The flight was loooong, baby. Seventeen hours of air, cloud, and class. But it wasn't too bad—especially not when you were seated beside Mr. Dominic Krapper, CEO of McKrapper Foods, and flying like a queen. Brooke sat stretched out in her business class seat, legs tucked in a soft cashmere blanket, head resting against a cushioned leather headrest. The air hostess came around every few hours, smiling brightly.
"Would you like another course, Ms. Brooke?" she asked with a sweet lilt.
"Yes, thank you. I'll take the beef this time… and maybe another glass of orange juice," Brooke said, trying not to sound too new to this. But inside, she was screaming—girl, there were actual ceramic plates and real metal cutlery. Not even a paper napkin in sight.
Meanwhile, back in Ghana…
Carolyn and Shelly were walking home after waving their bestie off, still in shock but trying to walk like they hadn't just cried their eyes out at the airport.
"She really did it," Shelly muttered. "She really flew all the way up there."
"I know," Carolyn sighed, dabbing her eyes. "But I'm not even mad. I'm just... proud."
Just as they turned the corner to their street, guess who popped up like a bad signal?
Cameroon.
He was leaning against a pole like he was part of the scenery, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking lost in thought. When he saw them, he straightened up.
"She left?" he asked, eyes locking with theirs.
"Yep. Gone. Poof. In the sky like your chances," Carolyn replied without missing a beat.
Shelly tried not to laugh. Carolyn was on one.
"She's probably over Europe now, sipping apple juice with billionaires," Carolyn continued, eyes narrowed. "And I bet she's gonna find herself some Filipino fine man who actually knows how to treat a woman. You should really go clock your little thing and sit this one out, Cameroon."
Cameroon scowled. "I cared about her."
"Then maybe you should've showed it before she had to board a flight to success," Shelly snapped, arms folded. "But don't worry. We'll send you a postcard when she makes Forbes."
And with that, the girls walked off, heads high and hearts full. Cameroon? He just stood there, defeated, while their laughter faded into the distance.
Meanwhile, 30,000 feet above ground, Brooke felt the plane finally beginning to descend. The pilot's voice crackled over the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Manila. The local time is 6:32 PM. The weather is clear and warm, about 27 degrees Celsius…"
Brooke peeked out the window, eyes wide. So this was it. The Philippines. A whole new chapter.
Once they landed, the airport seemed to transform into a scene out of a movie. Mr. Dominic, with his smooth gait and perfectly pressed suit, walked them past the customs line like a man who knew exactly who he was. Outside, two luxurious black minivans and a Mercedes Maybach were parked by the curb. Drivers in suits stood by, ready to open doors.
Brooke clutched her passport, still stunned. "Mr. Dominic… all this?"
He smiled. "You're not in Ghana anymore, Ms. Brooke. Welcome to McKrapper living."
The drive was smooth and fast, city lights flashing by as they rolled into an exclusive part of Manila where the streets were lined with trees and gated estates.
And then she saw it.
The Mega McKrapper Mansion.
White walls stretched as far as the eye could see, a blend of futuristic design and timeless elegance. It looked like a damn castle. The gate alone could've fed a small village. Brooke's mouth dropped.
"This is your house?" she gasped.
Mr. Dominic chuckled. "This is your new training ground."
The car rolled up the circular driveway, and before the door even opened, a wave of staff was already pouring out like a scene from Downton Abbey. At least twenty people stood waiting—some grabbed the luggage, some held welcome drinks, and one was literally fanning a path for them with a lace fan.
And then they came out: Mrs. Magaret Precious Krapper—tall, elegant, with skin like golden brown satin and pearls dripping from her neck—and beside her, their son…
Leslie Krapper.
Brooke blinked. He was handsome. Like, painfully so. Tall with a lean build, soft brown hair, and that quiet kind of charm that made you look twice. He gave her a shy smile, barely meeting her eyes.
"This is my wife, Magaret," Mr. Dominic said proudly, "and our son, Leslie."
"It's lovely to meet you, Brooke," Magaret said warmly, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "Dominic's told us all about you."
Brooke blushed. "Thank you, ma'am. It's an honor."
Leslie gave a soft nod. "Hey."
"Hey," she said back, her heart doing a weird flutter thing she didn't approve of.
A young girl stepped forward then. She couldn't have been older than twenty-one, dressed in a chic uniform, with bright eyes and a graceful walk.
"This is Corelle, your personal assistant," Mr. Dominic explained.
Corelle bowed slightly. "Please follow me, ma'am. Let me show you to your room. I've prepared a light meal, and I'll return later to escort you to the family dinner."
Brooke followed her through the mansion, past jaw-dropping chandeliers, white marble floors, and art that probably cost more than her high school education. When Corelle opened her room door, Brooke gasped. It looked like a luxury hotel suite—plush bed, balcony view, a bathroom the size of her whole old house.
"I… I don't even know what to say," Brooke whispered.
"Just rest," Corelle smiled. "You've earned it."
As the door closed behind her, Brooke stood in the middle of the room, took a deep breath, and smiled.
This was it.
The next chapter.
The girl from the eatery had finally arrived.