ManyWriters

A decade earlier, I summoned the bravery to express my feelings to him. He responded with a faint smile, admitting he cared for me too, but wasn't prepared for a romantic relationship. He proposed we strive together to enter Ivory Heights Academy, painting a picture of a joint aspiration.
However, mere days later, I witnessed him entering a luxurious vehicle belonging to an affluent young woman. Overcome with desperation, I attempted to stop him. He exited the car, his eyes cold and unyielding.
"Your feelings for me are meaningless," he stated, his words piercing my heart. "Amara can provide opportunities you never could. Even if she's merely playing with me, I'd prefer to be her toy in wealth than waste time on useless emotions."
I stood motionless, my heart shattering as his words echoed in my mind. Then, Amara Sterling emerged from the vehicle, her voice laced with contempt. "Run over her and file an insurance claim," she instructed the driver, her tone as harsh as the Bentley's engine roar.
My knees gave way, and I collapsed, shaking. Amara walked to him, linking her arm with his possessively. She cast me a look of pure scorn, sneering, "Hah, a pauper."
He glanced at me one final time, his expression unreadable yet distant, and said, "Forget about me."
Ten years later, I returned to the city, no longer an overlooked face from my youth but a rising force in the business world. Fate played a cruel joke; a class reunion, hosted at my own exclusive club, brought me face-to-face with specters from the past.

Revenge in Ten Years

Amara inhaled deeply, her eyes narrowing as she punched in her father's number. After a moment of tension, she resumed her conversation with Matthews, speaking at length in a controlled tone, as if trying to process everything.


In the meantime, I finally located Gabriel. It took me a full day of persistent searching to find out he resided in a peaceful, semi-rural neighborhood.


Upon my arrival, Briar answered the door. She recognized me instantly, her face lighting up with a smile. "Auntie!" she exclaimed in her sweet, childlike voice, offering to clean some fruit for me.


As I took a bite of the apple, I noticed her swallowing hard, her eyes shimmering with desire. It was evident that something as basic as fruit was a scarce treat in her life.


I gestured to my security to purchase some fruit and snacks while I examined the small, 20-square-meter space. It was cramped but tidy, though a faint unpleasant odor lingered in the air.


Chapter 8