Kamilah arrived at one of the largest malls owned by the Belvedere family in the country, a towering structure of glass and steel that dominated the skyline like a monument to wealth and power. The chauffeur pulled up to the entrance and stopped, but he didn’t get out to open the door for her. He simply sat there, his hands on the steering wheel while his eyes were fixed straight ahead as if she didn’t exist.
Kamilah didn’t need him to open the door for her. She had learned long ago to do things for herself, to not rely on the kindness of people who had none to give. But as she was about to reach for the handle, the door swung open from the outside, and she was shocked to see Maeve standing there, her tall figure was silhouetted against the bright lights of the mall entrance.
"Ms. Maeve? Why are you here?" Kamilah asked as she slowly got out of the car, her voice carefully neutral despite the surprise that flickered in her eyes.
Maeve didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze shifted to the chauffeur, who was still sitting in the driver’s seat, his expression was blank and unconcerned. "Why is your chauffeur not opening the door for you?" She asked, and there was something in her face—contempt, sharp and cold, because the chauffeur was not treating Kamilah the way she deserved to be treated.
"Oh... About that..." Kamilah didn’t even know what to say. She couldn’t explain the politics of the Worthington household, couldn’t explain that the chauffeur had always sided with Livia, that he probably hated her, that he had been one of the many people who had made her life a living hell in ways both small and large.
That chauffeur always sided with Livia. He probably hates me. The words ran through Kamilah’s mind, and Maeve heard them.
Maeve’s gaze shifted from Kamilah to the chauffeur, her eyes are narrowing into two slivers of frozen steel. The air around her seemed to drop ten degrees instantly. She didn’t look at the man with anger—anger was for equals—she looked at him with the cold detachment one might use to observe an insect before stepping on it. The chauffeur suddenly looked very small, and his posture stiffened as he realized the oppressive weight of Maeve’s silence.
When Maeve turned back to Kamilah, the ice didn’t entirely melt, but it shifted. Hearing the raw confession of Kamilah’s thoughts—the assumption that she was hated, the resignation to being ignored—sparked something predatory yet possessive in Maeve’s chest. She stepped closer, her presence enveloping Kamilah, her height allowing her to look down with an expression that was neither kind nor cruel, but intensely focused.
"He simply hasn’t learned yet whose hand he is biting." Maeve said, her voice was a low, humming velvet that resonated in the space between them.
Maeve reached out, her long fingers grazing the fabric of Kamilah’s ivory sleeve, a possessive gesture that claimed the other woman as her own. A small, dangerous smirk played on her lips as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Kamilah.
"If you feel neglected in your own home, remember that you are a Belvedere now. And the Belvederes do not tolerate their things being mistreated."
Kamilah’s eyes flickered with something—irritation, perhaps, or defiance—and she stepped back, creating distance between them. Her voice was confident when she spoke, but there was an edge to it that Maeve couldn’t ignore.
"You don’t have to worry about that, Ms. Maeve. I do not bring my problems to every place I go, and as for neglected, I don’t think it’s your business to worry."
Why do you care so much? It’s not like I matter to you that much.
The words that ran through Kamilah’s mind and hit Maeve like a slap. The casual assumption that she was worthless, that she didn’t matter, that Maeve’s concern was nothing more than a formality—it was a provocation that nearly broke Maeve’s carefully curated composure. The urge to retort, to tell Kamilah that she was wrong, was overwhelming.
But she didn’t reveal that she could hear Kamilah’s thoughts. Instead, she grabbed Kamilah’s hand.
The grip was firm, almost bruising in its intensity. Maeve’s fingers locked around her wrist, an anchor that refused to let go. The confidence in Kamilah’s voice was a beautiful mask, but the thought beneath it—the casual assumption that she was worthless to Maeve—was a provocation that nearly broke Maeve’s carefully curated composure.
