Chapter 81

The scent of success and newfound happiness clung to Yada. This morning, she strode through the polished corridors of the high-rise legal firm, her bespoke suit sharp and her vertiginous stiletto heels tapping a victorious rhythm. The amicable arrangement with Kiya had blossomed rapidly, transforming from a simple, strategic understanding into a genuine, tentative attempt at marriage. The cold fear of loneliness had finally retreated, replaced by a quiet, fierce fulfillment that radiated from her.

With a bright smile that felt genuine for the first time in years, she held her phone to her ear as she reached the opaque glass of her office door. “Darling, I’ve arrived. When you’re done with the hospital follow-up, please let me know. We can grab lunch together.”

“All right. I’ll call you.” Kiya replied, her voice soft.

The call ended. Yada pushed open her door, the soft, expensive click of the latch sealing her into her private sanctuary. She leaned her back against the cool wood, a secret, awkward smile playing on her lips, recalling the dizzying, impossible night that had changed the trajectory of her life.

Flashback:

The television provided a flickering, shifting light in Yada’s vast living room. They were lying on the sprawling sofa, watching a mystery movie that had long since become background noise. The hours had bled into one another, and Yada, secure in the uncharacteristic peace, had inclined her head onto Kiya’s shoulder and fallen into a deep, heavy sleep.

Kiya, however, was wide awake. She watched the lawyer—watched the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath, the faint curl of her lashes, the rare softness she usually kept hidden from the world. Kiya inhaled her scent, warm and calming, and something inside her chest tightened, a suppressed pressure finally straining against its bonds.

Suddenly, Yada woke, groggy and disoriented. “Sorry, I fell asleep. Did I crush your arm?”

Before the apology could fully form, Kiya leaned in and crushed her lips on hers. The kiss was abrupt, fierce, and ravenous, driven by the raw, animal energy that had been suppressed for years by mission, duty, and pain. Kiya’s tongue crossed the barrier of Yada’s teeth, mingling with her saliva, and a shockwave of heat ran through Yada’s entire body.

Yada gasped, pulling back slightly, her hand instinctively rising to Kiya’s chest. “Kiya,” she whispered, her eyes wide with shock and a confusing, building desire.

Instead of repulsion, Yada felt an electric connection, a surge of adrenaline that raised goosebumps on her skin. But Kiya, consumed by shame, sprang up instantly. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have—”

So many positive things had converged that day: her sister’s case looked promising; her job felt stable; the simple, profound feeling of no longer being alone gave her an extraordinary sensation. And now, she felt as though she had ruined everything with a moment of reckless, selfish passion.

But as Kiya tried to flee the scene, Yada caught her hand. Unable to say another word, she pulled Kiya’s hand to her cheek. Kiya understood. The night was theirs, and they savored it like any newly committed couple, establishing a bond born of crisis and shared need, cemented now by sudden, undeniable heat.

From that night forward, they were no longer two women who had merely sworn to coexist.

End

Yada pressed her lips together to hold back the smile before pushing the memories away, forcing herself to focus on the day’s duties. She had work to do, contracts to review, and cases to prepare.

If only she knew what was already on its way.

Across town, the slow, tender burn of her romance was about to collide with the cold, methodical strategy of her opponent.

With a heavy heart, Evelyn had typed a final, desperate message. The truth was too dangerous to type, so she resorted to code: “I’m very sorry, but if he asks you to stay away from this, accept it.”

Once the message arrived, Yada tried to call her, but the attempt failed. Evelyn was already shielded, her line cut. Yada typed another message, her fingers flying: “What are you talking about, Evelyn? Please, tell me if you’re in danger. I know you’re in town. Is it Williams?”

The reply came instantly, confirming Yada’s fear and sealing the contract. “Don’t write to me again, and don’t resist their order. Thank you.” Evelyn blocked the number.

Yada, panicking, snatched her phone to call Kiya, but it was already too late.

A sharp shadow fell across her office door. Knock, knock, knock.

Yada interrupted the call she was dialing to Kiya, her heart slamming against her ribs. She didn’t answer.

Another knock. Then the door creaked open, uninvited.

Makizal stepped inside.

Yada rose instantly, phone in hand like a meager weapon. “What do you want?”

Makizal didn’t look up from his own phone. “If I intended to harm you, Mrs. Yada, you wouldn’t have made it past your front gate this morning.” He walked in calmly, sat, and crossed his legs with surgical precision. “I’m only here to deliver a file.”

Her fingers tightened around her phone, but she forced herself to sit, eyes tracking his every smooth movement. “What file?”

He slipped a single, thick envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I was asked to give you this.”

Suspicion knotted in her stomach, turning sour. “What is it?”

“If I knew,” he said dryly, finally meeting her gaze with an utterly dead expression, “it wouldn’t be sealed.” He added, checking the clock too deliberately.

Meanwhile, unknown to her, while they were discussing, Beta and Gamma were combing through her home, removing the final trace of Williams’s sophisticated surveillance, a silent, final violation of her sanctuary while Kiya was safely distracted at the hospital.

