Chapter: 7&8
Heads or Tails
5:59 PM – TB Mansion
Mrs. Anita sat silently in the dimly lit room, her elegant yet commanding figure straight, hands resting lightly against her cheeks. Her eyes, tired from days of stress and sleepless nights, stared blankly at the ornate walls of her mansion.
"Had my husband called back?" she asked, her voice smooth but laced with unease.
The eldest maid, ever vigilant, shook her head. "Madam, you've been waiting here half a day. I'm afraid if you don't eat something soon, you're going to fall sick."
Anita's gaze softened, shadowed with doubt. "Nanny Joy… did I make the right decision?"
Nanny Joy, poised and calm, met her mistress's gaze without flinching. "Madam, I cannot answer that. And even if I could, I doubt it would give you the reassurance you seek."
Anita closed her eyes briefly, her thoughts drifting back through the years. The choices she had made—the ones that had shaped her life—now haunted her.
Her mind returned to John, her son. The boy she had abandoned. The bold decision that had begun with a reckless marriage, a pregnancy she never wanted, and an opportunity too tempting to refuse. When her chance to compete in the Miss Beauty pageant arose, she fled. She left behind her newborn son, her friends' pleas ignored, her ex-husband's threats unheeded. The thought of fame, freedom, and fortune had blinded her. Mexico had welcomed her with open arms, offering the life she had always dreamed of—wealth, influence, and later, two more children with her current husband.
Years passed. A life meticulously built on ambition and carefully hidden secrets. But fate has its own ways of unearthing truths.
It began innocently, almost imperceptibly, through her friend's daughter, Doris. A fifteen-year-old actress, ardent fan of John's novels, she had begged Anita to attend a book signing. Reluctantly, Anita agreed.
She remembered the moment vividly: the room crowded with eager young fans, all eyes fixed on the young prodigy behind the table. And then she saw him.
John. Her son. Handsome, mature beyond his years, with a calm smile that carried none of the bitterness she had expected. Yet, his gaze carried something familiar—a resemblance to the man she had once married. Doris had noticed too.
"Aunt… do you know John?" the girl had asked on their way back.
"Of course not. Why?" Anita had replied, attempting nonchalance.
"He looks a bit like you," Doris said, sighing in disappointment. That simple observation was enough to plant a seed of fear, guilt, and curiosity in Anita's heart—one that would not stop growing.
Months of hesitation followed. Eventually, Anita had confronted John, requesting a DNA test. His calm amusement at her nerves humbled her, and when the results confirmed her worst fear, the weight of her past pressed down on her like never before. Her son—alive, thriving, and distant—was a burden she could neither ignore nor control.
Weeks later, she returned to his office. The man before her, CEO of Better Choice, author of Twinkle Twinkle, sat unflinching, expression unreadable.
"How strange we are," John said, voice low and deliberate, "like the head and tail of a coin. Though we face opposite sides, we're still on each other's throats. So, mother… who do you think will strike first—you or me?"
Anita's pulse quickened. She called for Nanny Joy. "Help me find someone who can clean up a mess."
"You don't mean—?" Nanny Joy's face went pale, but her eyes betrayed no surprise.
"I don't want him dead," Anita explained, her voice firm. "Just a warning."
Nanny Joy's lips curved in relief. "Don't worry, Madam. I'll do my best."
Earlier – Better Choice Office
Meanwhile, across the city, John sat back in his chair, observing Madison with the quiet patience of a man who always controlled the narrative. Joseph, his assistant, stood by, sensing the subtle tension but knowing better than to interrupt.
Madison's curiosity was palpable. Her eyes held a mixture of professionalism and intrigue as she leaned forward. "Why this building?" she asked, voice steady but inquisitive.
John's gaze softened, thoughtful. "I heard from the old residents that this building was once a factory, burned down years ago. It was cheap and fit my budget. I had to use almost all my grandmother's inheritance and my savings to build this company. I even sold most of my properties to afford the equipment you see now."
He paused, memories of hardship flickering across his eyes. "I wasn't proud of the state I found myself in. I even had to live with Joseph and his roommates after being thrown out of my rented apartment."
Madison's mouth opened slightly in disbelief. From what she had researched, John came from a wealthy, prominent family. The story he told was nothing like the life she had imagined for him.
"Life must have been hard," she pressed, "why didn't your parents help?"
John chuckled softly, indifferent. Joseph sighed quietly, sensing the tension. "I wasn't really favored by either of them," John admitted. "Most of my childhood was spent at God Grace Orphanage. You can even check it yourself—it's small, but it holds my most precious memories."
Madison's curiosity ignited. The interview she had anticipated as routine had transformed into something far more personal, far more compelling. "The orphanage?" she asked, leaning forward.
John glanced at the clock. "Time is up. It's 3:58."
Madison hesitated. "What about tomorrow morning?"
"There's no need to think," she said, switching off her recorder. "I'll come by."
John nodded, faint smile masking his calculations. "Of course you can. But I'll be busy."
As Joseph escorted Madison out, promising to return, John leaned back in his chair. He harbored no guilt toward his parents or his mother's secrets. If weaving a story—or revealing a truth—gave him leverage, he would do so without hesitation. His eyes narrowed, determination settling over him like armor. Every move, every revelation, every secret could be his advantage.
In the quiet of the office, the plan began to take shape.
Chapter nine
(Fear, Hope, and Desperation)
Meanwhile, not too far from TB Mansion stood the Mike Mansion.
