Sydney's mornings followed a well-worn routine: rise early, prepare breakfast for herself and Mick, pack her daughter's lunch, take a quick shower, and then gently wake Michaela to get her ready for school.
The weather in Brightcanon surprised her; for once, it wasn't raining. The month of March was usually rainy, but today, the skies were clear, a rare gift.
After dropping Mick off at school, Sydney opened the store early for some morning pickups. She planned to return home by noon to finish packing; half the work had been done the night before.
It was really happening.
Knock, knock.
She opened the door to find Helena on the other side.
"Helena, you're here," Sydney said with a warm smile, pulling her sister into a hug before ushering her inside.
"Come in."
Helena looked around, eyes narrowing at the sight of packed bags. "Syd, what's going on? Why are your things packed? Did something happen?"
Helena had been married for two years, right after graduation. Her husband, Andrew, had insisted she stay home. "A woman's body needs rest to conceive," he said.
But it was a lie; Andrew just wanted control. He didn't want a partner; he wanted a dependent.
His family made Helena feel like a stranger in her own home, and Andrew never stood up for her. But she had never told Sydney. Her sister had enough on her plate; Helena didn't want to add her own burdens to the mix.
"We are moving," Sydney said simply.
"Why?"
"Have a seat." She gestured toward the couch. "I got married."
Helena blinked. "Syd… I didn't even know you were seeing someone."
"I wasn't."
Sydney recounted the story: how she helped Mrs Grace months ago and how the older woman insisted on repaying her by arranging a marriage to her son.
Helena's eyes widened. "That's risky."
"I know," Sydney admitted. "But I did it for Mick. Mrs Grace is kind, and I'm trusting that her son takes after her, even though she says he can be grumpy at times."
Dating for years doesn't guarantee happiness either, Helena thought bitterly. She knew that well. Andrew had made a thousand promises and broken nearly all.
"When can I meet this guy?" Helena asked. "I want him to know he can't mess with my sister."
Sydney laughed softly. "I'm capable, you know. But yes, I will set something up soon."
Helena stood. "Then where can I start? Let's finish packing."
Meanwhile, at Forbes Corporation, Zeke had just left a long executive meeting. No one dared leave the room before him. That was an unspoken rule.
Back in his office, Dan trailed in behind him.
"What do you want?" Zeke asked as Dan plopped onto the couch like he owned it.
"You are not going for lunch?"
"Already sent an order to Brightcanon Hotel. Kas will pick it up."
Dan grinned. "Hope you ordered mine too?"
Zeke glanced at him, unimpressed, and continued scrolling through his phone. "I'm not your secretary. Get your own food."
Dan placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "I've been slaving for you for years, and I don't even get lunch? You are heartless."
"You can resign if you want."
Dan smirked. "Please. We both know you would miss me."
Zeke ignored the jab. Dan leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "So… is the house ready for your new wife?"
Zeke dropped his phone. "I told Mr. Jones to clean the place and get a bed for my room. She can handle her own room. Buy what she wants. It's her space."
Dan blinked. "Seriously? You couldn't even ask what she might need? A little gesture wouldn't kill you."
Zeke shrugged. "I don't know her taste. Better she gets it herself than I get the wrong thing. She's the lady of the house now."
Dan shook his head in disbelief. "You are going to give that woman a hard time."
Just then, a knock interrupted the conversation. As expected, it was Kas, his bodyguard, with their food.
Dan snatched one of the boxes with a grin.
"Did I say you could take that?"
"You don't need to," Dan replied, already opening the lid.
Zeke sighed and picked up the second container. They ate in silence for a while, the tension easing between bites.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Zeke paused, wiped his hand, and checked his phone.
It was a message from Sydney:
Nineteen Crest Street, 9 a.m.
He stared at it for a moment, mood unchanged. Then he set the phone down and continued eating as if nothing had happened.
Zeke's Saturdays start with a routine he rarely breaks: an early morning jog. Other days, unless there was a meeting, he could sleep in until eight, lounging in bed before dragging himself into the structured chaos of work.
Despite the wealth and the help available at the Forbes family villa, Zeke had always insisted on doing his own laundry. Mrs Grace made sure all her children knew how to take care of themselves; money was no excuse for laziness.
And now, living independently in Whitefield, away from the formality and staff of the villa, Zeke wouldn't miss much. Solitude suited him.
After lunch, Dan returned to his own office to finish a pile of reports stacked on his desk. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Zeke's phone began to ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hello, Mom," Zeke said as he picked up the call.
"Syd said nine a.m. I don't think you should go jogging in the morning; you don't want to keep your wife waiting."
The word wife made his stomach twist. He was only thirty, yet his mother had been relentless about him getting married.
"You should worry about her. She's the one known for being late," he replied flatly.
He hadn't forgotten the wedding day incident. A speeding car had splashed dirty water all over Sydney's dress. She had to rush back home to change, arriving thirty minutes late to the city hall for their marriage entry.
"She will be ready," his mother insisted with certainty.
They ended the call.
After work that evening, Zeke headed straight to Whitefield, the neighbourhood where he had recently bought a house. He had chosen it for its quiet streets, good security, and low profile, perfect for a man trying to stay under the radar.