Hearts and Hands Behind Closed Doors

In the tall-glass meeting room, Nathan stood before the panel, poised and confident. His presentation screen lit up behind him, displaying the words Project Factorial.

"Observing the Goreangab land," he began, "I noticed an untapped potential. The people are educated, resourceful—yet unemployed. I can't watch that brilliance waste away. Project Factorial aims to change that. This factory will be a haven for the dreamers: baking, tailoring, mechanics—whatever they can offer. It's not just business, it's reinvention. Let the youth showcase their power, and maybe the government will finally see what it's been blind to."

Murmurs rippled across the room. Then a grey-suited man stood.

"The location—it's close to people's homes. What happens to those forced to move?"

"This isn't a political summit," Derek scoffed from across the table.

"I bought that land last month," Nathan replied calmly. "All the paperwork is done. The municipality guaranteed construction begins in five days. Resettlement falls under their jurisdiction. We're here to invest, not to run a charity."

"Hear, hear," Damien said, tapping his pen. "We're businessmen, not activists."

Cindy leaned toward her colleague, whispering, "That sounds like Nathan's usual line. But… why is he so calm today?"

—

Elsewhere, at the Shikongo Residence…

Monica slammed her bedroom door shut, phone in hand, furious.

"I said I'll pay you! Stop calling me!" she hissed.

Daniels looked up from the corner of the room. "Is everything okay?"

Startled, Monica turned. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know someone's breathing down your neck over money."

"I don't owe him… he's just being ridiculous." She paused, lowering her voice. "He wants me to ask Nate for 50K."

Daniels blinked. "Fifty thousand? For what?"

Monica hesitated, twisting her hands. "He has… photos. From last year. At the gateway party. I was in a bikini—just a bikini. He's threatening to leak them by midday tomorrow."

Daniels' expression darkened. "You let him take photos like that?"

"I didn't know!" she snapped. "It wasn't posed. It just… happened."

"Why would you even be in that situation?"

"Don't start with the judging. Just help me. And please—don't tell Nate."

Daniels sighed. "He already knows."

Monica froze. "What?"

"He suspects someone's blackmailing you. I don't know how, but he picked up on it."

Monica let out a string of curses under her breath.

"Mom always warned you about those parties…"

"You're not helping, mama's boy," she snapped, storming out of the room.

—

Later that day…

Vicky returned home, her steps slowing as she neared at John's apartment office. Something felt… different. She paused at the threshold.

"Do you have an appointment?" Saima asked, sitting smugly behind the desk.

"Appointment?" Vicky echoed, confused.

"Yes. I'm the new owner of this office and everything in it. If you want to step through that door, you'll need an appointment—from me."

Vicky raised a brow. "Are you done?"

Saima stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"I'm here to see John. Is he alright?"

"The audacity," Saima muttered. "John is my man now."

Vicky tilted her head. "I didn't ask whose man he is. I asked if he's okay."

From behind Saima, John appeared.

"She's right," he said quietly. "I'm her man."

Vicky smiled softly. "I was just checking on you."

John's face lit up with a blush. Saima's eyes narrowed.

"Why do you care, Victoria?" John asked, trying to mask his emotions.

"Yes, why do you care?" Saima added venomously. "John loved you, gave you everything—gifts, opportunities—and you threw it all away. So why are you here?"

"Because love isn't bought. It's won. By the heart. I'm not after your man, Saima. Save your insecurities for someone who actually poses a threat."

"You think you can have everything you set your eyes on? Let's see how long you'll keep smiling," Saima hissed.

Vicky remained poised. "John, I'm glad you're doing well. I truly hope you receive the love you deserve. That's all I ever prayed for." She turned and left.

John stood, torn, then slowly followed.

"John—don't lose focus!" Saima called after him. "Remember the mission! You're not supposed to catch feelings. She's not easy to break."

John stopped and faced her. "She's right, you know. Love isn't a transaction. It's real—or it's nothing."

Saima seethed. "Then make her jealous—do something! She checked up on you, John!"

John looked down. "I only love Vicky. And I'll die with that love."

Saima's nails dug into her palm. The bitterness of rejection boiled inside her like acid.