The guards quickly unlocked the gates, letting in the black car, which soon parked a short distance from the grand entrance.
"Mira!"
Barnabas gently called the half-asleep girl, who yawned.
"Are we home yet?" she asked.
Her brother nodded gently while helping her out, almost frightened when he noticed how pale her lips had become.
"I'm truly fine, just tired," she tried to convince him, but Barnabas frowned. The thought of her almost fainting at his office had shaken him deeply.
"Let's just make sure it's nothing serious," he said softly, though his voice was firm in his decision.
Mira's question about what he meant went unanswered. She only watched as her brother signaled the driver to proceed to the driveway.
"Let's go inside. It's a bit cold outside."
Mira nodded, shivering slightly. Their steps were quick but careful as they crossed the marble floor, finally feeling the warmth of the mansion envelop them.
"Mira!!"
Bella called, standing from the green couch and stepping closer. Her eyes narrowed at Mira's pale, sickly complexion. Mira forced a smile.
"You're back, but you don't look too happy," her mother said, concern dripping from every word.
"I'm fine, just tired," Mira reassured her, though her mother's worry only deepened. She forced a smile and moved past, noticing Barnabas already making a call.
"Barnabas!!!"
She called, taking a step forward, only to be gestured to stop.
"Yes. Prepare a room right away for tomorrow. I will make sure to bring my sister for a check-up," he said loudly enough for Bella to hear, raising her anxiety even more.
Mira's eyes fell on her twin sister, Miracle, casually dressed but warm.
"Sister, you're back," she said, excitement in her voice.
Miracle only glanced lazily at her.
"So what! Am I not allowed to come back home because you're sick?"
Mira quickly shook her head. Seeing Miracle was like looking at a version of herself—healthy, independent, and strong—but it was clear her sister didn't enjoy her company.
"Of course not. I'm even glad you came. I have something to share with you," Mira said, grabbing Miracle's hands. Her sisters' eyes flicked to their mother and brother, tension evident in their stiff posture.
"Oh… Dad found me a heart. I'll soon be like you," Mira announced.
Miracle shrugged. "Oh, you already know."
Mira sighed, not minding.
"Mira, go up to your room and change. Then we'll have dinner. After that, we're going somewhere," her mother instructed.
"Are we not waiting for the rest?"
"They won't be back early," Bella said. Barnabas simply nodded.
"Alright," Mira whispered, disappointed but powerless to argue. She took a few steps forward, clutching her chest as her legs grew heavy. Her breathing became harsh and painful, yet she forced herself onward.
Mira didn't want her parents to worry. She had always felt like a burden, and now she was paying the price. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the cool marble floor, clutching her chest.
Screams and panicked footsteps approached.
"Quickly! Call Dad!"
Barnabas' voice echoed. Someone lifted her, calling her name.
"Dad! Mira's condition just got worse! She's fainted, and I'm not sure she's breathing!" Miracle's panic-filled voice rang out.
Mira felt herself being carried, her mind fading, whispering, I thought she didn't care…
"Driver, take us to the Federal Hospital!"
At the same time, across the city, John sat tensely in a car, listening lazily to the radio while Joseph drove. His hands clenched every time he checked his phone, frustration simmering.
"Troublesome!" John muttered under his breath.
Joseph tensed but said nothing, reminded of the wife waiting at home.
"I don't understand why I should drive you. Don't you have hands to drive yourself?" Joseph asked, irritation lacing his tone.
John hummed lazily. "Oh… at least increase my salary, then I wouldn't mind."
Joseph grumbled, sighing in defeat as John ignored him.
"You look pale. Didn't touch your lunch. Are you sick?"
John nodded.
"I'm fine. Just tired," he said, though his hunger and fever told another story.
He whispered, "Home…" with a bitter edge. That house was more like an eerie hotel than a real home. Quiet, lonely, empty—a stark contrast to Joseph, whose warm family waited every day.
"John!"
John's hands shook as he remembered the phone call about Tina.
"What if I'm overthinking?" he murmured. "Joseph, I suddenly feel sick. Please take me to the Federal Hospital."
Joseph's eyes narrowed in concern. "Where are you uncomfortable?"
John's lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. He remembered the tiny rental house he and Joseph once shared—cramped and suffocating, yet comforting because they had each other.
"Don't get us killed. Just drive slowly. The hospital isn't far," John half-yelled, voice hoarse.
"I'm not in labor! Just drive slowly!"
Joseph frowned but didn't slow down.
"What are you doing? You're going to get us killed at this rate!" John weakly shouted, exhausted.
"Keep quiet!" Joseph barked. John's eyes widened. It had been a long time since Joseph had raised his voice outside jokes.
"John, shut up and let me drive," Joseph warned. John nodded numbly, thinking of days trapped in illusions of happiness before life came crashing down.
"John!!"
Joseph called again, receiving silence. John's eyes were half-open, distant, lost in memories.
"John!!"
This time, he responded. His dull eyes met Joseph's as the old, white hospital building appeared near the radio studio. Joseph parked impatiently, cutting the engine.
"John!!"
He called again. John climbed out, trembling from fright. Seeing him like this, Joseph's worry deepened.
"Are you that weak you can't even stand?"
John frowned but held back his anger at the genuine concern in Joseph's eyes.
"Don't worry. I'll help you in," Joseph said, rushing him toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the stares of passersby as he carried his dumbstruck friend inside.
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