HATRED

CHAPTER 7

RAPHAEL

"Mr. Williams, I'm glad you're currently in charge of the company. You're surprisingly good," one of the investors remarked after our meeting concluded. Despite the praise, I knew deep down that Paul deserved the credit.

"How is she doing?" another investor inquired, catching me off guard. It took a moment to realize he was asking about my mother's health.

"She'll be fine," I replied curtly, not wanting to delve into discussions about her illness. With that, I ended the conversation and grabbed my briefcase, exiting the conference room.

As my phone rang, I absentmindedly answered without checking the caller ID. "Paul, I'll send you some documents..."

"Not Paul. Patrick Allen," the voice on the other end interrupted.

His name made my hand clench in anger. How dare he call me after tearing my family apart?

"What do you want? Haven't you done enough damage?" I spat.

"I want to talk to you about..." he began, but I cut him off.

"Too bad it's not mutual. I never want to talk to you again," I declared, about to end the call when his words pierced my heart.

"Esther is deteriorating, but I can help her."

I scoffed and ended the call, slamming my fist against the wall in frustration. Red liquid oozed from the cut in my knuckles, but I paid it no mind.

Esther is deteriorating, but I can help her.

His words echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of my mother's illness. Tears welled up, streaming down my face uncontrollably as I collapsed to the floor. I couldn't bear the thought of losing my only family, my mother.

"Sir, what happened?" my secretary asked, concern evident in her voice as she entered my office.

I remained silent, indicating I didn't want to discuss it. Instead, she retrieved a small first aid kit from the restroom and tended to my injury, wrapping my fingers with bandages before helping me to my feet.

"I'll cancel your other meetings today and reschedule them for tomorrow, Sir," she offered, to which I nodded in gratitude.

As she tidied up my office, I couldn't help but observe her. Despite my self-loathing for what I did to Gina, I couldn't deny being impressed by her skillful cleaning, her strawberry blonde hair perfectly in place. Temptation flickered in my mind, but I quickly shook it off. I didn't deserve anyone, especially not after what I'd done.

REGINA

"I need you to decode those files I sent to your mail," Martha instructed one of the ICT team members after I handed her the requested documents.

As the head of the department, Martha's authority was undeniable. It seemed Sylvester wouldn't place me under male leadership again. To add to the challenge, Martha possessed a similar authoritarian demeanor to Sylvester, with a penchant for giving orders and a hostile attitude.

Recalling Sylvester's directive to work in the ICT department and my subsequent decision to assert my independence, I submitted my resignation letter. However, Sylvester's response served as a stark reminder of the devil I was dealing with. He promptly transferred Scarlett to another branch in Abuja, a distant state, and issued Michael two query letters, putting his job at risk with any further infractions.

"Ms. Allen, I need you to deliver this flash drive to Mr. Obatola; it contains confidential information," Martha instructed, extending the silver flash drive to me before refocusing on her computer.

As I exited the elevator, I glanced at Patricia's desk, noticing its usual emptiness. However, this time, a familiar voice emanated from Sylvester's office, sparking my curiosity about another potential termination or transfer. I hastened my steps and pushed open the door forcefully, only to stumble slightly as it swung open unexpectedly. However, the sight before me was even more troubling than my clumsy entrance.

Patricia was completely naked, soaked in sweat and her extra large boobs were dangling in the air. She was bent over with Sylvester's large hands guiding her, to keep her steady as his manhood was buried deep inside her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Patricia yelled but I couldn't tear my eyes off them. Sylvester was unfazed but created a little distance between them, exposing his huge cock before he began to dress up.

"I'm very sorry I ruined your afternoon moment in paradise," I said sarcastically, earning a glare from her, Sylvester dismissed her immediately,  It didn't surprise me that he treated her like trash. Everyone is trash to him.

"What do you want?" Sylvester asked curtly.

"Martha said you need this flash drive," I replied, dropping it on his desk before quickly making my exit from his office, hoping to avoid any further interaction with him.

But just as I reached the elevator, someone grabbed my left hand and pulled me back. I turned, ready to confront Sylvester, but instead, Michael greeted me with a broad smile.

"Whoa, who got you angry?" he asked, taking in my visibly irritated state. The truth was, I didn't even know why I felt so angry. No one had ever managed to infuriate me this much, and a part of me knew it wasn't just because of the scene I had witnessed.

"You're coming with me to South Africa," an arrogant voice echoed in the hallway, reigniting my anger.

"I'll see you during lunch," I whispered to Michael, pressing the elevator button. Just as the doors began to close, Sylvester stopped them and joined me inside, triggering a sense of déjà vu that I quickly pushed aside.

"If you're worried I'll announce your affair, you shouldn't be. I'll never tell anyone what I saw," I said to Sylvester before he could speak.

"I don't care what you see or say, and you don't need to pack anything. I have everything sorted out," he declared.

Pack anything? What was he talking about now? Confusion was written all over my face.

"You're coming with me to South Africa," he explained.

What?!

I glared at him, but he just smirked. "If you think you can ask that I follow you on a trip, you must not know me," I gritted.

"I'm not asking. I'm demanding," he stated firmly.

Searching his face for any hint of humor, I found none. He couldn't just demand things from me; he didn't own me.

"My father will never approve of this," I blurted out, though I knew my father couldn't care less about me. He hadn't even followed through on his threats when Raphael dumped me.

"You don't even believe your own words," Sylvester shot back, and I realized I had to plead my way out.

"I have an exhibition to attend, my best friend needs me tonight. Please," I implored.

The elevator doors opened, and suddenly Sylvester's large hand grabbed me, dragging me out of the company. I tried to free myself, but his grip only tightened. I was certain my wrists were bruised, but I didn't stop trying. At this point, I didn't care if people were murmuring or if I looked like a lunatic. Force was the only language he understood, but all my efforts were useless.

"To my hangar, Ubong," he ordered his chauffeur, after he successfully threw me inside his car, and I knew my resistance was futile.

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