The evening sun sank behind the marble towers of Veradena, casting a warm golden glow across the Hall of Eden — the grandest event center in the city. Chandeliers shimmered like captured stars, violins sang softly, and a thousand eyes watched the man of the hour: Billy Lawson.He stood tall in his tailored tuxedo, a picture of calm charm. His lips curved in the kind of smile that could melt ice — practiced, perfect, but hollow. Across from him, Shantel Damaris walked slowly down the aisle, her white gown trailing like spilled moonlight. Her eyes, deep brown and full of emotion, searched Billy’s face for a flicker of sincerity. She found a smile there, but not warmth.When she finally stood before him, he took her hands. His touch was firm — maybe too firm — as if sealing a deal, not a destiny.“Do you, Billy Lawson, take this woman—” the pastor began.Billy’s gaze didn’t leave Shantel’s. He could feel the weight of her love pressing against the thin walls of his deceit. He swallowed t

Morning sunlight crept through the velvet curtains of the Damaris mansion, brushing across Billy’s face. He stirred, still half-lost in dreams of boardrooms and balance sheets. Beside him, Shantel slept peacefully, one arm draped across his chest — soft, trusting, and unaware of the distance growing between them.Billy stared at the ceiling. For weeks he’d played the perfect husband: attending dinners, smiling at relatives, offering polite conversation. Yet the more he lived the part, the more it suffocated him. Every handshake at the company reminded him that he was still the son-in-law, not the master. Every compliment felt like mockery wrapped in silk.He rose quietly, dressing in a navy suit finer than any he’d owned before. The mirror reflected a man who looked successful, but the eyes that stared back were tired and restless.Soon, he thought. Once the old man retires, once I have an heir… everything will change.---At breakfast, the air was filled with the scent of coffee and

---The morning after the charity gala dawned bright and cruel.Billy woke with a dull ache behind his eyes — not from the champagne, but from the memory of the balcony, of Dalia’s lips and the shame that followed.Shantel was already up, humming softly as she arranged flowers in the vase by their window. The sun spilled across her hair, turning it golden. She looked peaceful — untouched by the chaos that churned in him.When she turned and smiled, Billy felt something twist in his chest.“Good morning,” she said.He managed a nod. “Morning.”She came close, brushing her fingers across his collar. “You were quiet last night. Did something happen?”He hesitated, his mind flashing to Dalia’s smirk, her perfume. “Just tired,” he lied. “Long night.”Shantel nodded slowly. “Well, I made breakfast. You need strength for that meeting with Father.”Billy’s expression hardened. “Right. The meeting.”---By noon, he stood in the grand office of Mr. Raymond Damaris, the patriarch whose name comm

The dawn after the storm was gray and still. The city of Veradena lay under a heavy mist, as though nature itself was holding its breath for what was about to happen.Shantel stood by the kitchen window, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. Billy hadn’t come to bed. She’d heard the front door creak at some ungodly hour and the shuffle of his steps through the corridor.He was hiding something—she could feel it in her bones.When Billy finally came downstairs, his shirt half-buttoned and his eyes bloodshot, she tried to greet him with warmth.“Did you sleep at all?”He didn’t answer, just reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, avoiding her gaze.“Billy,” she said softly. “Talk to me. Please.”“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just tired.”“Is it work?”His hand froze mid-sip. “I said I’m fine, Shantel.”The sharpness in his voice startled her. He had never spoken to her that way before. The silence that followed stretched, heavy and brittle. Then, w

The days that followed were slow, colorless things.Billy woke to the same cracked ceiling, the same flickering light bulb, and the same silence that seemed to mock him. The luxury he once flaunted had faded into a single truth: he had nothing, and no one.He spent his mornings walking through the crowded streets of Old Veradena, the forgotten part of the city where dreams went to die. Street vendors shouted over one another, children ran barefoot through puddles, and the air smelled of smoke and wet cement.Sometimes, people recognized him — not as the wealthy son-in-law of the Damaris family, but as the man who lost everything.He got used to the whispers.He stopped fighting them.---Billy found a small job at a dockyard loading cargo into rusty trucks. The work was rough, the pay small, but it was something.Each evening, he came home with dirt under his nails and bruises on his arms. The labor stripped away what pride had survived. Yet in a strange way, it also grounded him. For