2025-07-06 05:10:00“Drag that thief out!” Victoria screamed as two of the estate’s uniformed security men held Michael by the arms, dragging him like a criminal across the marble floor of the Donovan villa.
He didn’t fight. His face stayed calm, almost too calm for a man being thrown out of the place he’d once called home.
The humiliation wasn’t new, but this one bit deeper.
“What did I even steal?” Michael asked quietly, trying to look up.
“Shut up!” Victoria barked. “You’re lucky I don’t call the police. Next time, you’ll learn not to touch what doesn’t belong to you.”
The staff looked on, some shaking their heads with pity, others pretending not to see anything.
Just then, a loud hum pierced the air. The sound of a powerful engine approaching.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom, sleek and majestic, rolled through the front gates and into the compound. Victoria’s face changed immediately. She squinted, her mouth slowly falling open as the vehicle came to a smooth stop.
“Jesus…” she muttered, eyes wide. “It’s Dad!”
Inside the car, Henry Donovan sat with dark glasses, a blanket over his lap. The moment he stepped out with the help of his driver, Victoria nearly choked on her own spit.
“Let him go! Let him go now!” she whispered fiercely to the guards. “Are you mad? Do you want him to see you dragging that boy like that?”
The guards immediately released Michael, who dropped to the ground, his shirt dusty and his arms sore. Victoria leaned toward him sharply.
“Run back to your quarters. Now,” she hissed, her voice low and angry. “Clean your face. Stay out of sight.”
Michael looked at her for a long second, then slowly stood and limped away, not saying a word.
By the time Henry entered the house, everyone was already pretending.
Victoria was smiling like a dutiful daughter.
Sophia had just finished reapplying her lipstick. Bohemia, tall and broad-shouldered, sat confidently on the sofa, his arm lazily resting across the backrest behind Sophia.
Bohemia was not just some random man. He was the second son of the Gabara family, one of the most influential business dynasties in the city. Rich, connected, and proud. The family was the kind that made headlines without trying.
With everyone now seated, Henry turned to Bohemia. “Bohemia,” he called. “Could you kindly excuse us for a moment?”
Bohemia sat up, feeling shocked. He thought his presence in this family should’ve been a blessing. Why was Henry chasing him out? He quickly darted his shocking and disappointing gaze to Sophia.
Sophia tried to argue, but the venomous look on his father’s face made her flinch. She nodded at Bohemia who now quietly stood up and left the room.
“Where’s Michael?” Henry asked immediately after settling in the centre of the living room. His lawyer was already seated beside him with a briefcase.
Everyone looked around.
“Michael?” Henry repeated, removing his glasses. His eyes scanned the room.
Sophia shifted uncomfortably. “He’s… probably busy.”
Henry frowned.
“This meeting cannot continue without him,” he said. “Someone go and call him. Now.”
Sophia was furious. How can her father place so much importance in a ‘nobody’ and despised Bohemia - the man she loved?
The lawyer cleared his throat and added, “Yes, Mr. Donovan is right. Legally, Mr. Michael must be present.”
Whispers followed instantly.
Their mother weren’t invited. She was divorced five years ago, after being caught cheating with another man. Henry was furious, pained and he did not only divorce her, he cut her his wealth.
But even as she was out of the family, she still kept tabs with her daughters.
Sophia scoffed and leaned forward slightly. “Why would a cleaner need to be here?”
Victoria looked like she had swallowed pepper. Her eyes darted to her sister, then to her father. With her heart racing, she stood slowly.
“I’ll get him,” she said with a forced smile.
She stormed out, her heels clicking hard against the tiles, louder than necessary.
---
Michael was in the servant quarters, still in his dusty cleaning clothes. He was rinsing a mop when the door flung open.
“Come out,” Victoria snapped.
He turned, wiping his hand with a towel. “Why?”
“Because my Dad said so!” she barked. “Come now before he starts asking questions.”
Michael followed quietly, wiping his hands again as he walked behind her.
When they stepped into the living room, the atmosphere shifted.
Every eye turned.
He was still wearing his stained shirt and old trousers. His shoes were wet, leaving faint footprints behind. Murmurs followed him, whispers like knives pricking the air.
Michael kept his head low. His hands were clasped in front of him, but his back stayed straight. Not in pride, but in quiet resistance.
Henry smiled faintly the moment he saw him.
“There you are,” he said, ignoring every whisper.
Michael bowed his head slightly. “Good evening, master.”
Henry motioned for him to come closer.
“Sit beside me,” he said.
Sophia gasped.
“Dad, what is going on?”
But before Henry could respond, a sudden, violent cough burst from his throat. It shook his chest so hard that the blanket on his lap fell to the floor.
“Dad?” Victoria rushed to his side.
Another cough followed, louder, deeper and this time, blood splattered across Henry’s white handkerchief. Thick, red and terrifying.
“Call the doctor!” Sophia screamed, rising to her feet.
The lawyer stood too, alarmed. “Mr. Donovan!”
The whole room turned into chaos. Bohemia rushed back inside, taking in the shocking scene.
Michael froze.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe.
The man who had given him everything, even if through silence, even if through hard lessons, was gasping for air.