Maeve’s jaw tightened. The urge to lean in and tell Kamilah exactly how much she mattered, or perhaps how much she intrigued her, was almost overwhelming. The contrast between the poised, dignified heiress speaking to her and the wounded girl inside was a puzzle Maeve was becoming obsessed with solving.
"Your business is my business, Kamilah. That is the nature of our arrangement," Maeve replied, her voice was sounding strained, as if she were fighting a war against her own impulses. She didn’t let go of her hand; instead, she began to lead her toward the entrance of the mall, her stride was commanding and possessive.
As they walked, Maeve’s mind was racing. The apathetic, distant wife she had expected was gone, replaced by someone who viewed her with a mixture of suspicion and indifference. It was a challenge Maeve hadn’t anticipated, and it made the hunger in her chest grow. She didn’t want the compliant doll the Worthingtons had tried to sell her; she wanted the woman who thought she didn’t matter, just so she could prove her wrong.
Kamilah complied but then withdrew from Maeve, pulling her hand free with a deliberate, almost defiant motion. "No, what we had will stay in our arrangements. Don’t mistake our transaction for something you can exploit. And besides, I’m only Belvedere by papers."
She said it with such finality, such cold precision, that Maeve felt the words like a physical blow. Kamilah turned and walked away, her heels are clicking against the marble floor with a rhythm that spoke of confidence and control.
There was something in Kamilah’s behavior that kept pulling Maeve to her. And while watching Kamilah leave, Maeve heard her thoughts again.
In this lifetime, I will never fall in love with you again, Maeve.
Maeve stopped dead in her tracks. The words hit her with the force of a physical blow, echoing in the silence of her mind. ’In this lifetime... I will never fall in love with you again.’
The phrase was a riddle that shattered everything Maeve thought she knew. It wasn’t just a rejection; it was a confession of a history that didn’t exist. "Again." The word haunted her. It implied a previous life, a previous love, and a betrayal so profound that Kamilah would rather face the world alone than risk her heart on Maeve a second time.
Maeve stood frozen, watching Kamilah’s retreating back. The dignity of her gait, the sharp precision of her movements—it all seemed different now. The "mask" wasn’t just for the Worthingtons; it was a shield against her. A shield built from a pain that Maeve hadn’t even caused in this life, yet somehow felt responsible for. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping . com.
A dark, intense fire ignited in Maeve’s chest. She had always liked the chase, but this was no longer a game of social chess. This was a mystery of the soul. If Kamilah had loved her once, then the capacity for that love still existed, buried deep beneath the layers of trauma and hatred.
She didn’t follow immediately. Instead, she let the words sink in, a predatory smile slowly curling her lips.
"I don’t understand what you mean by that, but do you think you can deny me in this life, Kamilah?" She whispered to the empty air. "I don’t care how many lifetimes it takes. I will make you look at me again."
They spent the entire day going to different stores, moving from one luxury boutique to another with the kind of ease that only old money could afford. Kamilah picked a lot of designer bags, her fingers trailing over leather and silk with an appreciation that spoke of someone who had been denied such simple pleasures for far too long.
Maeve didn’t even blink an eye when she paid for all of them, her black credit card sliding across counters with a casual indifference that made the sales associates stare in awe.
All this time, Maeve just watched her soon-to-be-wife move with the confidence of an heiress who knew her worth and what she wanted in this world. There was a grace to Kamilah’s movements, a quiet assurance that had been absent in the timid girl the Worthingtons had described.
Maeve found herself captivated by the way Kamilah would tilt her head when examining a piece of jewelry, the way her lips would curve into a small, satisfied smile when she found something she liked.
After spending almost two hours picking bags and shoes, they went to the jewelry store. The store was elegant, with soft lighting and velvet displays that showcased diamonds and gemstones in every color imaginable. The sales associates, recognizing the Belvedere name, immediately straightened, their smiles are becoming more polished and their attentions more focused.
"Wow~" Kamilah was amazed to see the different jewels, her eyes widening at the sparkle of diamonds and the deep, rich colors of rubies and emeralds. She slyly smirked and turned to Maeve, her expression a mixture of innocence and mischief.
