Pamela awoke slowly, and the first thing she noticed was the mutilating pains in her body. Her joints felt wrenched from their sockets, her head felt fuzzy and clouded and her mouth tasted brackish. She sat up and winced as her joints popped in protest. Her bottoms felt numb from sitting on the hard floor and when she looked around, she saw she was in a small room with only one window through which bright sunlight was filtering in.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was being grabbed and drugged when she was in the car with Peter who had been shot. She placed both hands on her mouth to push back the sob that rose in her, and to deny the answers to the questions that she couldn't help but ask,

Was Peter dead? Did the people who grabbed her finish him off?

This was nothing short of a nightmare. She regretted coming to this place that had no name, regretted having anything to do with all of this. She stood in a bid to walk towards the cell window to see if she would see the outskirts of where she was but was pulled back. She landed hard on the cemented floor and groaned. Her legs had been chained.

She wanted to cry, wanted to howl at the moon and weep, but her strength felt like it had been sapped from her, so all she did was sit and wait for her doom. It was Bull's men who captured her. It was definitely them. She just wished he would stop being a coward and show her his face.

It seemed her wishes were granted because she heard unlocking motions behind the huge iron door of the cell and the doorknob was twisted. She looked up expectantly as the door was pushed open, its rusty hinges giving squeaky sounds that reminded her of rats. The door finally opened and a tall figure stood at the door but was silhouetted by the sun so she couldn't see the person's face. The person walked further into the cell without closing the door and stood right in front of her.

She gasped in shock when she could see the figure's face.

"Marcel?"

He knelt before her, his face expressionless. "Hello, Pamela."

Pamela's lips trembled. "Oh my God."

"How have you been?" he asked with quirky humor.

"How do you sleep at night?" She asked defiantly.

"I heard you got married." he continued as though he hadn't heard her defiant reply. He nodded at her wedding ring. "I guess congratulations are in order."

She took in an audible breath through her mouth and exhaled in the same manner and volume. "Despite the countless evidence I had that you were Bull, even though my mother was killed right after you left the hospital, there was this -" she paused briefly. " - a tiny part of my heart that hoped it was not true, that you were not the evil person that has been wreaking havoc in my life."

"I can explain," he whispered, his blue eyes sad. He removed his knees from the floor and sat instead.

"Explain what?" she asked quietly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Marcel reached up to gently wipe it with his thumb. She should push him away and been revolted that he was touching her but she was weak and tired of everything so she just stayed still. Besides, his touch didn't feel evil. It felt, on the contrary, soft and accommodating.

"Explain what?" she said again. "Explain how you ambushed my house the day my dad died and stole his corpse? Or perhaps how you planted a bomb in Devlin's safe house to kill his men? Or better still how you put a pillow against my mom's sweet and innocent face and suffocated her to death? Tell me what you want to explain, Bull."

Marcel winced and his hand fell to his side. "I am not Bull."

"And the sky is not blue."

"It actually isn't blue, the sky is transparent air. We see blue because of the scattering of blue light by gas molecules in the atmosphere because it has shorter wavelength than the other colors in the spectrum."

She looked at him with surprise, then disgust. Was he kidding her right now? "Oh great, I'm playing who wants to be a millionaire with my captor. The next question will be how much, my life?"

He sighed. "Pamela I am not Bull, and if you let me, I will explain everything."

"Oh okay, I'll let you explain, I mean, take a look," She raised her chained feet to his face. "I'm not leaving in a hurry."

He moved to the other end of the room and rested his back against the wall. "I used to be reckless when I was young, I don't know why. Maybe it was because I had no one to teach me how to behave," he laughed mirthlessly. "I mean, my parents divorced when I was fifteen, and so I automatically became a burden, a reminder of their failed marriage. I became an afterthought, a child that was shuffled from parent to parent as they willed."

"Look," Pamela spoke up when he paused, using that window of opportunity to air her views. " I am so sorry you had to go through that, but if you're trying to go through the back door of my heart to garner my sympathy, then you should probably try something else because it won't work."

"I am not lying, and no, I am not doing this to get your sympathy. It is the truth."

"Okay then let me guess, the emotional turmoil that occurred made you cold and heartless."

"It made me reckless. Made me turn to an addiction: gambling. All the money I got, I gambled away. I became a regular at casinos and I couldn't hold a job for more than a month. It affected me a lot. I dropped out of college and threatened my parents that I would commit suicide if they didn't give me my trust fund - if I had one. They managed to capture me and force me to rehab where I was clean for the rest of my twenties. On my thirtieth birthday, my father passed and willed some money to me.

"Money is a spirit, you know. Sometimes when you have it, it drugs you and draws you into the depths of your misfortune. Sometimes, it makes you better, depending on which you choose. Guess I decided to go back to my vomit."

"By vomit you mean casinos."

