CHAPTER 81– LOLA… ALWAYS DELULULola slammed the door so hard the framed photos on her wall rattled, one of them tilting sideways like it was judging her. Fuck that. She twisted the lock with a click that echoed in her chest, sealing herself in this stupid pink-and-gold prison of a room. Her heart was pounding, blood roaring in her ears like a goddamn freight train. She could still feel the sting on her palm from slapping Joyce, the way her head snapped back—satisfying for a split second before Dad’s voice cut through like a knife.God, she hated her. Hated her so much it burned in her gut, twisting like acid. Joyce, the one who got everything handed to her on a silver platter—Dad’s approval, the company gig, and now Patrick? Her Patrick? The thought made her want to scream again, but her throat was raw from all the yelling downstairs. Lola paced the room, heels digging into the carpet, back and forth like a caged animal. Her camisole clung to her skin, sticky with sweat, and that loo

CHAPTER 83– NOTHING LIKE PLAYING WITH TOYSLola kicked the drawer shut with her heel and crawled back onto the bed, toys clutched tight in one hand like stolen treasure. Her skin was still buzzing from the first orgasm, sensitive and alive, but that greedy ache deep inside hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it was louder now, demanding more. She shoved pillows aside, making space, and yanked her shorts down her thighs in one impatient tug, kicking them off somewhere into the dark. The camisole followed, peeled over her head and tossed aside, leaving her completely bare on the cool sheets.The dildo felt heavy in her palm, cool silicone warming fast against her skin. She dragged the tip along her inner thigh just to tease herself, shivering at the contact. Fuck Joyce. Fuck her perfect life and her perfect excuses. This was Lola’s room, Lola’s body, Lola’s fantasy, and tonight Patrick belonged to her alone. She clicked the vibrator on low— that familiar hum filling the quiet like a prom

CHAPTER 85 — FACES FROM THE PASTJoyce pushed through the glass doors to the AI division wing, the cool air-conditioning hitting her face like a slap of reality. Her team’s area was just as she’d left it—whiteboards scrawled with algorithms, monitors glowing with code, the low hum of focused chatter. A few heads popped up as she entered, eyes widening in surprise.“Joyce?” Her lead developer, Marcus, stood up from his desk, grinning wide. “Holy shit—boss lady’s back!”That broke the ice. A couple of cheers, some applause. Her project manager, Sarah, rushed over for a quick hug. “We missed you. Things have been… chaotic without your direction.”Joyce felt a genuine smile crack through her tension. “Missed you guys too. Let’s catch up—quick stand-up in five?”Nods all around. It felt good. Familiar. Like slipping into an old, favorite jacket.But as she set her bag down at her office—glass walls overlooking the floor—the high from her team’s welcome started fading. Those faces in the lo

CHAPTER 87 — CROSSROADS AND COMMITMENTSJoyce stared at her laptop screen, the GreenField Dynamics website glowing back at her. Charts of crop yields, drone surveillance systems, AI-driven irrigation—it was impressive. More than that, it was a challenge. She could see the synergies with her current work: machine learning for predictive analytics, neural nets optimizing resource allocation. But stepping into the family agro business? That meant boardrooms filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins like Chloe, all waiting to pounce on any misstep.She closed the laptop, leaning back on her couch. Last night’s dinner with Patrick replayed in fragments—his easy confidence, the way he’d pivoted from personal to professional when she’d shut him down. Smart move. But the agro pitch felt like a curveball, one thrown with her dad’s blessing. She needed to talk to him, clear the air.The next morning, she called him on her drive to work. “Dad, about this board seat—why now? And why involve Patrick?

CHAPTER 189And there he was.Kelvin didn’t look surprised to see her.That was the first thing that unsettled Joyce.He sat at the far end of the boardroom table, one arm resting casually against the polished wood, fingers loosely intertwined like he had all the time in the world. His suit was dark, tailored to precision, crisp in a way that suggested authority rather than effort. No loosened tie. No restless movements. Just control.His gaze lifted slowly.And locked onto hers.The room didn’t disappear—but it dimmed.The pull in her chest tightened, sharper now, unmistakable. Recognition, yes—but also something unresolved. Something that had never been given the dignity of a proper ending.Kelvin’s eyes held hers for a fraction longer than necessary.Not longing.Not warmth.Assessment.As if he were reading the woman she had become and comparing her to the one he remembered—measuring the distance between then and now.Joyce didn’t blink.She took her seat without breaking eye cont