Rico walked down the long corridor leading to the patriarch’s chambers, his footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floor. The morning light filtered through tall glass windows, painting pale streaks across the polished tiles. The house was quieter than usual and He could sense the tension before he even reached the door. He slowed when he heard voices from inside. “Heard anything from Eliron yet?” his grandfather’s deep voice asked. “No,” Damian replied. “I’m still trying to reach him. the person he went to search for has returned but he is no where to be found, but I’ll make another call after breakfast.” “Do that fast,” the patriarch said. “We can’t afford delays. That aside, I heard Silverline Logistics is having some issues—can you—” Before he could finish, Rico stepped forward and knocked. There was a pause. Then his grandfather’s voice came again, firm but not angry. “Come in.” Rico pushed the door open and entered. The scent of expensive cigars lingered faintly in

Rico left the West mansion just after noon, the Silverline file secured in his briefcase. The house felt unnervingly quiet, sunlight spilling through tall glass windows that gleamed like cold mirrors. He paused at the base of the stairs, a flicker of unease tightening his chest. “Eliron?” he called. His voice sounded smaller than he expected. No answer. A figure appeared in the doorway. It was Zaya. “Sir,” Zaya said, bowing slightly, her expression taut, almost haunted. “He hasn’t returned, young master.” Rico’s gaze sharpened. His pulse quickened. “Not returned?” “Yes, sir. The last tracker signal went dead near the eastern ridge before dawn. We’ve sent men to investigate, but there’s been no report yet.” Rico felt the air constrict around him. Did Eliron find something… or had something found him? The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He pulled out his phone and dialed Eliron’s number, holding the device like a lifeline. The line rang twice before

Melinda twirled one last time in front of the mirror, the sequined dress clinging to her curves like it had been sculpted for her alone. The overhead lights bounced across the glittering fabric, casting molten gold across her reflection. She let out a slow, satisfied laugh, one that was almost feline in its pride, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Every inch of her was deliberate—every glance, every tilt of the head, every curve highlighted just right.“Perfection,” she murmured, fingers gliding down her waist as if she could trace the triumph of the day in the shape of her body. Carefully, she stacked the dress atop the growing pile of shopping bags beside her. Each box, each glossy bag, was a tiny trophy, a testament to victories earned, battles fought with credit cards and willpower. The torn-off tags whispered over and over, You’ve earned this.Theresa leaned lazily against the counter, silver heels glinting in her hand. “Okay… I think we’ve officially conquered

Melinda’s pulse had not settled since the SUV disappeared from sight. Her chest felt tight and burning, as if every ounce of humiliation in the world had been poured into her all at once. Her hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists, refusing to let anyone see her weakness. Anger bubbled under her skin, sharp and itchy, mixing with a deep, sinking sting of betrayal she could barely name. Vanessa exhaled dramatically and pressed a hand to her chest. Her voice trembled slightly with awe as she said, “I still cannot believe it. Rico? Of all people? The West heir?” Chloe let out a low whistle, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “Honestly, that man,” she said, “he did not even need to speak. The confidence alone was insane. I mean… wow.” Theresa nodded silently, her eyes wide and unfocused. “He looked different,” she said softly. “Like someone important. Like he belonged at the top of the world.” Their words sliced through Melinda’s pride like blades dipped in s

The automatic doors of Haven Oaks slid open with a soft hiss, letting in a draft of cool, sterile air. Rico often wore a disguise when he came to see his mum and that protected his identity. No one knew that the man who had Eleanor Devi here, was the Rico West coming in now. The moment he stepped inside with Damian, every pair of eyes in the lobby shifted toward them. Recognition lingered somewhere beneath the surface, whispers rising, nurses straightening, a receptionist pausing mid-sentence, but no one could place him. The West family carried weight, authority, a tension that people felt even before they understood why. Yet the disguise kept Rico’s identity concealed, allowing him to move unobserved. Rico barely acknowledged any of it. He wasn’t irritated or bothered; he was too focused to care. His phone vibrated once in his pocket. He checked the screen immediately. It was the reply he had been waiting for. "Make sure no one knows her room," he had typed earlier. "She m