Melissa sat curled up on the plush couch, wrapped in a throw, the remnants of the yesterdays evening's chaos still clinging to her skin and spirit. The candlelight flickered, throwing sharp shadows against the penthouse walls. A storm brewed both outside and within her winds howled, but inside her, vengeance howled louder.
Her phone buzzed across the glass table.
MAX BOTHO.
She let it ring once. Twice. The third time, she answered.
"What, Max?" she said, her voice steely calm.
"Tell me you didn't do it," came his voice, low and thunderous.
She leaned back. "Be specific."
"You sold them. To Avery, of all people?"
A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "You mean the shares you handed over? For our child?"
"I gave you those shares as security not for you to prostitute them to my enemies," he spat.
"You should've added a clause," she replied coolly. "I'm not yours. And neither is my brilliance."
"You've made a dangerous enemy."
"I make enemies the way gods make thunder."
There was a pause, then Max's voice dipped, slower, almost aching.
"I gave you those shares because I trusted you… because you're the mother of my child."
Melissa's jaw tightened.
"Too late for sentiment now, Max," she whispered, and cut the call.
Rama stepped into the living room with quiet footsteps. He had changed into clean, simple clothes, but there was still rainwater in his hair from earlier. His eyes carried a weight more than respect, more than desire. Something deeper. A storm of his own.
"She's shaking," he said gently, nodding toward her belly. "The baby."
Melissa exhaled. "She knows her father's voice makes me want to slap the devil."
Rama chuckled. It was soft, but heavy.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I've survived worse."
"I can tell."
They fell into a loaded silence.
Then Rama moved to the edge of the couch and sat beside her, close enough to feel the tension crackle. Melissa kept her eyes on the skyline outside. Gaborone pulsed below them unaware that history was being rewritten from a woman's womb and a heart full of fire.
"I didn't tell you everything," Rama said suddenly.
She turned.
"My name wasn't always Rama Hills. I was born Rama Botho."
Melissa's eyes widened.
"I left and went to stat in Old Naled not just for a fresh start… but to bury that cursed surname," he continued. "My sister disappeared when we were kids. Rumor was she was taken by Max's great-grandfather. For rituals. To build their empire."
Melissa's spine stiffened.
"Your sister…"
"She was everything to me," he said. "And I hated that our blood made her a sacrifice. I changed my name. I buried the past. But when I saw your story… when I saw how you work hard to take down their empire something i had long buried in me woke up."
Melissa's throat tightened. This wasn't pity. This was war-born recognition. Two souls carved from pain and sharpened by purpose.
"You brought me in, Melissa. You didn't know what I was carrying. But I swear to you I didn't come to use you. I stayed because… I saw something."
"What?" she asked.
"Fire. Fury. Truth."
She stared at him.
And then, without thinking, they both reached for the same glass of water on the table.
Their hands met.
And for a breathless second, their faces were inches apart.
Then a mistake, a spark, a stumble ,their lips touched. Brief. Electric. Unintended.
They both pulled back sharply.
"Rama..." she said.
"I didn't mean to "
"Don't apologize."
Silence.
Rama stood abruptly, walking to the window, trying to slow the thundering of his heart.
Melissa touched her lips.
It wasn't love.
But it was something.
And across town, Max lay in a tangle of silk sheets, one hand draped around Melissa's personal aide. Her perfume clung to him, but it wasn't her scent he remembered.
It was Melissa's fire. Her defiance.
Her betrayal.
His eyes were dark with fury as he whispered to himself, "You want war, Mels? Then I'll give you hell."
But even then, his chest ached.
Because deep down, Max Botho wasn't fighting for revenge.
He was fighting to not admit that he still wanted her, all of her.
Even if it destroyed them both!