The morning light filtered softly into Sandra's room, brushing against the white curtains like a whisper. She sat still, staring at her phone screen as if the name etched across it—Ezra—had the power to summon ghosts. In many ways, it already had. The echoes of what they were, what they could have been, clung to her thoughts like a cold wind that refused to leave.
She hadn't slept. Her eyes were dry but heavy, and her body ached with an exhaustion no amount of rest could cure. Sandra felt like a puzzle undone, pieces scattered by the return of a memory she had buried so deeply she thought it would never resurface.
James stood by the doorway, silent but present. His arms were folded, a mug of untouched coffee in his hands. He studied her—not with pity, but with concern. Not the kind that overwhelmed, but the kind that offered presence.
"I'm here," he said at last, his voice soft but grounded.
Sandra looked up slowly, like she was surfacing from deep water. "He was the last part of me that wasn't damaged," she whispered. "He saw me when I still believed in happy endings."
James walked over, crouched in front of her. "He's not who you are anymore."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "But I hate how quickly he reminded me of who I used to be."
James took her hands gently. "Then let him stay in the past."
She didn't answer. But she didn't pull away either. That small silence between them spoke more than any confession could.
Across the city, Victor sat across from a media executive in a private lounge inside a members-only club. They sipped espresso in designer cups, the air laced with polished charm and quiet malice. The woman wore a tailored suit and a knowing smile. Victor's demeanor was calm, controlled—but his eyes burned with the hunger of a man ready to devour his enemies.
"You want exclusive rights?" she asked, tilting her head.
Victor nodded. "I want the headline before the stockholder's meeting. Leak the photo. Let the world see what kind of woman Mugeni trusts with his legacy."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me?"
Victor smiled, lazy and cold. "Power. And front-row seats to a scandal that's about to break this company in half."
Unbeknownst to either of them, Shinta stood behind the frosted glass door, only partially closed. She heard enough. And though she hadn't yet decided whose side she was on, she now held leverage. Real leverage. And in her world, leverage was currency.
Back at the guesthouse, Sandra sat across from Immy. The silence between them was sharp. A cold mug of tea sat untouched on the table between them. Immy kept glancing at the cup, her fingers twitching nervously on the handle of her purse.
"I need to say something," Immy began, her voice faltering.
Sandra raised an eyebrow. "About Victor?"
Immy hesitated, then nodded. "I made mistakes. I thought I was protecting you. I wasn't."
Sandra's face didn't change. Her tone was steel. "You were protecting yourself."
Immy's mouth opened slightly, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she dropped her eyes to the floor.
"I didn't mean for it to go this far."
"Then stop standing on the sidelines."
Immy opened her mouth again, perhaps to confess something deeper—but Sandra stood.
"Not today. I don't have space for another betrayal."
Immy rose slowly, her face pale. She walked out, but left her guilt behind like smoke clinging to the room.
At J&M Holdings, Shinta sat in her private office. She plugged in a flash drive and pulled up the company's internal access logs. As she suspected, Victor had been editing records. Sandra's employment data. Vendor contracts. Internal communications. He was planting evidence, manipulating timelines, rewriting digital history.
She copied everything.
"He thinks he's clever," she murmured to herself. "But I'm better."
Back at the guesthouse, James met with the PR team. They discussed contingency statements, fallback plans, and media posture. Sandra walked in mid-discussion. She stood by the door for a moment, listening.
"Damage control?" she asked flatly.
James turned. "Just in case."
Sandra walked closer. "I don't want to be managed, James. Don't prepare a statement about me. Just stand beside me when they talk."
"I'd rather take the hit for you," he replied.
She paused. The air between them tightened.
"Then you'd be just like my father."
James's jaw clenched. His eyes didn't flinch. "You're not him. And I'm not walking away."
That evening, the photo leaked. Sandra and Ezra, mid-conversation on the footbridge. It wasn't romantic, but it didn't need to be. The framing was enough.
Social media caught fire.
"Scandal in the boardroom!" "J&M CEO's woman meets ex behind his back." "Love triangle or corporate crisis?"
Every blog ran with it. Talk shows debated her morals. Anonymous posts swirled with hashtags. It wasn't just a headline. It was an avalanche.
The board summoned James for an emergency meeting.
At work, Sandra became a ghost people stared through. Whispers followed her down corridors. Some emails went unread. Others came with thinly veiled threats. Anonymous messages demanded her resignation.
"She doesn't belong here." "She's not qualified." "She's just a scandal in heels."
Sandra didn't react. She quietly packed a folder, printed one document, and walked to James's office. He wasn't there.
She placed the document on his desk: clear proof of a shell company funneling fake vendor contracts—signed off by Victor.
She didn't wait. She turned and walked out with her shoulders straight and her head high.
James returned minutes later. When he saw the file, something shifted behind his eyes.
He picked up the phone. "I want every account connected to Victor Oryem audited. Start tonight. No leaks."
Just then, Shinta entered. She dropped a flash drive on the desk.
"He underestimated the wrong woman," she said. "You're not the only one Sandra inspires."
James looked at the flash drive. Then the document Sandra left. Then the skyline outside his window.
Victor had fired the first shot.
But Sandra had made the first move.
This wasn't just defense anymore.
This was war.