News traveled faster than truth.
By the time Aham Armstrong was seated in the back of the police vehicle, hands cuffed, heart pounding, his name was already splashed across headlines.
BILLIONAIRE HEIR ARRESTED FOR MASSIVE FRAUD.
TRUSTED SON BETRAYS LEGACY.
ARMSTRONG EMPIRE BUILT ON LIES.
The words felt unreal, like they belonged to someone else.
At the station, the questions came relentlessly.
Documents were thrown across metal tables. Signatures circled in red. Account transfers he had never authorized. Companies drained overnight. Properties sold under shell names.
"This isn't mine," Aham said hoarsely. "I didn't do this."
The detective across from him didn't look convinced.
"Your signature is everywhere, Mr. Armstrong," he said calmly. "You signed the papers. You approved the transfers."
Aham stared at the documents, his stomach twisting. The handwriting was his. The dates were recent.
But the intent wasn't.
"I trusted my wife," he whispered.
The detective raised an eyebrow. "Then you trusted the wrong person."
By evening, he was denied bail.
Outside the courthouse, cameras flashed like lightning. Reporters shouted questions that cut deeper than knives.
"Did you steal from your parents' legacy?"
"Was your marriage a cover-up?"
"Is this who you really are, Mr. Armstrong?"
Aham lowered his head as he was pushed into the van.
From the corner of his eye, he searched for one face.
Kelly.
She stood behind the crowd, dressed in black, her hands covering her mouth, tears streaming freely. For a moment-just a moment-Aham felt relief.
She's here, he thought.
She believes me.
Their eyes met.
And then she turned away.
That was when something inside him cracked.
The prison gates closed with a sound that echoed through his bones.
Inside, the air was heavy with despair. The walls smelled of rust and regret. Men watched him with curiosity and hunger-another fallen giant among the broken.
His cell was small. Cold. Unforgiving.
That first night, Aham didn't sleep.
He replayed everything-every signature, every smile, every soft word Kelly had whispered into his ear.
Had it all been a lie?
Days passed. Then weeks.
His lawyers stopped returning calls. His accounts were frozen. His name became poison. Board members resigned. Assets were seized. The empire his parents built vanished like smoke.
And Kelly?
She never visited.
Her number was disconnected.
Her social media wiped clean.
Her name disappeared from his legal records.
It was as if she had never existed.
One evening, as rain battered the narrow prison window, Aham finally broke.
He pressed his forehead against the cold wall and whispered, "Why?"
There was no answer.
Far away, in a private office overlooking the city, Don Pedro watched the news with a satisfied smile.
The Armstrong companies had been "temporarily" transferred into trusts-trusts he controlled. The board now answered to him. The properties were under new management.
The empire had changed hands without bloodshed.
Kelly stood across the room, arms crossed, her expression distant.
"It's done," Don Pedro said. "You played your part well."
She said nothing.
"He'll rot in prison," Don Pedro continued. "And by the time he gets out-if he ever does-there will be nothing left for him."
Kelly clenched her jaw. "You promised no prison."
Don Pedro's eyes hardened. "I promised success."
She turned away, her reflection staring back at her from the glass window. For the first time, the weight of what she had done settled on her chest.
But regret came too late.
Back in prison, months crawled by like wounded animals.
Aham learned the rhythm of survival-when to speak, when to stay silent, when to fight, and when to endure. He hardened. The boy who once believed love could save him faded into something colder.
One afternoon, a guard stopped at his cell.
"You have a visitor," he said.
Aham laughed bitterly. "Who?"
"You'll see."
He was led down a long corridor, chains clinking with every step. When he entered the visitation room, his breath caught.
A woman stood waiting.
She was taller. Stronger. Dressed in a sharp suit that spoke of power and purpose.
But he would recognize those eyes anywhere.
"Clara?" he whispered.
She turned.
And for the first time since the day he was arrested, Aham Armstrong felt hope stir inside his chest.
"I found you," Clara said softly.
The world hadn't ended after all.
It had only been waiting.
---