WHO IS SHE?

I tossed the blood-stained glasses into the plastic bags extended to me by one of my body guards. Having just concluded my business, I received a call from Mum informing me that Father had slipped into yet another of his frequent comas. The doctors attributed it to his damaged heart and kidneys. Despite their recommendation for surgery, he adamantly refused, declaring that he'd rather die than accept someone else's organ inside his body. Stubborn bastard!

As I stepped into the hospital, the medical staff bowed in deference.

The pervasive scent of disinfectant always nauseated me. In the VIP room, where Father lay, my heart brimmed with hatred as I gazed down at him. Mum looked so frail, her teary eyes fixed on me. I moved toward her, offering a comforting hug.

"Oh, Dominic," she sobbed, "I don't want your father to die. Why is he so stubborn?"

"It's alright, Mum," I reassured her. "Let's hope he regains consciousness. He'll be fine."

Turning my head, I confronted the man I'd despised for 27 years. He was the architect of my monstrous existence—the one who forced me to kill at the tender age of 12. Night after night, he beat Mum mercilessly, all while carrying on affairs with different women right before her eyes.

The memory of that day resurfaced: Father returning home with two women, their passionate embraces and kisses heard in our living room. Mum, who had been with me in my room, rushed downstairs to investigate the commotion.

after waiting for mom for a couple minutes,I followed suit, only to find her tied up and kneeling, tears streaming down her face as she watched Father engage in intimate acts with both women on the sofa.

I choked back tears, recalling how he'd compelled me to witness their debauchery—a twisted form of punishment to a Young boy of 11 years.

********

"I'll be leaving now, Mother," I said, bending down to kiss her forehead. "I have a meeting to attend. Make sure to eat and rest. Don't spend your whole day here taking care of him; he doesn't deserve it." I said , referring to father.

As I stepped out of the hospital, I couldn't help but wonder why my mother still loved him despite all he had put her through.

Back at the company, I met with new investors who had flown in from Mexico. The bald man sitting on my Italian hand-made sofa, presumably their leader, fixed me with a stern gaze.

"Do you understand the consequences of ruining this deal?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied, smirking. "There won't be any need for that."

As they stood up to leave, I rose and extended my hand for a final handshake. "It was wonderful doing business with you," I said.

Later, I learned from the news that nine foreigners seen leaving my company had been found dead from gunshot wounds on the airport road. I sipped my Martini, a satisfied smile playing on my lips.

A petite blonde entered my office. She was my new secretary. "Here are the debtors' files, sir," she said.

As I perused the files, one family caught my eye: the Olivers. What intrigued me wasn't the debt itself but the collateral they had used—a six-year-old daughter. The debt had been outstanding for nineteen years, which meant she would now be around twenty-five. Knowing my father, this twisted arrangement was likely his idea. Disgust churned in my stomach at the thought of a man using his own child as collateral for a debt he had no intention of repaying.

"Jackson!" I called my information officer.

"Yes, boss?"

"Get me every piece of information about this family. Find out if anyone from their side is still alive," I ordered, handing him the file.

"Yes, boss," he replied and left.

Regardless of their circumstances, that family would pay every single cent owed. dead or Alive. I said as I took a big gulp of the vodka beside me .

-----------------------

MY name DOMINIC MILLER, I believe is self expository.

I am the heir to MILLER CO-OPERATION and the most prominent drug lord in the country. Despite my wealth, I prefer to maintain a low profile, although money has a way of drawing attention.

In the business world, I am a dominant figure, and my looks command respect as well. I've always had everything within my grasp, and I'm not afraid to eliminate obstacles that stand in my way. Becoming the heir of MILLER CO-OPERATION didn't interest me initially—I was already a billionaire from my drug dealings.

Recently, my father has been plagued by seizures, heart attacks, and frequent comas. My mother implored me to return and take charge of the family business.

During the few months I've been back, I've asserted my dominance over other companies and acquired their shares. All of my father's debtors have paid up, except for one family. I've left Jackson to handle that matter.

Now, I'm prepared to attend the Gala, which marks the launch of a new affiliate for MILLER CO-OPERATION.

"Mr. Miller! Mr. Miller! Over here, please!" The choir of voices and camera flashes greeted me as I stepped out of my limousine. My hair was already disheveled—I felt frustrated and angry as I moved toward the red carpet for the obligatory photos.

A reporter, seemingly oblivious, asked if I had been invited or if I had come on my own accord.

Suppressing my irritation, I replied with a smirk, "I am among the sponsors for this event."

As I continued posing for the cameras, I sensed a pair of eyes on me. It wasn't the usual scrutiny; these brown eyes held something different. Scanning the audience, I located the source—a beautiful woman at the back of the crowd. Tears glistened in her eyes as she stared at me. Before I could fully comprehend the moment, she turned and FLED.

Surprisingly,that little action of hers pricked my interest. I was determined to know who she was , and her reason of staring at me like that.

"what an interesting girl .

I thought as I walked into the hall.