2025-12-15 18:58:47
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24: A little too late
Francesca stood in the middle of Fred’s living room, phone clutched in one hand, the other pressed to her mouth like she could physically hold in the scream building in her throat. A scream that threatened to shatter the fragile facade she had so carefully constructed.The numbers stared back at her from the laptop screen on the coffee table, mocking her. Could it be the fall before the rise?Fems stock: down another twelve percent overnight. A freefall.Frans & Co: bleeding clients—three major investors had already emailed withdrawals this morning. The lifeblood draining away.Forty percent total drop since Jamie’s interview aired two days ago. Her empire crumbling.Two days. Two days to ruin everything.Deep down she felt it she knew it even. She knew she had messed up big time. She knew she had somewhat underestimated Jamie freaking Luther. She knew she had to do something but what exactly?She felt the room tilt, the expensive furniture blurring at the edges of her vision. The ai
23: Devil in an orange dress
Two days until the interview.Jamie stood in front of the full-length mirror in his penthouse closet, the lights on auto-dimming, mirrors reflecting every angle like a hall of infinite selves. He pulled the Tom Ford charcoal three-piece suit from the rail—midnight wool with a subtle herringbone weave, shoulders cut sharp but not aggressive. The vest hugged his frame perfectly, the tie a slim black silk knot. On his wrist: the vintage Patek Philippe Nautilus, white-gold case with a glacier-blue dial that caught the light like frozen water. 38mm—understated, but the kind of watch that whispered fortunes without shouting. He rolled the sleeve down once, twice, checking the fit. No bracelet. Less was more when the words had to cut deeper than any accessory.Kofi watched from the doorway, arms folded, giving a single nod of approval.“Looking like death, Sir.” Kofi said, voice low.Jamie’s mouth curved. “That’s the point.”The day before had been quiet, no prep. Just Jamie, tea, talks with
22: Gus VIGNA
Jamie woke up happy. It was a strange feeling—light, like an early joy buzzer. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains of his old bedroom in the Luther family mansion, the same room he hadn’t slept in since college. Mama Vee had made it up for him yesterday, fresh linens, pillows fluffed, even a small vase of white roses on the nightstand. .He lay there a moment, staring at the familiar ceiling, letting the quiet sink in. The place still smelled the same, Like money.Yesterday had been heavy—the hug with his mother, the words from his dad, the piano notes that had carried everything he couldn’t say. It felt like free therapy.But waking up here, in this bed, with the faint smell of polished wood and old books… it felt like a small victory.His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Email from David.Two new investor proposals. Twenty fresh talk-show invitations. Stock holding steady—no further drop.He smiled.He dressed; dark jeans, cashmere sweater and headed downstairs.Mama V
21: Jazz and Piano
The Mercedes glided through the city, tires humming over wet asphalt. Jamie sat in the back, the window cracked just enough for the late-December air to bite his face. Kofi’s usual jazz filled the cabin—slow, smoky saxophone weaving through the silence like a memory Jamie couldn’t quite place.He tapped his fingers on the armrest, matching the beat without thinking.Kofi’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, caught the movement, then returned to the road. A small smile flashed across his face for a split second.“You like this one, boss?”Jamie’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Coltrane?”“’59. My Funny Valentine.” Kofi’s deep voice carried a hint of pride. “Old, but gold.”Jamie nodded. “My father hated jazz. Said it was noise for people who couldn’t read sheet music.” He paused, watching streetlights blur past. “I used to sneak records into my room at boarding school. Thought I was rebelling.”Kofi chuckled softly. “Rebelling with Coltrane. Dangerous man.”Awkward silence. Like t
20: Wine and Trust fund
“…marrying the man who actually loves me. And I’m leaving that toxic family behind forever.”The clip from Francesca's live video, now two days old, ended. Jamie's thumb lingered on the screen, a beat too long, before he set the phone face-down on the balcony table. Rage simmered beneath his usually cool surface. He wanted to break something, maybe someone, but he ruthlessly tamped it down. Years of discipline fought against the raw, primal urge.He glanced at Tom Hopper, seated opposite him. Since they were on the penthouse balcony of his mansion, the evening breeze—late December, sharp enough to bite—carried the faint scent of pine from the gardens far below. Jamie didn’t feel the cold his shimmering anger was enough heat.Mary, one of his housekeepers, appeared silently with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Her movements were almost hesitant, her eyes filled with a concern she couldn’t quite mask. She retreated almost immediately after pouring, but a small, tentative smile fla
19: #FrancescaSpeaks
Francesca stood in front of the full-length mirror in Fred’s walk-in closet, phone pressed to her ear, listening to Jamie’s voicemail for the fourth time that morning.“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable…”She ended the call before the beep. Had he blocked her? Did he just choose to ignore her? He wasn't like this before. Was it that rich perfect brat Alexandra Romah? After the photo from the gala last week, Jamie seemed to have changed.Did he really moved on to someone new so fast? How dare him!Her reflection stared back: eyes puffy from crying on camera an hour ago, mascara smudged just enough to look tragic, not sloppy. The new diamond on her finger caught the light every time her hand shook. Now, her social media post would be real enough, especially after what Jamie's father told her yesterday.Fred came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chin on her shoulder. He kissed her, chuckled at her reflection and moved back a few steps. He knew about the
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