Broken

Chapter 22: Crossroads of power

In the dimly lit foyer of Fatima's luxurious home, Brandon strides in with an air of impatience. Lana, ever the dutiful housekeeper, closes the door behind him and stands calmly, her hands folded in front of her.

"Tell Fatima I'm here," Brandon commands, his tone leaving little room for argument.

"Ms. Wilson is currently busy," Lana replies, her voice even and polite.

"With what?" Brandon snaps, frustration evident in his voice. Lana merely shrugs, her face a mask of neutrality, clearly aware that she should not discuss Fatima's personal affairs.

Brandon shakes his head, irritation flickering across his features. "It can't be more important than what I have to tell her," he insists, his eyes narrowing as he tries to gauge Lana's reaction. "Please go let her know that I am here, and that is an order, Lana."

Lana meets his gaze without flinching. "I only take orders from Ms. Wilson," she states firmly, standing her ground.

With an exasperated sigh, Brandon moves past her, heading into the spacious living room. "I'll wait then," he grumbles, throwing himself onto one of the plush sofas.

Lana, maintaining her composure, follows him. "She's going to take a while," she warns gently, hoping to manage his expectations.

"I don't care," Brandon retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. His expression is one of determined resolve, clearly unwilling to leave without speaking to Fatima.

Lana nods in understanding, knowing when to back down. "Can I get you something to drink?" she offers, her voice softening slightly.

"A cappuccino," Brandon replies curtly, waving a hand dismissively.

Without another word, Lana heads toward the kitchen, leaving Brandon alone in the living room. The ticking of a nearby clock and the muted hum of the house's air conditioning are the only sounds in the room as he waits, his impatience growing with each passing minute.

Brandon's eyes dart around the room, taking in the lavish decor and opulence of Fatima's home. His gaze lingers on the expensive artwork, the plush furnishings, and the subtle yet luxurious touches that exude wealth and power. He mutters something under his breath, glancing occasionally towards the staircase, clearly irritated by the wait.

Minutes pass, and Lana returns with a steaming cappuccino on a silver tray. She places it gently on the coffee table in front of Brandon. He nods in acknowledgment but doesn't bother to thank her. Taking a sip, he starts tapping his foot impatiently on the floor, his irritation evident. As the seconds tick away, Brandon checks his watch, leans back in the chair, and begins scrolling through his phone, his eyes darting occasionally towards the doorway.

Lana stands to the side, her expression composed and professional. She remains quiet, aware that engaging with Brandon might only escalate the tension. The room feels like a powder keg waiting to explode, the air thick with unspoken frustration.

After what feels like an eternity, Lana finally breaks the silence. "I'll go check if Ms. Wilson is available now."

Brandon doesn't respond, his focus still on his phone. Lana heads towards the staircase, leaving him alone in the grand living room. The only sound is the faint ticking of the clock, each tick amplifying the tension in the room. Brandon takes another sip of his cappuccino, trying to steady his nerves.

Upstairs, Fatima pulls the covers over her naked body as Zac sits up, glancing around the spacious room. "So it's just you in this big-ass house?" he asks, curiosity piqued.

"And the help," she adds, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

He nods thoughtfully, then turns to her, a serious expression crossing his face. "You ever thought about having kids?" he asks. Fatima's face pales slightly at the question.