Henry’s eyes found Michael’s again, watery and tired, but still holding that same fire, the same belief.
People panicked around him.
Sophia was already in tears.
Victoria was pacing and shouting instructions.
Michael knelt beside the couch, gripping Henry’s arm gently.
“Stay with us, sir,” he whispered.
But the coughs kept coming.
And then, silence took over the room.
A cold, terrifying silence that wrapped the room in fear.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Chapter 196: The Shape of the Future
Time did what it always did best. It settled things.Months passed, not in dramatic leaps, but in steady accumulation. Decisions made earlier began to show their consequences, not loudly, but unmistakably. The consortium found its rhythm under distributed leadership, no longer bottlenecked by a single centre of authority. Meetings became shorter. Execution became sharper. Confidence returned, not because people were reassured with words, but because outcomes kept arriving on schedule.Sophia’s regional division stood out quickly.What had initially been projected as cautious growth exceeded expectations within the first quarter. Her team expanded deliberately, talent selected for competence rather than allegiance. Processes were lean, communication direct. The markets she oversaw responded well to leadership that understood both structure and flexibility. Investors noticed. So did competitors.Michael watched the reports arrive with quiet satisfaction.Back home, Donovan Industries
Chapter 195: What Stays, What Moves
Sophia accepted the role two days later.She did it quietly, without ceremony, without the kind of announcement that often followed appointments of that scale. The decision was communicated through formal channels first, structured and precise, but it was the addendum that caught attention. She did not merely agree to lead the regional arm. She redefined it.Her acceptance came with conditions.The regional unit would operate with partial independence, its own internal governance, and decision-making authority that did not funnel every outcome back through Donovan Industries. Oversight would exist, yes, but not proximity. Collaboration would be deliberate, not assumed. Reporting would be transparent, but not hierarchical in the way some expected.There was resistance at first.A few executives questioned the need. Others framed it as unnecessary complication. But Sophia did not argue emotionally. She presented the structure the way she approached most things now—calmly, logically,
Chapter 194: A Choice Made in Daylight
The announcement came on a Tuesday morning, delivered with the kind of polished optimism that usually followed a battle survived rather than a war begun. The consortium had secured its long-term backing. The final investor commitments were signed, regulatory concerns addressed, and the rival firm’s pressure dissolved quietly into retreat. What had once threatened to stall the entire project now stood resolved, reinforced, and publicly affirmed.In the boardroom where the decision was shared, relief did not arrive as celebration. It arrived as composure.The victory was real, but it had been earned through strain, and everyone present understood that triumph did not erase cost. It only clarified what came next.Sophia received the offer less than an hour later.It was framed as opportunity, and professionally, it was exactly that. The consortium intended to establish a new regional arm—autonomous, strategically placed, and influential enough to shape policy rather than react to it.
Chapter 193: The Cost of Alignment
The scrutiny did not arrive loudly.It crept in through tone, through questions that sounded polite but carried sharp edges beneath the surface. It showed up in headlines that mentioned Sophia's name a beat too close to Michael's, in panel discussions where her role was acknowledged but never quite examined on its own terms. At first, it was subtle enough to dismiss as coincidence or paranoia. Then it wasn't.By the middle of the week, the pattern had become impossible to ignore.An investigative journalist had begun circling the consortium story from an angle that felt deliberate, intentional. The pieces were framed carefully, almost respectfully, but the implication threaded through them all was clear enough: proximity. History. Access. The suggestion that Sophia's growing influence was less about expertise and more about who she once was to the man now leading the project.Sophia read the articles alone in her hotel room late at night, her laptop balanced on the desk, the city
Chapter 192: The Leverage
By morning, the atmosphere around the consortium had shifted from cautious optimism to controlled alarm.What began as a strategic manoeuvre by a rival firm quickly hardened into something more dangerous. Legal notices were exchanged before midday. Political pressure followed not long after, subtle but deliberate, routed through regulatory bodies and whispered advisory channels. The intention was clear: stall the project long enough to weaken confidence, then step in as a so-called stabilising alternative.Michael became the visible centre of the response.He arrived early, long before most of the executives, and moved through the building with a quiet efficiency that set the tone without announcement. Meetings were convened, adjourned, and reconvened as information evolved. He listened more than he spoke, absorbing competing perspectives, weighing risk against timing. Publicly, he became the anchor.He addressed investors with calm assurances rooted in facts rather than optimism
Chapter 191: Dinner Without Illusions
The restaurant Michael chose was quiet in a way that felt intentional. Not secluded, just calm enough that conversation could exist without being swallowed by noise or the clatter of overworked kitchens. The lighting was warm, softening the edges of the room.Sophia noticed that immediately when she walked in.They were seated by the window, the city lights stretching beyond the glass, moving steadily as cars passed below in streams of white and red. A waiter took their orders, then disappeared with a polite nod, leaving behind two glasses of water and a silence as if both of them were waiting to see who would speak first.Sophia was the first to speak."I owe you an apology," she said, her voice steady, her hands resting flat on the table as if anchoring herself there. "Not for everything that happened between us… but for something specific. Something I should have addressed a long time ago."Michael looked at her, attentive but relaxed, his back against the chair, jacket folded ne
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