Are You Just Plain Stupid?
Megan's POV– Presnt Day
Megan sank deeper into the plush bubble sofa, her legs curled beneath her as she scrolled mindlessly through clips on her tablet. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, casting shadows that only deepened the fury burning in her chest. The news report of the business meeting between Ax Spaceline and their potential Russian investors played in the background, the reporters droning on about financial projections and international partnerships.
Her fingers skimmed through the video thumbnails, barely paying attention, until one particular clip froze her in place. She clicked on it, and there, in high definition, stood Cynthia. Right beside Carlos. Her Carlos.
Megan's fingers clenched around the tablet as the clip played. Cynthia and Carlos stood side by side, smiling as they answered questions from the press. His hand was in hers, fingers interwoven in a firm grip, a grip that spoke of unity, of a power couple standing strong together. And there Megan was, alone, a thousand miles away, carrying his child, shut out from the world he was flaunting Cynthia in.
Her nostrils flared, her lips pressing into a thin line as she bit down hard to contain the scream bubbling in her throat. Her grip on the tablet tightened before she yanked it down and threw it onto the tempered glass stool beside her. The device clattered against the surface but remained intact, much to her disappointment.
“It’ll be too late before you even see it coming, bitch,” she whispered, her nails digging into her palms. “Once I’m done with you, no one will have to tell you to leave. You’ll run for your life, you lowlife husband-snatching whore.”
As if in response to her rage, a deep growl resonated from her stomach, a sharp reminder of her hunger. Megan exhaled sharply, shooting a glare at the analog clock hanging above the king-sized bed. The gold-trimmed hands pointed to 10:47 AM.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “I need to eat something.”
She pushed herself up from the sofa and sauntered towards the kitchen. The estate had multiple kitchens, but she always preferred the one closest to the master bedroom— it was more private, and more importantly, Cynthia never used it. She stepped onto the cool marble floor, her eyes settling on the fruit basket placed on the island counter. Fresh apples, oranges, papayas, and a handful of carrots sat in the woven bowl, looking untouched.
She grabbed an apple and two carrots, rinsing them under the sink before taking a satisfying bite into the apple. The crunch echoed in the silent kitchen. With each bite, her mind spiraled deeper into plotting Cynthia's downfall. By the time she sank her teeth into the last piece of fruit, her plan was no longer a scattered thought. It was solid.
She smirked, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she stepped back into the corridor. Her eyes immediately landed on a passing maid— Hannah. Perfect.
“You,” Megan called, her voice sharp and demanding.
Hannah turned swiftly, her head bowing slightly. “Yes, ma’am?”
Megan walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. “How long have you been working here?”
Hannah blinked, confused. “Three years, ma’am.”
“Then you should know how things work around here.” Megan crossed her arms, tilting her head. “What do people do when I’m hungry?”
Hannah hesitated before responding. “We prepare something for you to eat, ma’am.”
“Exactly.” Megan's eyes narrowed. “So why the hell am I here, starving, instead of being served something decent?”
Hannah lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, ma’am, didn't you were hungry. What would you like?”
Megan rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Can’t you figure something out on your own? Do I have to do everything in this house? Most of you are just useless.” She waved a dismissive hand before turning away. “Make rice and pepper stew. And don’t take all day. I don’t have time to wait.”
Hannah bowed her head again. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
Satisfied, Megan pivoted on her heel and made her way back to the master bedroom. She had bigger things to focus on than dealing with incompetent maids. She had a union to destroy.
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CYNTHIA’S POV— 'The Flight Back Home'
Cynthia leaned back against the plush leather seat of the private jet, her gaze lost in the vast darkness outside. Below them, only the endless ocean stretched beneath the night sky, a deep abyss that mirrored the turmoil within her. She exhaled slowly, her fingers lightly gripping the stem of a half-filled wine glass resting beside her. The exclusive bottle of red sat untouched on the side table, its deep ruby liquid reflecting the dim cabin lights.
Her mind raced back to three days ago— to Ethan. He had flown all the way to Russia just to check on her, and yet she had turned him away. Had she made the right decision? A soft sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head slightly, whispering to herself, "I had no choice..."
"Cynthia!" Carlos’s voice cut through the cabin, snapping her out of her thoughts. She tensed but refused to acknowledge him. Instead, she traced the rim of her glass with her fingertips, staring into the wine as if searching for answers.
Carlos’s patience was short. She saw him gesture to one of his men, a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a fitted black suit like the rest of Carlos’s security detail. With a brief nod, the man approached her, his footsteps barely making a sound against the carpeted floor.
"The boss requests your presence," the man stated, his tone professional yet firm.
Cynthia didn’t even bother looking up. "Tell your boss I’m tired. I’m comfortable right where I am, and I don’t intend to move."
The man hesitated. "I don’t think he’ll accept that answer, ma’am."
A smirk tugged at Cynthia’s lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I don’t care what he accepts."
A tense silence followed. The man shifted slightly but said nothing more. Cynthia knew he wouldn’t dare push her further. Not unless Carlos ordered him to.
"What’s taking so damn long?" Carlos’s irritated voice carried over the cabin, sharper this time.
The security man turned over his shoulder, hesitated for a split second, and then faced Cynthia again. "Ma’am, we don’t want to get him aggravated."
"Like I said, I don’t give a fuck anymore." She leaned back further, sinking into the seat with deliberate defiance.
That was enough to provoke Carlos. She watched as he stood up, his sharp navy-blue suit pristine and commanding. He didn’t wait for another excuse— he strode toward her, his presence as suffocating as ever.
"Leave us," Carlos instructed, barely sparing his security man a glance.
The man gave a brief nod and stepped away, leaving them alone.
Carlos took the seat directly across from her, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His dark eyes bore into her, a slow, amused smirk forming on his lips. "Do you just enjoy making things difficult for yourself, or are you just plain stupid?"