Chapter 117: Fevered Memories
Addicus sat in the Modex boardroom, its glass walls reflecting the gray dawn of 1983. Mr. Andrew, the CEO, droned about stocks and profits, his voice a dull hum against the clink of coffee cups and cigarette smoke. Addicus barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, snared by a ghost—Samantha Logan. Her face haunted him, sharper since he’d taken Sharon, crueler since he’d broken her. At every turn, Samantha’s smile taunted him, a specter he couldn’t shake.
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Forty Years Ago
A month after Worthington Enterprise partnered with Sam’s Cooperation, their stocks soared, a triumph that silenced doubters. Addicus, nineteen and hungry, stood taller in boardrooms, his father’s shadow fading. At Sam’s Cooperation’s headquarters, a new meeting convened to refine terms. The room buzzed with typewriters and rotary phones, its air thick with ambition.
Addicus took charge, delegating minutiae to his team. He’d studied his father’s ledgers, learned the game, and it showed. “Expanding internationally will boost sales, drive profits,” he said, concluding his pitch. His voice carried weight now, no longer the boy Francis mocked.
Samantha Logan clapped softly, a rare gesture. “Brilliant, Mr. Worthington,” she said, her tone crisp. “Partnering with you may be my best call yet.”
“Likewise, Miss Logan,” Addicus replied, meeting her gaze.
“Everything’s set for the next phase,” she said. “Thank you all. Dismissed.”
The room emptied, but Samantha stopped Addicus. “Stay. We have CEO matters to discuss.”
Alone, she locked the door, the tinted windows sealing them in. She approached, her heels clicking, her demeanor shifting—less formal, more predatory. “You impress me,” she said, voice low. “Young, naive, yet you get results. I like that.”
Addicus swallowed, uneasy. “Thank you, I—”
She yanked his chair, perching on the table before him, legs parted. “Have you been with a real woman, Addicus? Not girls—a woman.”
He stammered, “Miss Logan, this isn’t—”
“Answer me,” she snapped, unbuttoning her blouse.
“It’s inappropriate,” he protested, standing.
“Wrong answer.” Her slap stung his cheek, sharp and sudden.
Addicus froze, shock turning to anger. He shoved past her, storming out, the door slamming behind him. Samantha’s laugh followed.
“Virgin,” she purred to herself. “This’ll be fun.”
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Addicus blinked, Mr. Andrew’s voice pulling him back. “Mr. Worthington?”
“Yes?” Addicus said, dazed.
“Are you satisfied with our progress? The new policies?” Andrew repeated.
“Fine, all fine,” Addicus said, waving him off. Sweat beaded his brow.
“You look pale, sir,” Andrew said, concerned.
“Just tired,” Addicus lied, rising. “Need rest.”
“We’ll brief you later,” Andrew said, standing.
Addicus nodded, Will trailing him to the car. The drive home was hell—his head spun, his skin clammy. He slumped in the backseat, the city’s neon blur mocking him. Samantha’s face flickered in his mind, her smile crueler with each mile.
At the mansion, he stumbled from the car, Will catching him. “You okay, sir?”
“Fine,” Addicus snapped. “Call my doctor. Now.”
Will nodded, helping him inside. Addicus shed his jacket and shoes, collapsing onto his bed. Sleep came hard, fractured by memories he couldn’t escape.
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Forty Years Ago
For two weeks after Samantha’s advance, Addicus avoided her. Her letters—apologies, invitations—piled up, unanswered. Her boldness unnerved him, her power a mirror to his own ambitions. Ignoring her felt like control, but it stoked her anger. Samantha Logan didn’t tolerate being dismissed.
One afternoon, his butler interrupted lunch in the garden. “A visitor, sir. Says it’s urgent.”
“Who?” Addicus asked, fork pausing.
“She didn’t say.”
“Let her in,” Addicus said, bracing.
Samantha strode toward him, her tailored dress catching the sun. “Good morning, Addicus,” she said, smiling.
“Why are you here?” he asked, stomach sinking.
“No lunch? No seat?” she teased, smug.
He gestured to a chair, terse. “Sit.”
She did, wasting no time. “I’m inviting you to my birthday party. Two days, my home. An olive branch for last time.”
Addicus studied her, weighing her sincerity. She seemed genuine, but her eyes held a glint he didn’t trust. Still, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll come.”
“Splendid,” she said, her smile sharp.
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Two days later, Addicus arrived at Samantha’s estate, his suit pristine, nerves taut. The ballroom glittered—chandeliers, velvet drapes, a quartet playing Cole Porter. Guests milled, champagne flutes clinking. His name wasn’t on the guest list, a humiliating snag, until a bouncer found it on the VIP roster. “My apologies, sir,” the man said, lifting the rope.
Inside, Addicus scanned for Samantha. An usher tapped a glass. “Presenting your host, Miss Samantha Logan!”
She descended the staircase in a red gown, radiant, commanding. Applause erupted. Addicus couldn’t look away. She greeted guests, then spotted him. “Addicus Worthington,” she purred, pecking his cheek. “Wonderful to see you.”
“Samantha,” he said, formal. “Happy birthday. You look stunning.”
“And you’re dashing,” she flirted. “Gift?”
He handed her a box—a sapphire necklace, his mother’s. “It’ll look good on you.”
She beamed, turning. “Put it on.”
As he fastened it, he said, “My father taught me gifts build bonds. Business and personal.”
“He was right,” she said, playful. “I feel loved.”
The party unfolded—cake, dances, laughter. Samantha twirled with suitors, then accepted Addicus’s dance. They talked of family, loss. “Your uncles,” she asked, “where are they?”
“Gone,” he said, dodging. “Your home’s impressive. Show me around?”
She grinned, leading him through opulent rooms to a locked door. “What’s in there?” he asked.
“Maybe you’ll find out,” she teased, moving on.
In her bedroom, she kissed him, fierce and sudden, pinning him to the wall. Aroused but wary, he gasped when she bit his lip, blood welling. “Did you just bite me?” he demanded, pulling back. Her laugh was wild, and something moved in the shadows—a figure, watching, gone in a blink. Addicus’s heart raced. This wasn’t just a game.