Vicky pushed open the door to the eatery. The noon sun beat down on her neck, but she barely felt it. She hadn't been here all morning. Of course, she'd lied to Evan about switching on the fridges. What was she supposed to tell her little brother? That she'd woken up in the middle of bushes a mile from home, with no memory of how she got there? That she was losing her mind?
"Ayyyy!"
Tonia's hysterical scream shattered her thoughts. Her friend raised her arms, dancing in celebration—but Vicky's face remained stone. She couldn't even pretend to share the joy.
"What happened?" Tonia's smile faded. She rushed over, guiding Vicky to a nearby table. "Why is your face dark? Is Mom okay?"
Vicky wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but they kept coming. She couldn't stop them.
"Mom is not okay, Toni." Her voice cracked. "The doctor says she only has two weeks."
She let out a sad chuckle between sobs.
"I don't even have N$100 grand with me. I can't get that in a week."
Tonia reached across the table, clasping Vicky's hands in hers. Her grip was warm. Steady.
"It's okay," Tonia said softly. "Everything will be alright."
"No, it's not, Tonia."
"It is." Tonia squeezed harder. "Our eatery was selected to host an event today at Carlos Resorts."
Vicky's tears stopped midstream. She cocked an eyebrow.
"What? How?"
"Yes!" Tonia's smile returned, wide and bright. "I secretly applied for it. They called us this morning—we won the bid."
Vicky's face slowly lit up. "This is news, Tonia..."
"I wanted to surprise you." Tonia pulled out her phone, scrolling. "They sent this email. You're going to meet Mr. Jackson for the next steps. You don't need to take anything there. The event is tonight."
She handed the phone over. Vicky skimmed the email, and for the first time in hours, a smile appeared on her face.
"Victoria!"
The moment shattered.
A voice cut through the eatery—sharp, furious. The two customers at the counter stopped eating, forks suspended in mid-air, watching.
Saima stormed toward them, phone raised like a weapon.
"Stealing my boyfriend wasn't enough?" Saima shoved the phone inches from Vicky's face. "Now you stole my place at Carlos Resort?"
Vicky pushed the phone away. It clattered onto the table.
On the screen there is an announcement from Carlos Resort's social media page. The monthly winner of their bid. Sarge Eatery's name blazed across the post.
"What are you talking about?" Tonia stood now, her voice edged.
"I applied for the bid at Carlos Resort. "Saima's chest heaved. "And her eatery came out as the winner. That was my time to shine."
Vicky frowned. Saima always found a way to cause problems—but this was new. Saima was a hairstylist. Nails, weaves, lashes—that was her world. How did she fit into cooking and event planning?
"How were you going to shine?" Vicky asked, genuinely confused.
Saima's face twisted. Hatred dripped from every word.
"You will get what comes for you, Vicky. I will make sure of it."
She snatched her phone from the table and stormed out.
Tonia and Vicky exchanged a long look. Vicky turned to the customers, offering an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry for the unnecessary disturbance. Please, continue your meals."
---
Catherine descended the grand staircase, her heels clicking against marble. Betty and Kuku Veronica sat in the living room, the television murmuring in the background.
"Kuku, you called for me?"
"Yes, Alex called." Kuku Veronica set down her cup. "Go change. We're heading to Lauren's for your wedding rings."
Catherine's eyes widened. Her hands flew to her mouth.
"Lauren's Jewellery? The famous designer?" Her voice pitched into a squeal. "Oh my God!"
She spun and sprinted back upstairs, her excitement echoing through the halls.
---
The mansion rose from the earth like a monument—so vast it rivaled the Taj Mahal. Its grand entrance yawned open, revealing furniture coated in gold and platinum and servants in crisp uniforms stationed for every conceivable task. Their eyes widened as the figure entered. They bowed in unison, deep and reverent.
At the piano, a teenage girl played a soft melody. Her fingers stilled. Her face hardened at the sight of the newcomer.
"Dad! Your son is home!" she shouted toward the stairs.
"So what if Cale is home?" Mr. Elder's voice boomed from above, annoyed.
"It's not Cale."
The girl rose, arms crossed, staring at the figure in the doorway.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Mr. Elder appeared, breathless—he had clearly run.
"Xavier?"
Xavier stood in the center of the living room, suited, stoic, a file clutched in his hand.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Two years. Two years since Xavier had discovered he was adopted. Two years since he'd walked out this door and never looked back. He'd been living in his suite at the casino, a ghost to this house.
Now he stood here.
"I'm glad you're home, son." Mr. Elder opened his arms for an embrace.
Arena rolled her eyes. "Did you finally find your real parents? The Shikongos?"
Mr. Elder's voice turned sharp. "Arena. Go to your room."
She shot Xavier one last glare before stomping upstairs.
Mr. Elder gestured to the couch. "Come on. Sit. This is your home."
Xavier didn't move an inch.
"Was I stolen?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
Mr. Elder's throat worked. A cough escaped him—deliberate, a man buying time.
He swallowed hard, suddenly very uncomfortable.