You Won’t See the Light of Day Again

Cynthia exhaled through her nose, her expression blank. "Whatever you choose to believe, Carlos. Whatever makes you happy."

His jaw clenched, his smirk fading. "Mind the way you speak to me, Cynthia." His voice dropped an octave, thick with warning.

He reached out, gripping her thigh tightly. The sharp pressure sent a jolt of pain up her leg, and she winced, her fingers curling into fists on her lap. He held on just long enough to make his point before finally releasing her.

"I know about your little meeting with the lawyer," Carlos continued casually, his tone almost mocking. "The one at the hotel. The day we arrived in Moscow."

Cynthia’s breath hitched. Her entire body went rigid as her heart pounded against her ribs. How did he—

Carlos chuckled darkly. "Oh, Cynthia, nothing happens without me knowing about it. Did you really think my guys will just let you leave without spying on you and reporting to me?"

She kept her face neutral, but her mind was spinning. How much did he know? What else had he found out?

Carlos leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Whatever little plan you two are scheming? End it. Immediately."

A chilling smile crept across his face as he straightened up, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. "Don’t try anything funny, Cynthia. For your own good... and his."

He winked at her, then stood up and walked away, leaving her frozen in place.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Cynthia released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her wine glass, taking a slow sip to steady herself.

What else does he know?

Does he know he was her date from some weeks ago?

\--------------------

'Two Week Later'

Cynthia strode through the vast, elegant hallways of the Manhattan grand estate, dressed in her sleek gym attire. Her ponytail swung gently behind her as her sneakers made light contact with the polished marble floors. The golden morning sun streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting elongated shadows along the pristine corridors. She loved the quiet of early mornings— when the estate felt almost hers alone, undisturbed by the chaos that often filled its walls.

As she approached the gym, she passed several estate staff members. A group of gardeners trimmed the lavish hedges, their hands skillfully maneuvering shears. Another set of workers carried fresh, neatly folded bedsheets, their arms stacked high with crisp linens. She paused momentarily, offering them a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she greeted. “I see the work you do, and I appreciate it. You all keep this place running.”

The staff exchanged surprised glances before bowing slightly. “Thank you, Ms Cynthia,” one of them responded, visibly pleased.

She nodded and continued, making her way to her usual gym— a state-of-the-art fitness center tucked in one of the estate’s far wings. Upon entering, she wasted no time getting to work. First, ten push-ups. Then ten minutes on the treadmill, her steady breath accompanying the rhythmic thudding of her feet. She transitioned into squats, lowering herself with controlled precision, feeling the burn in her thighs. By the time she finished her routine, sweat glistened on her skin, and her breathing was heavy.

“That’s enough for today,” she murmured to herself, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

Walking over to the stationary bike where she had left her phone, she picked it up and glanced at the screen. A WhatsApp notification lingered— a voice note from Carlos, sent days ago. She had ignored it then, but now, curiosity won. With a swipe, she played the message.

“Taking a trip with the boys to Dubai for a few days. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

His deep, commanding voice sent a shiver through her, despite everything. She hated that. Hated that even after all the pain, he still had an effect on her. With a sigh, she locked the phone and left the gym, heading straight to her bedroom. A hot shower was exactly what she needed.

Once inside her room, she stripped off her workout clothes, grabbed a plush white towel, and stepped into the attached bathroom. Warm steam filled the air as she turned on the shower, letting the water cascade down her body. She lathered the shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp in slow, soothing circles. The moment felt peaceful— until it wasn’t.

A deafening crash exploded from her bedroom. The door slammed open, hitting the wall so hard the entire room seemed to vibrate. Cynthia’s heart lurched in her chest. She froze, hands clutching her towel tightly against her damp body as panic set in.

What the hell?

She barely had time to react before Carlos stormed inside, his face a mask of unbridled rage, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His presence filled the room like an impending storm, dark and dangerous. He shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be in Dubai.

“Carlos?” she breathed, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. “What—what’s going on?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, you witch!” he bellowed, his voice shaking the very walls.

Before she could step back, he lunged at her, yanking her forward with such force that her bare feet slipped against the smooth tile. Pain shot through her body as she crashed onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

A sharp cry escaped her lips. “Stop—Carlos, stop!”

But he didn’t stop. His grip was iron as he dragged her across the room, out of her bedroom, and through the vast hallways of the estate. The marble beneath her scraped against her exposed skin, leaving raw burns in its wake. Her screams echoed, but no one intervened. Not the security detail stationed along the corridors. Not the maids who clutched their aprons, avoiding eye contact. Fear paralyzed them all.

Carlos’s fury was law.

By the time they reached the master bedroom, Cynthia’s body throbbed in agony. The door was already open, revealing a smugly seated Megan— her rival, her tormentor. She sat gracefully on a bubble sofa, her posture relaxed despite the bruises marring her otherwise flawless face. A swollen black eye. A busted lip. Cynthia’s mind reeled.

“What the hell is this?” she managed, gasping for breath.

Carlos released her with a rough shove, and she collapsed onto the rug. “How dare you lay a hand on my pregnant wife?” he roared, his eyes alight with fury.

Cynthia’s breath hitched. “What?”

His words barely registered before Megan let out a delicate whimper, dabbing at her split lip with a silk handkerchief. “She attacked me, Carlos,” Megan feigned distress, voice trembling. “I tried to reason with her, but she’s jealous of our child… she doesn’t want our baby to be born.”

Cynthia’s stomach dropped. “That’s a lie!”

Carlos’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. “I’ve had enough of your games, Cynthia! I’ll make sure you rot in prison for this!”

“No, no, no— you have to believe me,” Cynthia pleaded, struggling to her knees. “She’s lying! I never touched her. I would never—”

“Shut up!” he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth.”

His rage radiated off him in waves, suffocating the room in thick tension. Megan, meanwhile, smirked ever so slightly, the glint in her eyes betraying her satisfaction. This was her plan all along. Cynthia could see it now— she had orchestrated this entire scene to get rid of her, to eliminate her from Carlos’s life once and for all.

Carlos took a menacing step forward, and Cynthia braced herself. “You think you can get away with this?” he seethed. “You won’t see the light of day again.”