2025-12-23 01:48:32
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30: New year plans
Midnight, December 31. The dawn of a new year. A time for resolutions and regrets. And a time for Francesca to seize control.The Blackwood estate erupted in cheers as the clocks struck twelve. Fireworks burst over the ocean, painting the sky in gold and crimson, a fleeting spectacle of manufactured joy. Champagne corks popped, releasing a torrent of effervescent promises. Laughter echoed through the open French doors, a cacophony of forced merriment.Francesca stood on the terrace, phone in hand, blanket wrapped around her shoulders against the biting chill. The cold seeped into her bones, a reminder of the emptiness within.The family photo from Christmas Eve stared back at her from the screen—perfect smiles, perfect lighting, the epitome of false happiness, posted with the insipid caption New Year, new beginnings.Twelve thousand likes. A pitiful number compared to her former glory.Her last live stream had pulled two million views, a testament to her influence and reach.This phot
29: Ball drama
30 December , The end of the year. A time for endings and beginnings. And a time for reckoning. Was it though?The Grand Ballroom of the Boston Harbor Hotel glittered like a jewel box—chandeliers dripping crystal, tables draped in midnight blue, the city skyline a silent witness beyond the windows. The end-of-year gala was the kind of event where fortunes were made with a handshake and reputations destroyed with a whisper. A stage for ambition, a playground for power.Eleanor's playground. She practically grew up in such places and sticking Jamie in was a lil way of still apologizing for being a bad mom.Jamie arrived with Eleanor on his arm, their entrance carefully orchestrated for maximum impact. Well, Eleanor did most of the charades. She was somewhat desperate to prove she was back in action and at the same time save her son's name. She might have been a bad mom but Jamie was still her baby and she rather have the media talk about this ball them something else."Thanks for th
28: Gamer
"Yooooo! Welcome viewer 'Magestic killer's' and I see you 'Boss master Gee'. Thanks for the crystals" Alita Amerigo sat cross-legged on her bed, ring light casting a soft, almost ethereal glow over her face, headset snug over her dark curls. The stream title blazed across the screen: Alita’s Challenge Run – Day 47 | 250k strong? Let’s hit 300k tonight! The goal was in sight. The pressure was on. Chat scrolled like a waterfall, a torrent of emojis and messages.She leaned into the mic, voice bright, a touch of playful defiance in her tone. “Okay, guys, we’re grinding the boss level again. If I die one more time, I’m blaming the lag, not my skills.” A well-rehearsed line, she was certain to practice that in front of the mirror last night. Knowing the mass already got invisible beef with her, she knew they would call her out for being 'over privileged ' or just a random jobless 'nepo baby'. She just got done with high school and is planning on studying computer science in college.
27: You owe me
Boxing day. The day after felt different. Lighter. Jamie sat in the mansion’s home office—dark wood paneling, leather chair, the faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree still lingering in the halls. Morning light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air like tiny, shimmering stars. He wore a simple grey sweater, sleeves pushed up, coffee cooling on the desk. Comfortable. At peace.His phone buzzed. David.Jamie answered on speaker.“Morning, boss. Quick update—Biiite Games & Apps is up another three percent overnight. Steady climb since yesterday.” The numbers spoke for themselves.Success already. Impressive. Jamie knew he haven't even done anything yet.Jamie leaned back, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “The trend?”“Teen streamer—Alita Amerigo. Seventeen, Guseppe’s little sister. She’s got two hundred twenty thousand live viewers right now playing one of our older titles. Chat’s exploding. Hashtag #AlitaChallenge is trending worldwide. Kids are buying in
26: It's a contrast
Christmas morning light poured through the tall windows of the mansion, soft and golden, turning the polished floors into rivers of warmth. The tree in the great hall still glittered with last night’s ornaments, gifts scattered beneath it like colorful wreckage from the staff’s midnight opening tradition. Laughter from the kitchen carried faintly—Mary and Veronica arguing good-naturedly over who made the better cinnamon rolls. A fleeting moment of normalcy in a world of chaos.Although it wasn't his style but Jamie loved it. Well, at least his mom loved it yesterday.Jamie stood in the doorway of the music room, coffee in hand, watching Silas. A silent observer.Silas was wiping down the already-spotless grand piano with a cloth, movements slow, deliberate. Too deliberate. Too studied. Every time a security camera in the corner whirred softly to adjust its angle, Silas shifted—just enough to keep his face out of frame. A practiced evasion.Like he trained just for that.Jamie had noti
25:Eve
The private jet banked gently over the coastline, the late-afternoon sun glinting off the ocean below like fallen stars. Christmas Eve. For the first time it no longer happens to be Francesca's favorite. The cabin was warm, the air scented with the leather seats and Fred’s cologne. Francesca sat by the window, blanket draped over her lap, staring at the clouds as if they might offer answers. A way out. A sign. Anything. The interview was still a strong blow for her. Not literally, but she felt like she had been slowly recovering from a drunken mess.Her phone had been on airplane mode since takeoff. A brief respite from the chaos. From the now trending and humiliating hashtags. From the clips or her last update of crying on social media. From her videos in general. All mocking her.Damn it! Damn her stupid plan.She switched it back now, heart already thudding. Anticipating the storm.Notifications flooded the screen. Something caught her eyes.Ten missed calls from Omalicha—yesterd
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