Yada opened the envelope. Inside, she found a tiny USB drive and a message scrawled across a piece of paper: “Defy me, and you will regret the day of your birth.”

The word birth was underlined.

Her throat tightened. She looked at Makizal, who was absorbed in his phone. She picked up the USB drive and moved toward the company machine, but Makizal, without looking up, murmured, “I wouldn’t use a company’s machine if I were you.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Ensuring the message sinks in.”

She snatched her personal laptop and inserted the key. A password prompt appeared. “What’s the code?”

“No idea.”

Yada reread the message: birth underlined. She typed in her date of birth. It worked. A single video file appeared. She fumbled for her headphones, shoved them on, and clicked play.

As it played, her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry that lodged like broken glass in her windpipe. The video was an unedited, intimate recording of her sexual escapades with Kiya, the very precious memory she had savored only moments ago.

Makizal glanced at his phone. A message from Beta: “It’s done.”

He sighed, standing up. “I suppose you’ve already received the message, Madam. Good evening.”

“Wait.” Yada shot up, blocking his path. “What do you want?”

“I told you; I’m just the messenger.”

“Call Williams right now!” she ordered, rushing to her office door and locking it with a sharp turn of the deadbolt. “Otherwise, you’re not leaving here.”

Makizal’s expression hardened, his patience dissolving. “Madam…”

“Right now, I said!” Yada insisted, standing her ground.

Makizal hesitated, scanning her emotionally volatile state, before quickly messaging Williams, who immediately called him back. He handed the phone to Yada.

Yada gripped it like a lifeline, her hand shaking. “How dare you?”

Williams’s voice slid through the speaker with infuriating calm. “Hello, dear lawyer. How’s your morning?”

“What you have done is illegal, and you will get nowhere with it. The lady in the video is my wife. There’s nothing immoral about it.”

“That’s the least of my interests.” Williams paused. “But why not post this online and see what the public opinion thinks? Of a renowned lawyer who enjoys making hardcore, intimate footage with her… wife?”

“I’m going to sue you. And I’m going to destroy you; you have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Well, Miss Yada, I know all about your family. I am sure if you want to destroy me, it could be possible, but think about what everyone will see first. As of now, all you have is a USB key, and soon everyone will have its content.”

Makizal reached out to take the phone, but Yada clutched it fiercely.

Her mind raced. A visit from Makizal wouldn’t prove coercion, and the USB key containing a video with her wife meant nothing… unless she was willing to risk total, devastating exposure. Was she ready for her colleagues, her conservative family, judges, journalists… to see her like that? Even though it was consensual love between spouses, it was private. Raw. And vulnerable. The kind of moment that, once exposed, could never be undone.

And Kiya.

Kiya, who needed stability regarding her sister’s case, would not only lose custody permanently but also her job and reputation in a world still slow to accept such incidents.

She was screwed.

“No, please, don’t do that,” she finally whispered, the broken pride in her voice sounding like a physical wound. “What do you want?”

“Stay away from the Evelyn case. That’s all.”

Her silence stretched long, heavy, and suffocating. “If I agree, I need you to…”

“Don’t worry, Miss Yada. No one has seen the video. Not even the man in front of you. Let’s say we’ve made an arrangement.” After a chilling moment of silence, she added. “Wish you matrimonial good luck; you seem to be having fun.”

Yada swallowed her bitter spit. “You are a devil.”

Williams hung up.

Makizal plucked the phone from her stiff fingers, turned toward the door, his hand resting on the brass doorknob. He opened it. “Have a nice day, lawyer.” He cast one last mocking, triumphant look over her before disappearing into the wild.

The moment the door shut, the structure holding Yada upright gave out.

She fell onto the plush sofa, her breath catching in violent, shaking gasps, her hands fisting her own hair. Her beautiful memory had been stolen, corrupted, and weaponized against her.

Who would believe her if she told the police that Dr. Niran Williams was blackmailing her with a video of marital intimacy over a failed insemination case where the faulty doctor was dead, the unlucky parents had fled the country, and the woman with a fake identity carrying the embryo was missing?

Her fingers re-clicked the video. Then she saw her exposed body, heard her own raw gasps; her lips bit one finger while the other clutched her head to ease the rising pressure building in her brain.

her voice pleading: “Ahhh, please, pinch me harder, I…” while her sweetheart was head between her.

In fierce anger, she grabbed her machine and smashed it repeatedly against her office floor. Her whole life, her wife’s stability, was going to be destroyed. The pain of her failure was consuming her.

This was how Dr. Niran Williams crushed some people from her board:
Not with bullets.
Not with simple threats.
But with lethal, intimate observation, clinging to the weak points of her most sacred moments.

Now, Yada was disgraced through a legally humiliating act.

And somewhere else, Evelyn had heard enough to understand. Yada and Kiya were married? How and when? Since she was cut off from the world, so many things were happening. Unknowingly, Evelyn, the last ‘name’ on Williams’s list, was now the only one left standing.

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