A Lost deal

Elena walked into the party like a lost sheep, unsure of her place amidst the grandeur. The entire venue was breathtakingly beautiful, with every corner exuding opulence. The air around her carried the unmistakable scent of luxury—fine perfumes, polished wood, and fresh floral arrangements. Elena was well aware that her father was wealthy, though she had never fully felt the lifestyle of a rich man's daughter. However, this gathering redefined her understanding of class, wealth, and extravagance.

She glanced down at herself and couldn't shake the feeling that she was underdressed for the occasion. Her outfit, while modestly elegant, was nothing compared to the shimmering gowns and tailored suits around her. But then again, she didn't care anymore. Elena wasn't there to impress anyone, least of all her so-called in-laws, whom she hated already even though she hadn't met them.

From across the room, her eyes landed on her stepmother and stepsister. They were standing in a small circle, chatting animatedly and laughing with a group of equally well-dressed women. Elena couldn't help but wonder what amusing or superficial topic had captured their attention to her all she could see was the pretentious act to feel among.

As the minutes dragged on, Elena began to feel restless. She aimlessly paced around the party, her boredom growing with every passing second. Deciding she needed a break from the stifling atmosphere, she made her way toward the doors to get some fresh air. Just as her fingers brushed the cool metal handle, she felt a strong grip tighten around her wrist.

Startled, she spun around quickly, only to find herself face-to-face with her stepmother, Mrs. Johnson. The older woman's expression was one of pure fury, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Elena.

"And where do you think you're going when the party has just started?" Mrs. Johnson snapped, her voice dripping with contempt. Elena opened her mouth to explain that she simply needed a drink, but before she could utter a single word, her stepmother cut her off. Without waiting for an explanation, Mrs. Johnson yanked her away from the door and dragged her back into the party, her iron grip leaving no room for protest.

Ford had been talking to his father for a while, though the conversation had been more one-sided than he would have liked. Mr. Lugard kept going on about the "beautiful woman" he wanted Ford to meet at the party. Feeling restless and uninterested in another match-making attempt, Ford decided to step outside for some fresh air. Despite the numerous seductive glances being thrown his way by the party's elegantly dressed women, none of it held his attention.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, Ford selected one and lit it with his lighter. The first puff brought an immediate wave of calm, the tension in his shoulders easing as the cool evening breeze played across his face. The peaceful moment felt like a much-needed reprieve from the noise and artificial charm of the gathering inside.

After what felt like a reasonable amount of time outside, Ford spotted two women entering the area hurriedly. They hadn't noticed him standing in the shadows, their backs turned to him as they moved further away. One of the women, older and visibly agitated, was dragging the younger one by the wrist in a way that suggested frustration.

They had moved far enough that Ford could no longer make out their words, their conversation reduced to hushed murmurs. He briefly considered watching them further but quickly dismissed the idea—it wasn't his business. With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the glowing end of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Johnson's voice rose sharply, breaking the relative quiet of the night. "Don't you dare think of running away! I've had enough of your little games. You will stay at this party, and that's final. You will never be better than my daughter—you're nothing but a second option. And let me remind you, unless you behave yourself, you'll never set eyes on your son again!"

Elena froze at those words, the anger and venom in her stepmother's tone slicing through her like a knife. This was the second time that day someone had brought up her son, and it terrified her, reopening wounds she thought had long scarred over.

Her son. The boy who had died before her very eyes. The doctor had confirmed it—there was no doubt. So why did her stepmother keep mentioning him as if he were still alive?

The thought made her heart race with both hope and despair. About to walk away in frustration, Elena suddenly spun around and grabbed Mrs. Johnson's wrist. Her voice trembled as she pleaded, "Please, I beg you. Is my son alive? Tell me the truth!"

Desperation clouded her judgment, and she stammered, "Okay, fine—let's make a deal. Anything you want. Just tell me… tell me where my son is!"

But deep down, Elena knew her stepmother all too well. Mrs. Johnson was not one to compromise, especially when she held all the cards. And the faint smirk curling on her stepmother's lips told her everything she needed to know: this was a game Elena wasn't going to win.

"If you can tell me everything about my son, I promise to marry whoever you choose," Elena said, her voice trembling with uncertainty. The words felt foreign coming out of her mouth, and she could barely muster the confidence to say them. Deep down, she knew she might regret this desperate bargain, but her need to know the truth about her child outweighed everything else. She couldn't trade her son for anything—not even her freedom.

Mrs. Johnson, Elena's stepmother, let out a mocking laugh upon hearing the plea. She yanked her hand free from Elena's light grip, her amusement shining through her cold demeanor.

"I hate that you think you even have a say in this," Mrs. Johnson spat, her tone dripping with disdain. "What makes you believe you can make decisions or have choices in this matter? You will stay here until the end of the party, and that's final. Whether or not I tell you anything about your son is entirely up to me." She emphasized the last word with a sneer, rolling her eyes as she turned and walked away with a dismissive wave.

Elena stood frozen in place, her heart sinking as her stepmother's cruel words echoed in her mind. She felt a lump forming in her throat, but she refused to let herself break down just yet. She had to stay strong, even as the truth she so desperately sought seemed further away than ever.

From a short distance away, Ford silently observed the scene unfolding. Although he couldn't hear everything clearly, the tension between the two women was palpable. It was obvious that the older woman was angrily scolding the younger one, her body language sharp and commanding.

