"I'll give you thirty million. But I need access to this man."
Irish slid a photo and a signed check across the table to Brenda, a high-end madam known for supplying young women—including college girls—to wealthy older men craving fleeting warmth.
Brenda glanced at the check and let out a low chuckle. She raised an eyebrow, eyeing Irish up and down. "You've got interesting taste. Usually, it's the uncles paying to touch girls like you. But here you are, paying to get close to one of them."
"I don't care what it costs," Irish replied coolly, taking a drag from her vape. A thin plume of smoke curled from her lips, lingering between them. "I just need one way in. And I know you can make it happen—I don't doubt your connections."
Brenda crossed her arms. "You know who he is, right? Zayden isn't some easy target. He's got a reputation. His wife isn't some ordinary woman either."
"I know," Irish answered without hesitation. "I know exactly who he is. And I know exactly who his wife is."
Brenda narrowed her eyes. "They're the picture-perfect couple. Madly in love, they say. He never steps into places like this. It won't be easy getting close to him."
"I don't need their love story," Irish cut in sharply. "I just need an entry point. Whether it's crashing his wife's party, becoming an invited guest, or even just serving drinks there—get me in, and we're done."
Brenda fell silent for a moment. She eyed the check again, then gave a slow nod and walked away. She approached a middle-aged man with a protruding belly and flashy rings on his fingers. They exchanged hushed words, almost whispering. Whatever deal was struck, it wasn't long before the man pulled an invitation card from his inner suit pocket.
Brenda returned with a triumphant smile. In her hand was an elegantly designed invitation.
"Marisha's birthday party," she said, handing it to Irish. "Tomorrow night at the Savanna Hotel ballroom. This is your ticket in. Thirty million well spent, I'd say."
She plucked the check from Irish's fingers and slipped it into her leather wallet with a flourish. "Have fun."
Irish took the invitation, her grip tightening slightly as if she were clutching the future she had meticulously planned in silence.
"So tomorrow's your birthday, Marisha?" She took another drag from her vape, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "Just wait. I'll be seducing your husband on your special day."
After leaving Brenda's den, Irish sank back into her quiet, calculating world. She sat in her car, the engine idling aimlessly as her fingers danced across her phone screen—checking financial dashboards, reviewing daily reports from her businesses: an aesthetic café downtown, an online boutique, stock investments, even a small real estate venture.
Everything had to stay stable. Everything had to keep growing. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't.
Her parents' deaths had left her with billions in life insurance payouts—blood money, as Irish called it.
But despite the fortune, she never lived recklessly. No wild splurges, no mindless luxury. Instead, she learned. She survived. She invested that money into multiple ventures—not for a lavish life, but for one purpose.
Revenge.
Irish had known since that fateful night that she was truly alone in this world. No protectors, no home to return to. The only things she could rely on were her mind and her money.
Money was her shield, her sword, and the bullet to pierce her enemy's defenses. And her enemy now lived comfortably in a palace built from the ruins of her family.
Irish wouldn't let a single cent of her parents' blood money go to waste. She would make it grow.
And she would spend every last bit of it to destroy Marisha—slowly, the same way she had destroyed her.
*****
"I'm sorry… I still can't give you a child. We've tried everything, but nothing works. Even IVF failed."
Zayden's voice was low, heavy with regret. Marisha stared blankly, as if resigned to the bitter truth. She let out a long sigh, the weight of years pressing down on her. Since their marriage, this was the conversation they'd always avoided.
Zayden rubbed her back, feeling the stiffness in her body as he held her. She seemed defeated, as if she'd run out of words, out of hope. They'd exhausted every option—doctors, treatments, prayers—but the result was always the same.
"Your birthday's coming up. Don't dwell on this too much," Zayden tried to lighten the mood, though his voice lacked conviction. He kissed her forehead gently, hoping to offer some comfort. "If we're not meant to have children, then we'll find another way to live."
Marisha lowered her head, her eyes glistening as she stared at the floor. She didn't know what else to say. Zayden pulled her closer, wishing he could ease the disappointment crushing her.
"But your parents…" Marisha began, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll handle them," Zayden cut in firmly, though unease flickered beneath his tone. He closed his eyes, steadying himself. "It's my responsibility to explain. Don't worry."
Yet deep down, Zayden's restlessness grew. He wanted a child—needed one. More than a desire, it was an obsession gnawing at his peace. Building a legacy, passing on his name, becoming a father—it was a dream slipping further away with each passing month.
The reality was too harsh. Marisha was 34. He was 38. Every month without news of a pregnancy felt like another door slamming shut.
Medical risks increased, chances dwindled, and the pressure from his family loomed like an invisible weight. To Marisha, Zayden always appeared calm and supportive. But behind every embrace was fear.
Behind every smile was a silent scream of anxiety. Hope was thinning, and Zayden felt cornered—not just as a husband, but as the heir to a prestigious family demanding continuity.
Marisha studied Zayden's face, sensing his turmoil despite his composed exterior. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Her body had failed her. Too many unresolved issues from the past.
Back then, she'd carelessly swallowed emergency contraceptive pills. More than once, she'd even terminated pregnancies to avoid scandals. Her dark past haunted her every night.
Zayden wasn't just any man. He was a top-tier conglomerate—mining, luxury exports, diamonds. His wealth was immeasurable, and his family's influence reached into government circles. His parents, especially his mother, were ruthless. They wouldn't tolerate their son having no heir. They wouldn't let the Malik bloodline end with him. Marisha knew this.
She'd fought tooth and nail to maintain her image—the perfect wife. She'd even fabricated tragic backstories to explain why she wasn't a virgin when they married. All to keep her title as Mrs. Zayden Malik.
Now, everything hinged on one thing—she had to get pregnant. By any means necessary.
Marisha clenched her fists. She wouldn't let it all crumble. Not now. Not after everything she'd done. She'd find the best doctors, the most advanced treatments, even obscure herbal remedies if she had to. She didn't care how much it cost.
She would get pregnant. She had to.
Because if she didn't, her position as the wife of the most powerful man in the city could be snatched away by another woman at any moment.