2025-07-06 05:13:19The black Maybach S680 Virgil Abloh Edition, sleek like a panther and silent as a whisper, cruised effortlessly through the city streets. Inside, Michael sat in silence beside Clarissa, still trying to process everything that had happened in court.
The car’s scent, a mix of leather, money, and power, didn’t shake the heaviness in his chest.
Clarissa, calm and graceful as ever, was typing something on her tablet when Michael’s eyes darted to the road.
“Wait… this isn’t the way to the Donovan estate,” he said, sitting up straight. “Where’s he taking us?”
Clarissa didn’t lift her eyes. “Home,” she replied softly.
Michael’s brows pulled together. “What do you mean, home?”
She finally turned to him, meeting his eyes. “The Ainsley Estate, Michael. Your rightful home.”
Michael paused. The air in his chest tightened. He looked out the tinted window again.
“Turn around,” he said suddenly, leaning forward to speak to the driver. “Go back to the Donovan estate.”
Clarissa blinked. “What?”
“I said go back,” he repeated, his voice firm. “There’s something I need to finish first.”
She stared at him, confused. “Michael, they tried to destroy you. Why are you going back there?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared ahead, face hardening like stone.
**********************
The Maybach pulled into the Donovan estate barely twenty minutes later. As if alerted by the devil himself, Sophia, Victoria, and Bohemia were already outside, waiting like vultures.
They didn’t even pretend. No greetings. No politeness. No shame.
Their lawyer had already briefed them on how the court case unfolded. They were shocked at first, but quickly took it as joke.
They couldn’t believe Michael would be any heir to a trillionaire empire. The same Michael they all knew?
Sophia folded her arms tightly across her chest, eyes cold. “What are you doing in my house?” she asked flatly.
Michael looked around, then let out a slow laugh, quiet at first, then louder.
“Your house?” he said, eyes fixed on her. “Sophia, I think you forgot. This house, the companies, the shares, the lands, everything your late father owned, he willed them all to me.”
Victoria snorted and took a step forward. “So this is how mad men behave,” she spat. “You really think this lie you’ve cooked up will fly?”
Bohemia stepped beside Sophia, arms folded across his broad chest. “Guy, see ehn, just disappear. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough. We don’t want to involve police again.”
Michael didn’t flinch. “This is my house,” he said again, calmer this time. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Victoria’s face turned red. The fury she’d been bottling up since the will reading exploded.
“If you don’t leave here this minute, Michael,” she growled, stepping closer, “I swear on my Dad’s grave, I’ll do something you won’t live to tell anyone!”
Bohemia quickly held her back. “Vic! Calm down,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”
Michael stood his ground.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” he asked, looking her dead in the eye. “You all think this is a game? That man you insulted… lied against… buried in shame… he was the only father I knew. And you disgrace his name like this?”
Before anyone could reply, Sophia turned and walked inside.
Michael’s eyes followed her.
She returned moments later with a brown folder and flung it at him. It hit the ground in front of his shoes.
“Open it,” she said, her voice like ice. “Read it. Maybe that will reset your brain.”
Michael didn’t bend.
His driver rushed forward, picked it up, and handed it to him.
Victoria and Sophia burst into small mocking laughter, covering their mouths like schoolgirls mocking a beggar.
Michael flipped the first page open and began reading.
His face changed instantly. First it was confusion… then disbelief… then rage.
“This is impossible,” he muttered. His eyes scanned more lines. “No… no… this isn’t right.”
He looked up at Sophia, his hands trembling. “How dare you tamper with your late father’s will? How do you sleep at night? Where is your honour?”
Sophia said nothing.
The document showed clearly; every asset Henry Donovan owned had been left to his daughters: Sophia and Victoria.
No mention of Michael. No condition. No clause. Just a smooth transfer of wealth to blood.
Even worse, the signature at the end looked exactly like Henry’s.
Michael’s hands dropped to his sides. His chest tightened.
Could they have forged the signature?
A moment later, Sophia’s phone rang. She pulled it out and stepped away to answer.
“Hello?”
The voice at the other end was male, polite.
“Hi Sophia. Just calling to confirm your meeting with the Ainsley Group President next Tuesday at 10AM.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Thank you so much,” she said sweetly. “I really appreciate it.”
They ended the call.
Sophia turned around, victorious. “You see,” she said, looking at Michael with a mocking smile. “While you’re here shouting over fake wills and hallucinations, I’m out here securing real contracts. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before calling yourself a Donovan.”
Victoria clapped slowly. “Clap for yourself, Sophia. This guy really thought he could come and snatch our inheritance like puff-puff.”
Bohemia laughed loudly. “Mad man.”
Michael’s lips parted as if to respond. But then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to face Clarissa.
Her touch was firm, yet calming. She looked him in the eye and shook her head slightly.
“This isn’t worth it, Michael,” she said quietly. “Let’s go. The document they gave you speaks for itself.”
Michael looked at her, then at the laughing trio in front of him.
They truly believed he was finished.
He turned without another word and walked back to the car with Clarissa. The Maybach door closed instantly. They drove off.
********************
At the legal firm, the reception was tense.
Michael and Clarissa entered the office of the same lawyer who read the will two weeks ago. But it was empty. No file, no nameplate, nothing.
A young man at the front desk approached them.
“Sorry, sir. The barrister has left. He resigned last week.”
“Left to where?” Michael asked.
The man shrugged. “He didn’t say. He just dropped a letter and vanished. We’ve tried calling but his line has been switched off.”
Michael’s throat dried instantly. It was now clear.
They had gotten to him.
Silence stretched between him and Clarissa as they stepped out of the office.
“They bribed him,” Michael muttered. “Or scared him. Either way… he’s gone.”
Clarissa leaned closer, her voice low and calm.
“You can’t fight people like this with bare hands,” she said. “You need power. You need firm ground under your feet. Come with me. Come take your place as the true heir of the Ainsley family. Then come back… and teach them the lesson of their lives.”
Michael looked at her, breathing deep. The weight of betrayal still pressed on his chest, but somewhere inside, something stronger had started to rise.
He smiled slowly. A tired, yet determined smile.
“You’re right, Clarissa,” he said. “Let’s go.”
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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