2025-12-10 20:23:22
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17: Your wish
The envelope sat on the desk like a loaded weapon. More like a plague. He wasn't scared of it, just anticipating what would have been sick enough for Francesca to send.Jamie stared at it for a long minute after Dean stormed out, then pressed the intercom.“Send in Mr Hopper.”Tom Hopper; forty-five, ex-Marine, hair still cut like he expected incoming fire, walked in carrying a single legal pad and the calm of a man who had seen every kind of ugly a marriage can produce. He shut the door with his heel.“Morning, Jamie.” He took the chair opposite without waiting to be asked. “We can have her served by Friday and in front of a judge in six weeks if we move aggressively. Massachusetts is no-fault, but we can still make it painful.”Jamie rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just want it over.”Tom’s pen paused. “You sure? Because I sense you are making this a pie. Like you want to give her the 50% she asked for. Sure that's wise? You want peace?"Jamie’s laugh was soft and bitter. “Peace?
16: Do I speak Latin?
The elevator doors slid open into the penthouse kitchen and Jamie knew, before a word was spoken, that something was wrong. The silence.Guseppe was gone. Gone with his usual chaos —half-eaten pastry on the counter, espresso cup still spinning in the saucer, leather jacket slung over a bar stool like a dead animal—was absent. The air felt too still."Okayyy" Jamie thought aloud.Jamie perched on the marble island, legs dangling, scrolling nothing on his phone while he waited for Kofi to bring the car around. Silas appeared silently, wiping his hands on a towel the colour of storm clouds.“Mr Guseppe left at dawn,” Silas said, voice low. “His father called. Sounded… urgent.”Jamie only nodded. He could already picture the scene in Italy: marble hallways, raised voices, Nonna clutching rosary beads like a weapon. If not that, it could be something at the family company. Both him and Guseppe had been wondering when they wanted him to rake his position as a responsible son, especially
15: Paparazzi
The study smelled of rum and old paper. Jamie sat in the leather chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, the crystal tumbler catching the low amber light every time he lifted it. He wasn’t drunk. He was just… tired of tasting nothing.The monitors glowed like cold moons. Stocks. Emails. Headlines he refused to open. He already knew what they said.“Poor little rich boy didn’t even know his wife was sleeping with his father.” "Does Jamie Luther even know he is alive?" “Jamie Luther: the last to know, again.” “Sources close to the couple say he still hasn’t seen Francesca’s post.”He didn’t need to see it. He had lived it.The Al-Zahran wedding had ended three days ago. A triumph. Silk tents shimmering over a frozen lake, gold lanterns floating like fireflies, the bride’s mother crying because the women’s pre-wedding event —officially credited to Fems, quietly executed by Biiite— had been perfect. Jamie had watched the final
14: The gala
Jamie stepped out of the Mercedes in a midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo that cost more than most people’s cars. The gala was exactly what his mother had promised: the kind of room where presidents and governors pretended they were just “passing through.” Flashbulbs popped the second he appeared. Kofi, black suit, earpiece, silent mountain, stayed two steps behind.Always two steps behind while he scanned the room. Just precautions, Not like Jamie wasn't scanning the room too Just In case he gets bored early.Eleanor Luther spotted him instantly. She was draped in silver silk, diamonds flashing at her throat like warning lights. She waved him over with the imperial flick of two fingers.At first, Jamie wanted to ignore her but he couldn't. She was his mom and whether he liked it or not, making a scene would not help their ongoing public saga.“Darling,” she said, air-kissing both cheeks, “come.”She steered him toward a silver-haired man in a navy suit. “Jamie, Congressman Hargrove. Richa
13: Francesca second envelope
The day at the office was hectic. Francesca was just rounding up the Al-Zahran deal, telling herself Fems and Biiite would still do it as planned, when the truth crawled into her mind like a spider: she wasn’t going to get another deal like this. Jamie had made sure the world knows it was his deal.Although he didn't say anything because he doesn't have to. He just had a way of doing things and it always vexed Francesca.'Fred said he would help me'. She tried to calm herself.The door opened. Omanicha walked in holding the big brown envelope.Francesca recognised it instantly. The room shook, could be in her head but it felt like an earthquake.“That shit!” she yelled before Omanicha could even come closer to put it down. “Where did you get it from?”Omanicha jumped, took a few steps back, pressing the parcel to her chest like a shield. She was breathing so hard her shoulders shook. Her eyes roamed around the room. She looked like a frightened skinned chicken.“This? I… I-I got it fr
12: Third Party
That same day, late evening, Jamie came down in a dark silk robe, hair still damp from the shower, looking for the only thing that still made sense: the Yogi tea. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard laughter. Real, loud, belly-deep laughter. And it was coming from Silas.Jamie froze. In all the period Silas had worked for him, he had never heard the man laugh like that. Not once. Was it because Guseppe refused to leave him 'alone'? Or was it just the 'Guseppe effect '? Shrugging, he stepped into the kitchen doorway.Guseppe was perched on a bar stool, gesturing wildly, half Italian, half English. “…and then Nonna grabs the wooden spoon like a sword and screams, ‘Guseppeeee, you come here or I come to you!’”Kofi, sitting beside him, actually had tears in his eyes.Jamie’s gaze dropped. Guseppe’s collar had shifted. A dark, unmistakable hickey the size of a euro coin sat just above his clavicle.Guseppe turned, spotted Jamie, and the laughter died into a sheepish grin. He
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