2025-09-23 01:15:37
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The next Monday's afternoon sun hung low, casting a harsh glare over Serena Vox’s modest apartment. Her hands trembled as she folded Milo’s favorite Spider-Man T-shirt, tucking it into a small duffel bag alongside his jeans and a worn stuffed dinosaur. The weight of the court’s decision pressed down on her like a lead blanket. Victor Crane’s lawyer had filed a petition in family court to establish paternity and secure custody and visitation rights, and now, that petition had been granted, a week long visitation. Milo, her heartbeat, her son with his bright eyes and boundless energy, was to spend a week with the Cranes—Victor’s family—while they awaited the next court hearing in two weeks. The thought twisted a knife in her gut.Serena’s investigation had hit wall after wall. Each time she clawed her way toward the truth—about the hotel, the gigolo, the night that changed everything—she was shoved back to square one. Anamika’s theft of her laptop had been a crippling blow, erasing he
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Serena dropped to her knees, the cold floor biting into her skin as tears streamed down her face. “Oh no,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of despair. The empty space on the table where her laptop had sat mocked her, a gaping hole where her hope had been. It was no coincidence, she never believed in coincidence anyways—Anamika’s visit, the missing laptop, the timing. It was a calculated strike, and Serena had fallen for it, distracted by that snake’s taunts while her minion slipped in and stole her only lead. Her chest heaved, sobs breaking free as the reality sank in. She was back to square one, with Victor’s threat looming like a guillotine. Every second wasted brought him closer to claiming Milo, her precious boy, as his own. Her hands clawed at the scattered papers around her, crumpling them in her fists. She’d been so close—*so close*—to unraveling the truth about that night, about the man in the hotel, about Milo’s father. The laptop had been at 98%, maybe ev
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Serena’s voice sliced through the evening air, cold and unyielding as steel. “Let me make something clear, Anamika. Your brother is *not* Milo’s father. He will *never* be.” Her words dripped with venom, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles whitened. She stood in the doorway, a barrier between her home and the woman who’d upended her life. Anamika, poised like a venomous serpent in her widow-black gown, tilted her head, her dark lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. Her sunglasses glinted under the compound’s floodlights, hiding eyes Serena knew were calculating every move. Anamika wasn’t here for pleasantries—she was stalling, buying time. Serena’s visit, her digging and inquiry for and into the logs and CCTV footage. The manager had helped erase the evidence, but Anamika, ever cunning, sensed a loose thread. Something was amiss, and she was here to tie it up. Anamika’s chuckle was low, almost theatrical. “Serena, darling, you don’t have to keep hating me. We’ll be fa
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Serena’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting shadows across her face. The computer beeped steadily, the progress bar inching toward 78% as she painstakingly pieced together the deleted check-ins and logins. Whoever had wiped the hotel’s records was sloppy, an amateur leaving digital breadcrumbs she could follow. Her heart raced with anticipation—once it hit 100%, the truth would unravel, and she’d know who reserved that room. She’d know if General Derrick was tied to the night that changed everything.A sudden screech of tires jolted her from her focus. She froze, ears straining as the unmistakable hum of engines filled the air. Rushing to the window, she yanked the blinds down and peered into the compound. Her breath caught. A convoy of sleek black cars gleamed under the streetlights, their polished surfaces reflecting the evening’s fading glow. Her eyes zeroed in on the license plates, each emblazoned with a distinctive sigil—Derrick’s sigil
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Serena hunched over her laptop, fingers trembling as they danced across the keyboard, eyes locked on the grainy, scrambled CCTV footage flickering on the screen. She’d been at it for hours—since dawn, when the world was still cloaked in pre-dawn gray, and now the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across her cluttered living room. Deleted check-ins, tampered logins, and jumbled hotel placards taunted her, each dead end tightening the knot in her chest. She had to find the man. If she didn’t, Victor would sink his claws into her son, Milo. A forged DNA test? Child’s play for someone with doctors and officials on their payroll. Her hope was dwindling, like a candle burning down to its last flicker.She replayed the footage again, her breath catching as she scrubbed through the same hallway scene for the hundredth time. Then—*bam*—a fleeting figure stumbled into view, swaying as if drunk, visible for a mere half-second before the feed scrambled into static. Serena’s heart lurched.
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Serena's latest move, hacking the hotel’s system to uncover the identity of the man she’d been framed with, was a gamble out of desperation, she had exhausted all her possible legal options and now she took matter into her own hands, otherwise Victor would claim her son.The grainy CCTV footage and partial logs now in her possession felt like a step toward justice. . As the hotel door closed behind her, Natasha, the pot-bellied manager with garish makeup, snapped to attention. Glancing around to ensure the lobby was empty, she grabbed her phone and dialed Anamika Crane’s number with practiced urgency. Anamika had been clear: if Serena ever came snooping, Cassandra was to report it immediately. The manager’s loyalty had been bought long ago, sealed with a bribe to bury the truth of that night five years ago.Anamika was in a sleek boardroom at a branch of CraneTech, the Cranes’ military tech empire built on Serena’s stolen AI and bio-weaponry research, when her phone buzzed. The call
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