Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 91
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Canada – The Hale Estate
The estate sprawled across acres of manicured grounds, the main house a sweeping structure of pale stone and glass that seemed to catch and hold the morning light in every window. Inside, soaring ceilings arched over rooms filled with careful, understated luxury — polished hardwood, art collected over decades, a grand staircase curling upward from the marble foyer.
The breakfast room alone was larger than most people’s entire homes, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking gardens still dressed faintly in morning frost.
Duane had been discharged that morning, and true to her word, Ivory hadn’t left his side once, propping pillows behind him at the table so he could sit upright without straining, the doctor’s warnings about overexertion still fresh in everyone’s minds.
“Open,” Ivory said, holding a spoonful toward him.
“I can feed myself,” Duane protested weakly.
“You’re not strong enough yet. Open.”
He gave in, taking the bite, and when she went to pull the spoon away, he caught her fingers instead, licking a stray bit of sauce from her thumb with a lazy, teasing look that made her flush.
She pinched his nose in retaliation, and he laughed, wincing slightly at the pull against his healing chest.
“I just hope she doesn’t accidentally kill him with all this fussing,” Arielle said dryly from across the table, sipping her juice.
“She won’t,” Duane said, grinning at his new sister. “Baby sis.”
Arielle’s whole face lit up instantly. “Say it again.”
“Baby sis.”
She practically glowed, and Ariel reached over and smacked the back of her head lightly.
“Ariel’s maltreating me,” Arielle announced immediately, turning to Duane with exaggerated wounded dignity. “Defend my honor.”
“Let him rest,” Mr. Hale said, chuckling, though the warmth in his voice was unmistakable.
Ivory raised the spoon again, and as Duane opened his mouth for the next bite, their eyes locked — something soft and overflowing passing between them that had nothing to do with breakfast at all.
“I love you,” he murmured, quiet enough that it was mostly just for her.
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
Mr. Hale, watching them from the head of the table, cleared his throat gently. “Duane. When you’re strong enough — no rush at all — I’d like to discuss the possibility of you taking over one of our subsidiary companies. Whenever you’re ready.”
Duane blinked, clearly still adjusting to the sheer scale of the life unfolding in front of him, and simply nodded, too overwhelmed to form a proper response just yet.
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Creston – Este’s Restaurant
Celeste moved through the kitchen, checking pots, calling out instructions to her staff with the easy confidence of someone fully back in her element.
“Ma’am,” one of her workers called from the front. “You have a visitor.”
Celeste wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out — and stopped dead.
Peter.
Older, thinner, the years showing plainly on a face she’d once known intimately, standing awkwardly near the entrance like he had any right to be there at all.
“How DARE you,” Celeste said, voice shaking with a fury she hadn’t felt in years. “How dare you show your face here, Peter.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Sorry?” Celeste’s laugh came out sharp, disbelieving. “You emptied our accounts and disappeared. You left me with nothing. NOTHING, Peter. And now, the moment I’ve finally built something of my own, you show up and say SORRY?”
—
Morales Mansion – Same Time
Ron lay on the floor of his locked study, barely conscious, blood soaking dark and thick into the fabric of his trousers now, seeping from places that made the horror of his situation undeniable even through the fog of his fading awareness.
He vomited again, more blood spilling across the hardwood, his body shuddering weakly with the effort.
He wasn’t dying yet. Not quite.
But he was seeing, in vivid, unbearable detail, exactly what dying might feel like — slow, humiliating, entirely alone.
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Canada – Duane’s Suite
Ivory lay curled against Duane’s side in the enormous bed, his head resting against her chest, her fingers moving idly through his hair as evening settled soft and quiet over the estate outside their window.
“You’re thinking about Creston,” she said, feeling the small shift in his breathing that always gave him away.
“I miss it,” he admitted. “Celeste. Luis. The mansion. Hazel driving Arthur crazy every morning.” He tilted his head slightly to look up at her. “I want to go back. Even just for a week.”
“We will,” she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He reached up and took her hand, pressing it flat against his chest, right over his heart.
“Feel that,” he said quietly. “It’s beating too fast.”
“You should rest, then.”
“It’s beating fast because of you.”
Ivory’s breath caught, warmth spreading through her chest, and she leaned down to press a soft peck to his lips.
“I don’t want a peck,” Duane murmured against her mouth.
She leaned in properly this time, and their lips met in something slower, deeper, unhurried.
“I love you, baby,”.
“I love you, my addiction.”
She kissed him again, and outside the window, the last light of the Canadian evening faded slowly into dark.
TBC.
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