Get Elena

But inside, he felt conflicted. He didn't even know why he was covering for Jane. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was obligation. He just knew one thing for certain—he couldn't let his mother find out about his bargain with Jane. If she did, she wouldn't hesitate to taint Jane's family's reputation, destroying them without a second thought.

Mrs. Lugard regarded him for a moment before a slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips. "Well then, just keep your distance from her," she said, her tone deceptively light. "I want you to go for the other sister."

Fredrick's eyes widened in shock. "The other sister?" he repeated, disbelief evident in his voice. "What's her name again? Yes… Elena?"

He shook his head, struggling to process her sudden change of heart. "Mom, just a few minutes ago, you didn't even want to have anything to do with them. And now this?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

Mrs. Lugard simply smiled, exuding an air of calculated confidence. Reaching into her designer handbag, she pulled out a few neatly stacked photographs and placed them on the table in front of her.

"I want her," she said, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Because she's involved with Ford. And whoever gets involved with him… gets involved with me." Mrs Lugard spoke without battling an eyelid.

Picking up the photos, Fredrick glanced at each one carefully, his curiosity evident in the way his eyes lingered on every image. "Mom, how did you get these? Did you hire someone to monitor him?" Fredrick asked, his voice laced with both suspicion and intrigue as he waited for a response.

Looking at him sternly, Mrs. Lugard's expression twisted into an angry frown. "You know, sometimes I genuinely wonder why you're so dull. You need to be sharp, strategic—like Ford," she snapped, her voice dripping with disappointment.

"Please stop! Just stop it!" Fredrick burst out, his frustration boiling over as he stood abruptly from the cushion.

"And why should I?" Mrs. Lugard shot back coldly, completely unfazed by his reaction. "Do you really think we would have achieved all of this if I had just sat around, folding my arms like you do? Success doesn't come to those who wait—it comes to those who act." Her words were harsh and deliberate, striking deeper with every syllable.

"Mom, seriously, you need to stop comparing me to Ford!" Fredrick's voice shook with barely contained anger. "I can handle all your insults, but not that—never that. It's enough!" His jaw tightened as he turned away, trying to steady his emotions.

"If you don't have anything more important to say, I'd rather get back to what I was doing," he added coldly, walking back to his seat, his body tense with frustration.

"And by that, you mean continue screwing that slut, right?" she asked, her voice laced with disgust as she stared at him coldly. Fredrick's eyes snapped to meet hers, his expression a mixture of shock and frustration.

"Mom!" Fredrick scolded sharply, his voice rising with indignation.

"Anyway, I've said everything I needed to say," she continued dismissively, her tone icy and unforgiving. "This isn't just about you. You need to get closer to Elena. I don't know what kind of relationship that woman had with Ford, but I will get to the bottom of it. And it would be best if you picked yourself up and made some real moves—rather than wasting your time bending some nobody over a table and shoving your dick into her." With that cutting remark, she stood up from her seat and walked away without sparing him another glance.

Watching her leave, Fredrick clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The comparison to Ford burned him more than anything else ever could. He despised it—every single time she held Ford up as the standard, it chipped away at him. Yet, despite his anger, a gnawing curiosity crept in. What exactly was Ford doing with Jane's sister?

His curiosity quickly overpowered his frustration. Rising from his seat, he walked over to the table and picked up the scattered photos. Each image showed various moments between Elena and Ford—casual encounters, shared conversations—but one photo, in particular, caught his attention. Ford was carrying Elena in his arms, his expression surprisingly tender.

Was he really that close to her? Close enough to carry her like that? The questions flooded Fredrick's mind, one after another. Were they dating? Did Ford know her before the introduction? The uncertainty clawed at him, and one thing became clear—he needed answers.

In frustration, he walked back to his seat, throwing the photos onto the table with a sharp motion, his eyes still locked on them. His jaw tightened, and his mind raced with unanswered questions, the image of Ford carrying Elena burning into his thoughts like a brand.

Meanwhile, in the car, Ford couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for not checking on Elena. For a fleeting moment, he wished he had at least asked if she was alright—if she was still upset about yesterday's ordeal. But he hadn't wanted to wake her. On top of that, he wasn't feeling well himself and was in a rush to get to work. He promised himself that he would check on her when he got back.

As the car moved steadily toward its destination, Ford's eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute. He felt weak and feverish, his body weighed down by exhaustion.

That morning, he had taken some painkillers, hoping to shake off whatever was creeping up on him, but he didn't want to dwell too much on how terrible he felt. There was too much work ahead, and with the important interview scheduled for the next day, pushing through was his only option.

Finally, they arrived in front of the company. Ford took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself, though the effort felt futile.

"Are you alright, sir? Should I call a doctor?" the driver asked, his voice laced with concern as he noticed the pale, strained look on his boss's face.

"It's fine—no need. I'll be okay," Ford replied weakly, forcing a dull smile that did little to mask his discomfort.

Opening the car door, he stepped out gingerly, the realization hitting him hard—he was genuinely sick. His body felt impossibly heavy, every movement taking more effort than it should have. Still struggling to gather his composure, he suddenly heard a familiar voice that cut through his exhaustion making him more weak.

"Sia?" he mumbled, his voice low and grumbling as he turned toward the source, unsure whether the illness was playing tricks on him.

Again, she called out to him. Turning, he saw her walking toward him.

"Were you intentionally ignoring me?" she asked, still smiling.

Looking at her, he was at a loss for words—too weak to respond. Without saying anything, he turned away and retrieved his briefcase from the car.

"Won't you speak to me?" she complained, but Ford didn't acknowledge her. He simply walked away, his steps slow and unsteady.

He hadn't gotten far when Sia suddenly grabbed his sleeve, stepping in front of him. "Are you still angry with me?" she asked, searching his face for a reaction. But Ford's eyes were closed.

"Ford, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Still, there was no response. Suddenly, his briefcase slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

"Ford? Are you okay? Why aren't you saying anything?" she asked, her worry growing.

"Ford? Ford?" she called out again, but he remained silent, his head now resting heavily on her shoulder.

Sia's eyes widened in shock as she felt the burning heat of his skin. "Help! Somebody, help me!" she cried out desperately to the driver and anyone nearby who could assist.