Ford took another puff from his cigarette, watching as the older woman stormed past him without sparing him so much as a glance. His eyes returned to the younger woman, who remained rooted in place. She didn't move for what felt like an eternity. Then, to his surprise, she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"So, she cried after all," Ford murmured under his breath, exhaling a plume of smoke into the cool night air. There was something about her sorrow that tugged at him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

For Elena, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks: she was being blackmailed, plain and simple. What hurt even more was the gnawing uncertainty—she couldn't even be sure if her stepmother's claims about her son were true. And now, another terrifying thought began to creep into her mind: perhaps the man she had always believed to be her father wasn't her father after all. No one would treat their own child—or grandchild—with such cruelty and indifference.

Hot tears streamed down her face, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold them back. She wiped them away hastily with the back of her hand, but the hurt remained etched in her expression. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, Elena turned to leave.

Ford, still lingering in the shadows, felt a flicker of curiosity. He wanted to see the face of the woman who had been crying so bitterly. As she began to walk closer, her features slowly became clearer. His cigarette hovered between his fingers as a jolt of recognition hit him. The face was familiar, though he couldn't immediately place her. But before he could get a better look, someone else stepped into view, blocking his line of sight entirely.

It was his Fredrick his stepbrother. Interrupting the moment just as Elena drew near. Ford clenched his jaw, annoyed, as the brief connection slipped away.

"So, you came early? Are you that desperate to take charge?" Fredrick asked, pulling his glasses down slightly to get a clearer look at Ford.

With a smirk tugging at his lips, Ford shook his head. "You never fail to get on my nerves. But tell me, why did you even bother showing up at the party?" he asked, exhaling a stream of smoke deliberately aimed in Fredrick's direction, watching as it swirled in front of his brother's face.

Fredrick waved the smoke away, his irritation visible as he replied, "And why shouldn't I be here? Dad said he's arranged for us to meet some ladies. Technically, I have every right to be here. But let me ask you this—he's presenting women for us to marry and, at the same time, saying that whoever marries first takes over the business. Is he trying to make things even more complicated?"

Ford leaned back, the amusement fading slightly from his expression. "And why are you asking me? I couldn't care less," he said with irritation. "Now, please leave me alone. I was actually enjoying some entertainment before you decided to show up."

Fredrick shrugged, his tone laced with defiance. "Whatever. Just know I'm not backing down," he said as he turned and exited the balcony, leaving Ford alone once more.

As soon as Fredrick left, Ford's eyes instinctively returned to the spot where the mysterious crying woman had been standing. But she was no longer there. He cursed under his breath, frustrated. He could swear she looked familiar, but Fredrick's untimely interruption had cost him the chance to confirm it.

Still, something about the situation lingered in his mind. His father's recent ultimatum echoed in his head: the first son to marry would take over the family empire. But if that was the case, why was their father presenting women to both of them now? Ford knew Fredrick well enough to understand that his stepbrother would marry just about anyone if it meant securing power.

A small smile played on Ford's lips. It was already too late for Fredrick—Ford was already married. The thought was satisfying, but his amusement quickly faded as the reality set in. His so-called wife, the woman he had wed under questionable circumstances, was nowhere to be found. He hadn't heard from her in ages, and her absence only added to his growing annoyance.

Just as he was lost in thought, a familiar voice interrupted. "Ford, I've been searching for you everywhere! What are you doing out here? Your dad's been asking for you," a friend said, approaching with urgency.

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Fredrick said he hadn't seen me, didn't he?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, but I knew something was off. Your dad's about to make an announcement. Let's go. Hurry up!"

Ford couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Fredrick had lied—no surprise there. "Thanks, man," he said, tossing his cigarette and straightening his jacket.

The two men quickly made their way back inside, their footsteps echoing down the hall as Ford prepared himself for whatever revelation his father was about to deliver. Deep down, though, he couldn't shake the feeling that the evening's drama was far from over.

Standing before the crowd were men and women of immense wealth, power, and influence. They were dressed impeccably, each exuding an air of importance. As soon as Mr. Lugard took hold of the microphone, the room fell silent. All eyes were on him. His commanding presence demanded attention, and no one dared to utter a sound.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," he began, his deep, authoritative voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "It's a pleasure to have you all here tonight. As the year comes to an end, let us celebrate, share joy, and be merry. I also have an important announcement. I will be stepping down, and one of my sons will take over as the head of this family and its empire. I urge each of you to extend your support to whoever assumes this responsibility. Thank you."

Polite applause filled the room, accompanied by cheers of encouragement. The air was charged with anticipation as everyone speculated about who would inherit Mr. Lugard's vast empire.

Ford stood in the corner, watching the proceedings with a neutral expression. His eyes, however, betrayed the storm brewing within him. He could see Fredrick and his mother laughing together as though they had already won. Deep down, Ford felt a wave of resentment toward his father. He loathed the idea of sharing what should have been his birthright. He knew that Fredrick's mother had influenced this decision. She was cunning as ever.

Meanwhile, across the room, Elena was nursing her fourth glass of champagne. The alcohol was beginning to take effect, leaving her feeling slightly unsteady. She knew she should stop, but the encounter with her stepmother on the balcony still weighed heavily on her mind. Her thoughts were clouded, her emotions jumbled, and drinking seemed like the only way to dull the confusion. She had intended to move forward with her plans tonight, but now she doubted her ability to go through with them. All she could do was drink and hope to forget, if only for a moment.

"Elena? Is that you?"

She was about to lift another glass when a familiar voice froze her in place. Slowly, she turned, her heart sinking as her eyes landed on a face she had never expected—nor wanted—to see again.

"Daniel… You?" Her voice faltered, and the words caught in her throat.