24

24
Mirela
"She did what?" I snorted, my gaze burning into Fiona as the words left her lips.
"Yes, ma'am," she repeated, bowing slightly as though afraid of my reaction. "She had Young Miss Gomez transferred to her company and also rejected the designs of the necklace for next year's audition."
My fingers clenched the paper in my hands—the proposed designs from Luis Kodra, the renowned jewelry designer from Albania, who had been my collaborator for the past three years. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his sharp eyes darting between Fiona and me, unable to grasp the full extent of what we were discussing.
I turned towards him, a reassuring smile cutting through my already stressed face, and he smiled too, returning to the duties I had assigned him three years ago.
I’d poured three years of meticulous planning and effort into this collaboration, and now that insolent brat had dismissed him overnight, appointing someone else she deemed "more qualified." All her pulling down and rebranding had been done in a single day. It was almost too outrageous to believe. But I bet to humiliate me, she would do anything to prove the point.
"Those designs were approved by Eric!" I fumed, my voice rising. "How dare she!"
"The chairman obviously handed over every duty to her, including decision-making," Fiona said cautiously. "I believe that's what she's acting on."
I scoffed. "That's obviously what she's acting on when my stupid husband assigned his daughter that duty of the president."
I shot to my feet, my body trembling with rage. I needed to cool my head and focus on my own duties—duties that were now relegated to the penthouse a few miles away from the mansion, thanks to her interference. I had nothing on me now except scrapping up designs upon designs just to keep my place. But the only person I did put my hopes on to get us back there was already at her call, absolutely powerless.
How could I have trusted Daisy anyways?
Fiona trailed behind me as I paced the room, adding fuel to the fire with her incessant updates. "Ma'am, there's also news about Lucas and Miss Arlene getting back together trending on the internet. Rumors about them are spreading like wildfire."
My frustration deepened. "Dig up something on her. Anything. Where she's been those five years, what she's done, who she's with, anything… there has to be something in her past that can ruin her reputation."
God, I’m so frustrated. Arlene had always been a bone in my neck, reasons I had attempted to eradicate her five years ago.
"I’ve already tried," Fiona admitted, wringing her hands nervously. "But I found absolutely nothing. It’s like her name was wiped from history for the whole of those five years."
This was maddening. Arlene was a ghost, and ghosts didn’t have skeletons to unearth. My temper flared even more, and as I prepared to storm out of the room, Luis finally broke his silence.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, his tone cautious yet curious.
I turned to him, walking over with deliberate steps, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Without hesitation, I leaned in and kissed him passionately, my fingers gripping his face as if anchoring myself. When I pulled back, I whispered, "Just focus on your designs, Luis. I’ll handle the rest."
He nodded, his confusion evident but unspoken. I straightened my posture, adjusted my blouse, and walked out, Fiona following closely behind.
Minutes later, we arrived at Arlene’s company. The building felt alien, almost hostile. This was once my domain, and now it had been transformed into something entirely hers. The rebranding was evident, from the staff’s attire to the sleek, modern decor that screamed Arlene’s style. In just 24 hours, she had erased every trace of me.
As we walked through the corridors, whispers and stolen glances followed. Some staff acknowledged me, but their attentions were fleeting, more engrossed in the gossip about Lucas and his alleged pursuit of Arlene. The audacity of it all made my blood boil.
Then, I spotted Daisy. She was standing by the printer, her expression gloomy as she waited for the papers to print. Seeing her like this only fueled my anger, but I held my tongue and pressed forward. I had a more important target than being a source of solace to my incapable daughter.
When we reached Arlene’s office, her secretary hesitated, attempting to stop me from barging in. I silenced her with a glare, but before I could reach the door, a voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Every week? You want Miss Gomez to visit the hospital twice a week?" It was Matilda, that bear. Arlene’s personal assistant. Her voice carried a mixture of concern and urgency.
"We can’t afford to draw attention, Doctor Daniel," Matilda continued. "So you’ll need to arrange private reservations for her. Just for a day every week. No one must visit the hospital on those days."
I froze, her words echoing in my mind. Was Arlene sick? Why would she need a doctor and, worst of all, be treated secretly?
The pieces of a puzzle began to form in my head. Ever since Arlene’s return, she had avoided eating meals when the table was full. Just this morning, I overheard a maid complaining about disposing of grilled fish Arlene found disgusting—a dish she once loved. My thoughts raced as a possibility took root in my mind.
Pregnancy. Only a pregnant woman would develop such sudden aversions to certain foods.
My steps faltered as the realization settled in. If she was pregnant, it would explain everything. A sly smile crept onto my lips as I turned on my heels and strode back to the car. Fiona hurried to catch up, her confusion evident.
"Ma’am?" she asked tentatively.
"Get me something that could irritate a pregnant woman," I ordered, sliding into the car. "We need to confirm my suspicions."
Fiona nodded, her face lighting up with understanding. "Right away, ma’am."
As the car pulled away from the building, I leaned back against the seat, my mind already plotting my next move. If Arlene was truly pregnant, it could be the leverage I needed to regain control. No secret stays hidden forever, especially not one as consequential as this.
It just has to be it.