smile plastered on his lips. He raised his hand too. “I will also contest,” he declared. His eyes darted toward Michael, mocking h