He gave a small nod. "My gambling addiction became twice as worse. It was as if I had been starved of water for days and stumbled upon a spring of fresh water. It was so bad that I started to gamble on credit, and pay back my debt when I had the money. The funny thing was, I had to pay whether I won or lost."

"Of course," she muttered, getting tired of the story.

"Eventually, I borrowed ten grands, wanted to double it and pay back but I lost. Naturally, I panicked and ran but the owner caught me and sent his boys to beat me up and gave me till the next day to pay up. I was scared so I took the coward's way out and went back to beg for my life but to my surprise, they told me that someone had paid my debt and wanted to see me."

"Bull." she scoffed. "So that's why you decided to work for him? Because he came to bail you out?

He looked straight into her eyes. "She."

"Bull is a woman?" she asked incredulously.

"No. She - she works for him."

Pamela looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Why are you telling me all these?"

"Because I want to prove to you that I'm not lying so that you can forgive me. That's the only way I can rest easy."

Her heart stopped for an instant. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly, dreading the reply. Yes, she hated Marcel, but wishing him dead was something else entirely, something she wasn't sure she wanted for him.

"It means -"

"It means - " another voice said from the doorway and their heads both snapped towards that direction. " - that Bull has ordered us to end the sweet Marce."

It was a woman. The woman. She further walked into the cell and Pamela found herself holding her breath and couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped her lips when the woman's face came into view.

"That's right, my darling. Your ex-lover is going to die." She said casually as if she had asked for a cup of coffee. "By the way, it's nice seeing you again."

Pamela was still shocked to see Fatimah. She looked the same as she'd been at the gala weeks ago - one could say better - tall, luscious, curvy, beautifully dark-skinned, and sexy.

Except that this time she was working for Bull.

And she was wearing boyfriend jeans with a crop top that flaunted her flat tummy whose belly button sported a belly ring that completed her body like adding a final decoration to a delicious chocolate velvet cake.

Pamela looked at Marcel and saw that he had a defeated look on his face. "I thought you -"

"Was his girlfriend? Oh, darling please." she purred, waving her hands. "It was all part of the plan."

"What plan?" She looked at Marcel, hoping he would say something.

"Oh, he hasn't gotten around to that part? I'll tell you then." She said cheerfully like she wasn't planning on taking a life afterward. "Well, after we found him in the mess he called a life, we cleaned him up and took him to the boss."

"Bull. Why did he need Marcel?"

"For a grand plan that involved you. Everything was planned, right from the moment he made you spill your drink on his shirt, my darling -"

"Call me darling one more time," Pamela said furiously.

"Hey," She put her hand into her back pocket and whipped out a gun. "Don't forget who's calling the shots here." she smiled brightly. "So as I was saying, my darling, the grand plan was for him to enchant you with his male charms and get you to marry him so that you can will your inheritance to him."

"My inheritance? You're saying all the tragedy that happened to me was because of a measly company and what, a few thousands of dollars?"

Fatimah laughed, and even though she was evil, Pamela couldn't deny that her laugh had a nice ring to it. Dang it, why did Fatimah have to be so perfect? Whereas she that was so good, so loving, and very charitable had the laughter akin to the mooing of a cow. Granted, Devin and her family never complained but, oh well.

Why was she even body-shaming herself? She needed to love herself! Human wants are insatiable so if she kept on wishing for a body like Fatimah's and got it, she would eventually get bored and want someone else's body. It was better if she accepted her looks as it was. She was healthy and living and that was all that mattered. Besides, her husband never complained.

Her optimism doused at the thought of Devlin. Where was he? And yes, she was healthy and alive, but for how much longer?

"Honey seems like there's a lot the men in your life kept from you."

"What do you mean?"

"You are an heir to much more than what your parents have. Imagine what could have driven someone to years of careful planning just to get their hands on it."

She was talking about Bull. Pamela sighed wearily. "You said the men in my life. So Devlin knew about it too?"

"Oh, yes he did. And pardon my manners, I was carried away that I forgot to congratulate you. You know, when we were told about the wedding, sweet Marce cried his broken heart out. Seems he did love you – little wonder he failed at the simple task of taking you down the aisle, I mean, he took years while Devlin took just weeks." She laughed. "Hats out to him. Tell me, what do you see in him?"

Pamela's heart stopped for an instant as her cardiac muscles had finally worn out, and when it resumed, it started to pound. "Are you -" she willed herself to stay calm. " Are you trying to say that Devlin married me for the fortune you claim I have?"

"The fortune that you do have and come on, you're a smart woman, what do you think?"

"I think you're bonkers. You're off your head."

Fatimah placed her hand on her chest in mock hurt. "And may I know why I'm being hated this much?"

"Because of what you're implying! You're saying that he's pretending and that all he went through was a charade to win my trust."

She inspected her nails. "And to get your parents out of the way, probably."

Pamela scoffed and looked at Marcel. "Aren't you gonna say something?"

"He is saying something," Fatimah said. "The Lord's prayer." she burst into fits of laughter.