"Maeve, will you mind if I look around?" She asked.
Maeve was a little taken aback by the question. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because... I’m using your credit card, of course I’ll ask you," Kamilah said, keeping her eyes innocent while thinking: I’ll make sure to buy everything with her card, yes! In my past life, she never spent a dime on me. What a douchebag!
The thought made Maeve’s throat tighten. The casual resentment, the memory of a past life where she had apparently been cold and distant, the determination to extract her pound of flesh through expensive purchases—it was all so calculated, so delightfully petty, that Maeve couldn’t help but feel a surge of something that was part amusement and part desire.
She pulled Kamilah by the waist, her arm was wrapping around her with a possessiveness that surprised even herself. Kamilah faltered, her body stiffened for a moment before she looked away, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks.
"H-Hey! What are you—"
Maeve gently cut her off by leaning down and have her lips close to Kamilah’s ear. The people around them viewed this as a romantic gesture between the Belvedere heiress and the girl who had somehow managed to capture her ruthless, cold heart.
The proximity was electric, the scent of Maeve’s expensive, woody perfume wrapping around Kamilah like a silken trap. Maeve could feel the sudden, frantic beat of Kamilah’s heart against her own chest, and the heat radiating from her blushing cheeks only fueled the fire in Maeve’s veins. The contrast was delicious—the cold, calculating strategist who wanted to bankrupt her, and the flustered girl who couldn’t even maintain eye contact.
Maeve didn’t pull away. Instead, she tightened her grip on Kamilah’s waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The "douchebag" comment was still echoed in her mind, but rather than anger, it filled her with a strange, desperate urge to overwrite whatever memories Kamilah held. If she had been a monster in another life, she would become a different kind of monster in this one—one that wouldn’t let Kamilah go.
"Buy whatever you want," Maeve whispered, her voice was a low, dangerous vibration against Kamilah’s ear. She didn’t care about the money; the Belvedere fortune was an ocean, and Kamilah was merely picking up a few shells. The thrill wasn’t in the spending, but in the power play.
"Everything," Maeve added, her breath warm against Kamilah’s skin. "Everything that catches your eye. Consider it an investment in your... Happiness."
As Maeve slowly retreated, she didn’t let go completely, her fingers lingered on the curve of Kamilah’s hip for a second too long. She caught the flicker of confusion and irritation in Kamilah’s eyes, and it made her smile. Maeve wasn’t just paying for jewelry; she was buying her way back into a heart that had already decided to hate her. And she was more than willing to pay any price for it.
The height difference was evident, and Kamilah noticed how the sales ladies were all giddy and excited, whispering to each other and stealing glances at the couple. So Kamilah took the opportunity to flirt back and show everyone they were a perfect couple.
She leaned forward, her face was inches from Maeve’s. Maeve’s breath almost hitched as she felt their lips only an inch apart.
"Is that so? My fiancée?" Kamilah murmured, her voice was soft and teasing. "So you won’t mind if I buy the most expensive diamond ring as... Our wedding ring?" This story is hosted at g.com.
The words made the sales associates explode in a chorus of excited whispers and barely suppressed squeals. Some of them started recording, their phones held up to capture the romantic moment between the two heiresses.
Maeve felt the sudden, sharp intake of breath in her own lungs. The world around them seemed to blur, the chatter of the saleswomen and the flashing of phone cameras fading into a dull hum. All she could see was the shimmering light in Kamilah’s eyes—not the warmth of love, but the playful, daring glint of a gambler who knew exactly how to play her hand.
The proximity was agonizing. For a heartbeat, Maeve truly thought Kamilah might bridge the final inch, and for the first time in her life, the cold, detached heiress felt a surge of genuine nervousness. But as she looked at the curve of Kamilah’s lips, she realized this was another performance.
Kamilah wasn’t flirting out of affection; she was playing the part of the perfect bride to solidify her image and, more importantly, to secure a diamond that cost more than some people’s homes.
