Chapter 9 Two Million

• "If your blood type didn't match Melanie's, do you think I would even acknowledge you? You'll be worthless to me soon."
• When Zayla woke, Joaquin had vanished into thin air. Struggling to sit up, the blanket slid off her body, revealing a ghastly bruise on her neck and shoulder.
• She rolled out of bed with great effort. As her feet met the floor, it sent her head spinning, and she nearly blacked out. Managing to steady herself, she shuffled into the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror a stark reminder of her battered state.
• Adorned with wounds, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pity for herself, her heart heavy with memories of Joaquin. Four years spent trying to please him would ultimately go down the drain. Wouldn't it be marvelous if I could earn his affection through sheer effort?
• Standing before the sink, performing her bedtime rituals of tooth-brushing and face-washing, her already sore throat flared up from the tears shed the previous night. Her throat rebelled as she brushed her teeth, triggering a gag reflex that expelled toothpaste foam tinged with blood.
• Zayla, resilient as ever, had grown accustomed to throwing up blood, treating the sight of blood as nothing out of the ordinary. Turning on the tap, she washed away the blood and foam, a small act of cleansing amidst the turmoil.
• Emerging from the bathroom, it was past half-past seven. Despite Zayla's lack of appetite, the thought of her now disfigured stomach urged her to heat up a cup of milk for sustenance.
• Zayla went to the office, delved into paperwork, and scrutinized Steele Group's declining profits over recent months. She could almost foresee the company's eventual downfall. Zayla had long suspected Joaquin's clandestine efforts to undermine Steele Group. He seemed determined to exact revenge by any means necessary.
• Joaquin was notorious for being vengeful, and he acted swiftly. He had orchestrated Steele Group's gradual collapse, the pinnacle enterprise of Altaford, in a matter of years. She felt powerless against his relentless tactics... It was doubtful she would ever fully comprehend Joaquin's ruthlessness in her lifetime.
• After flipping through a stack of documents, Zayla reclined in her chair, reaching for the cold coffee on the table. As she took a sip, the bitterness washed away the lingering taste of sweetness in her throat, a small act of solace amidst the chaos.
• But she faced more problems ahead. Zayla rose from her seat and made her way to the window, fixating on the towering buildings before her. It was time to brace herself for the worst. As the president of the colossal corporation built over decades, the question lingered: who would assume responsibility after her inevitable departure?
• Her father? Or perhaps her brother? Both seemed content to coast on the family wealth and entrusting them with the company would likely spell its demise within a few short years. After careful deliberation, Zayla arrived at a startling realization. The most fitting candidate to inherit Steele Group was none other than her legal husband, Joaquin, whose intentions to bankrupt the company were glaringly evident.
• Zayla's expression darkened with despair, her gaze piercing through the windowpane like ink seeping into parchment, an unyielding darkness engulfing her. She lifted her left hand, pressing it against the cool glass. Her cold, pale fingertips rhythmically tapped against the surface.
• The office was enveloped in silence, the faint tapping resonating distinctly in the stillness. Zayla seldom found herself lost in idle thoughts. She relished in daydreams, seeking refuge in fleeting distractions to momentarily escape the harsh realities that besieged her.
• Suddenly, her phone on the desk buzzed, jolting Zayla back to reality. Glancing at the screen, even ten feet away, she could discern the word "Father" flashing. "Father" should have been one of the most endearing words, but to Zayla, it felt like a distant, impersonal title. She strode over and answered the call.
• "Zayla, transfer two million to my account," Carsen Steele's slightly deep voice resonated through the line, his tone frosty.
• Zayla's grip tightened on the phone. "Dad, did you only call me for money?"
• There was a hint of impatience in Carsen's voice. "It's only right for a daughter to support her father financially. If you weren't in control of the Steele family, do you think I would stoop to asking you for money? If you refuse to comply, transfer the family shares to me."
• Zayla paused, digesting the word "daughter," a small token of acknowledgment amidst the transactional exchange. She was surprised that her father recognized her as his daughter, not merely an ATM. But why doesn't he show any genuine concern for me? She didn't expect him to dote on her. Just a casual inquiry about her well-being would have sufficed. She was easily pleased. A shred of genuine concern would have meant the world to her.
• "Did you hear me?!" Carsen's berating pierced through the phone.
• Zayla suppressed her emotions. "Didn't I transfer a million to you just last week? It's barely been a few days. Have you already spent it all?"
• "What good is that paltry sum?" Carsen's guilt was tinged with a hint of defiance, bolstered by the thought of Zayla managing a colossal company, sometimes raking in millions daily. "Just transfer the money, or I'll demand it at your office. Let's see whose reputation takes a hit, yours or mine."
• "I'll send you the money, but you must tell me what it's for." Two million wasn't a trivial amount.
• Hearing Zayla relent, Carsen softened his tone. "I've got my eye on an investment opportunity. I just need an extra two million. Once I turn a profit, I won't bother you for money again."