"Don't listen to her, just listen to your heart." Said Marcel.

"My heart!" Pamela exclaimed sarcastically, her eyes filling with tears.

Fatimah stopped laughing. "Her heart? You sound like one of those stupid motivational speakers. For the record, I detest them."

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Pamela whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do."

"Save the tears for later honey, 'cause trust me, there will be lots of reasons to shed 'em."

"Do you mind?" Marcel snapped at Fatimah. She shrugged and walked to the window. Marcel drew closer to Pamela. "There's one thing I know for a fact, Pamela, and it's that Devlin loves you so much. Trust in that love."

"Okay, break's over. Scenes like these irritate the deuce out of me."

Pamela looked up at Fatimah. "How did you both manage to gain entry into the gala? As far as I know, it was strictly by invitation and if Marcel was not who he claimed he was, how did you gain entry?"

"Oh, that was the easiest part. First of all, we went to the gala to make sure Marcel makes up with you. You know after your meddlesome father broke you up, Bull had a fit and demanded he set things right. And about how we entered, it was easy because we have him."

Pamela followed the direction of Fatimah's long and perfectly manicured - okay that's enough - finger and saw who she was pointing at. She hadn't even noticed that someone had been standing by the cell door.

"Come on in," Fatimah said to the newest addition to the room.

Her mouth hung open as he crossed the room to stand beside Fatimah. But then, when she thought about it, she was not so shocked. She was more like, disappointed.

"Mr. Fener?" her voice was just above a whisper. The adrenaline that was running through her, coupled with the fact that she'd not eaten since yesterday was making her weak.

Mr. Fener let out a loud and irritated breath and looked at Fatimah. "I hate surprises."

"I know dad, but the wait is almost over." She stroked his chin.

"Dad?"

They both gave her a look. "Don't be such a racist. Is it because he's white and I'm colored?"

"My wife was black, God rest her soul." Mr. Fener said before Pamela could work up a reply to give Fatimah, which truthfully, she had no strength for. She also didn't care about his family pedigree.

"How can you be working for Bull? I thought you -"

"Run a charity for kids with Down's Syndrome?" He chuckled. "Yeah, that's just a front to ward off questions about how I get my money."

Pamela didn't know what to say. She was short of words. Poor kids. She had been really happy that there was someone who cared about children with special needs, but now? The world seems to be loving but is filled with selfish people with selfish agendas.

"Also, I joined this noble cause because I need my money, which is sadly part of what you have as your fortune."

"What are you saying?"

"Look, Pamela, your dad and I go way back. And when he rounded up the knight's money to give to his daughter, naturally, I wanted revenge and my money back."

"I'm sorry did you say, knights?"

He smiled. "You're so in the dark, aren't you? Your dad slighted us and I'm the only one with the balls enough to get revenge. So we planned everything, to the last detail. Even your being CEO, were you so dumb as to think you could get a CEO position just like that?

"Don't you know what a board of shareholders means? I own 30% of the company and so you would have to consult me and others involved to make you CEO." He slipped his hands into his pockets and laughed. "You're CEO and you don't know the next thing about running a company. Even a dumb person would know when he is set up, I tell you."

He had a point. She didn't know the next thing about running a company and she was so dumb.

"Tell me CEO," Fatimah started and continued. "When was the last time you visited the company? Or even touched a single piece of paperwork? Yet it's running. Don't you wonder at all? The vice CEO doesn't even consult you before making decisions, all you get are credit alerts."

"Well, your dad probably didn't teach you because he knows you have our money that he stole. That money is enough to feed your children's children without them lifting a finger or breaking a sweat."

"Must be a fortune then, Mr. Fener. A fortune I want no part of."

"I understand why you would say that. One might think that willing a fortune that had been passed from generation to generation to you is a gesture of love, but I think it's suicide. The moment he had the deeds in his hands, he acted without blinking. See how he put poor you in danger."

"I get your point." She said through gritted teeth. "But what's your beef with Devlin?"

He paced the room and shrugged. "That's not something I can accurately answer."

"That's right." Pamela said, feeling dejected."You're not Bull."

"No, he's not. I am."

Pamela's head snapped in the direction of where someone spoke. It was the familiarity of the voice that shook her the most, and as the person made his way towards her, she couldn't help the increase in the acceleration of her heartbeat. She couldn't help the adrenaline that surged through her veins like a very strong narcotic had been injected into her bloodstream.

And when his face came into view, her eyes widened in the extremest of shocks. Her mouth became dry and when she spoke, it came out as a hoarse whisper. "No way."

Contrary to her shocked expression, his was merry and his grin was as bright as the sun.

"Hello, Pamela. What did Rob call you then? Was it, Pam Pam?"

~

Author's Note:

Cliff hanger!!!

Thank you so much for reading this chapter and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please vote for this chapter, comment your thoughts, add to your library and reading lists, and share. Thank you so much.

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