The realization should have annoyed her, but instead, it thrilled her. This was the woman she wanted—someone who could look the world in the eye and lie with a smile, someone who could manipulate a crowd while planning a heist on her bank account.
"The most expensive," Maeve repeated, her voice was dropping to a rasp, her gaze was locking onto Kamilah’s with an intensity that bordered on hunger. She didn’t care about the ring, but she loved the audacity. She leaned in just a fraction more, her voice a low, possessive command.
"Pick the one that makes you feel like you own me, Kamilah. Because in this store, you do."
Kamilah finally withdrew and smiled brightly, her expression dazzling and entirely fake. "How romantic of you to say that," she uttered with sarcasm, then turned and approached the sales lady to explore the store.
Maeve was left standing there, trying to calm the storm of emotions that raged inside her. Her heart was pounding, her mind was racing, and her body still tingling from the proximity of Kamilah’s warmth.
Maeve stood frozen in the center of the store, her hand was still feeling the ghost of the heat from Kamilah’s waist. She exhaled slowly, a shaky breath that she hoped no one—especially not the crowd of gawking onlookers—could hear. The "romantic" comment had been a masterstroke; Kamilah had delivered it with such a dazzling, bright smile that it felt genuine, yet Maeve could still hear the lingering, cold echo of the woman who viewed her as a "douchebag."
It was a dizzying cycle of attraction and repulsion. Maeve watched Kamilah drift through the jewelry displays, her eyes scanning the diamonds with a professional, calculating precision. She looked like a queen surveying her treasury, entirely unfazed by the storm she had just ignited in Maeve’s chest. The apathetic, fragile girl the Worthingtons had described didn’t exist here; in this space, Kamilah was a predator in silk and ivory.
Maeve leaned against a display case, her eyes never leaving Kamilah. She felt a strange, tightening sensation in her chest—a mixture of desire and a desperate need for authenticity. She wanted to rip the mask off, to force Kamilah to look at her with something other than a calculated smile, even if that something was pure, unadulterated hatred.
As the saleswoman began presenting the most exquisite pieces, Maeve’s gaze darkened. She didn’t just want to provide the funds for the ring; she wanted to be the one Kamilah couldn’t stop thinking about when the lights went out and the performance ended.
The game had changed. Kamilah thought she was playing Maeve, but Maeve was starting to realize that she was more than happy to be played, as long as it meant Kamilah stayed within her reach.
Kamilah, meanwhile, was enjoying herself far more than she had expected. The feel of Maeve’s credit card in her hand, the knowledge that she could buy anything she wanted without consequence, was intoxicating.
She had spent her first life scrimping and saving, denying herself even the smallest pleasures because she had been told she didn’t deserve them. She had watched Livia spend the family fortune on dresses and jewels while she wore hand-me-downs and made do with what little she was given.
But not this time. This time, she was going to take everything she was owed and more.
She selected a diamond ring so large and so flawless that the saleswoman actually gasped when she pointed to it. It was set in platinum, the band encrusted with smaller diamonds that caught the light and threw it back in dazzling patterns.
"This one," Kamilah said, her voice calm and certain. "This is the one."
The saleswoman nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the ring from its display. "An excellent choice, Miss. This is one of our finest pieces."
Kamilah slipped the ring onto her finger, admiring the way it sparkled in the light. It was beautiful, yes, but more than that, it was a symbol. A symbol of her new life, her new power, her new determination to take what she wanted and never apologize for it.
She turned to find Maeve watching her, those dark eyes unreadable but intense. Kamilah smiled, a genuine smile this time, and held up her hand to show off the ring.
"What do you think?" She asked.
Maeve’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "I think it suits you perfectly."
And as they stood there, surrounded by the glitter of diamonds and the whispered speculation of onlookers, Kamilah felt something shift inside her. She was no longer the forgotten daughter, the neglected wife, the dying woman alone in her bedroom. She was someone new. Someone powerful. Someone who was finally, finally living for herself.