LATIFA, HIS EX-WIFE'S GHOST

Episode8 (JUST A GLIMPSE OF ME)

Latifa's pov

The scent of jasmine oil enveloped me, mingling with the briny ocean air blowing in off the water. The gentle touch of expert fingers massaged into my back, freeing the last traces of tension from my muscles. **A body once battered, bound, and filled to the brim with toxins.**

Strong now. Pure of past impurities. **A weapon.**

I took deep breaths, my chin shifted toward the open balcony, on which the burnished light of the Moroccan sun lay across the marble floor. Three years ago, I last saw the world from behind frigid, antiseptic bars. **Three years since they buried me underground.**

I was meant to be dead. But in their stead, I had been resurrected.

Miriam sat next to me, mindlessly flipping pages in a book, although I knew she wasn't reading. She was observing me—observing the small adjustments I made in position, the curl of my fingers into the silk sheets that underlay me.

"You're being too quiet," she said eventually, breaking the silence.

I smiled without ever opening my eyes. "I'm thinking."

She hummed knowingly. "Dangerous."

A gentle laugh escaped my lips. **She wasn't wrong.**

The door groaned open.

I didn't need to turn my head to recognize that it was George. His footfalls were slow, deliberate. The smell of his cologne—a blend of musk and cedar—warned of his arrival even before his voice did.

"It's done," he said flatly.

That got my attention.

I pulled myself up, silk flowing off my shoulder as I stood upright. Miriam put down her book too, her eyes keen with interest.

George moved forward and placed a thick envelope on the table beside me.

I approached cautiously to retrieve it, following the jagged edges with my fingertips before slowly unrolling it. Inside, legal documents rested in neat stacks, the weight of them holding more than paper and ink.

It held power.

I scanned the pages, my pulse steady, my expression calm.

Shares. Transactions. Silent takeovers.

Miriam's head leaned closer, her eyes scanning the files over my shoulder. Her breathing caught.

"It worked," she whispered.

"Oh, sure, it did," I replied, dumping the papers on the table.

Three years of planning and calculated steps. And then the Dutchman's Empire was in my grasp.

Zack's empire.

I sat back, exhaling through my nose as the weight of the moment descended on me. This was just the beginning.

George smiled, stepping back toward the bar. "I believe this deserves a toast."

Miriam smiled, shaking her head as she grasped the crystal glasses on a tray. "Finally, something to celebrate."

As we raised our glasses in a toast, the door opened once again.

Vicky entered, heels clicking on the polished floor. She wasn't smiling.

She was carrying a small black pad.

I already knew what it was.

"The list" she said, leaving it in front of me.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us as I reached out to swipe through the system.

Within, a carefully blogged list of names with the faces of the owners stared back at me. Known names. Names that had awakened me in the dead of night, names that had dominated me.

I allowed my fingers to swipe through the top name, tapping my nails on the screen.

**Engr. Dona.**

My smile returned, slow and full of promise.

My champagne glass hovered near my mouth, the bubbles rising in shimmering whirls.

I drank slowly, letting the stinging taste linger on my tongue before setting the glass down solidly.

And I turned to look at Miriam.

"It's time to go home, Miriam."*

She clicked her glass against mine, the smile wide and victorious. "I've waited three years to hear you say that."

I closed the pad, fingers wrapping around it a little harder.

Zack. Lady Joan. The Minister's granddaughter. The members of the council. The evil nurses that tortured me. The shareholders that planned my dismissal. Each one of them would sense my presence before they ever laid eyes on my face.

But first, I had a call to make.

I stroked my fingertip across the letters of the name of my first target.

My first target is Engr. Dona.

******************************

The wind was heavy. Power, money and lies were in the air. The Dutchman hacienda, Zack's empire, blazes in the light of the chandelier. It's grand and irrefutable.

I had walked these corridors before, once as a wife, now as something cruel.

The door to the best ballroom swung open, and I dragged myself in.

Silence

Shock washed over the group like a low-burning flame. Their deep looks linger at me. I sense it and I adore it. Some intrigued, some threatened and one very stuck.

Zack

His breath snagged and his jaw unsaved. The alcohol in his hand was abandoned.

This is the door I had envisioned giving. Three years later, I am contented.

I did not notice him. I could not.

The butler put his hand gently on mine. Leading me through gaping throngs of admiring people.

"Presenting the newest business partner and biggest investor in Dutchman's Empire; Latifa Del Luna!", he announced.

Whispers. Glances. Shock.

The butler gestured to climb the stage with him. I trailed behind him. My heels clicking decisively like a sword to war. My silk gown; a deep black, the hue of ending and rebirth following me like a ghost.

Diamonds around my neck, but none attract as much as the hunger for vengeance in my eyes.

I took one each step, toe to toe with my war landscape, reclaiming my victory.

And then, our eyes flashed.

Lady Joan. My ex-mother-in-law.

She sat up front, attired in arrogance and deception. Her smirk was flat, until our eyes met.

Her fingers clutched the armrest. Her sparkle gone from her face, just a little.

She thought she buried me in that hospital. But here I am. Untouchable and very much alive and kicking. I turned my back on her. Away from her lying horrid face, as if she did not exist.

But then, I allowed myself to look at

Zack, my love.

His eyes were upon me. His face was unreadable. Shocked, dumbfounded, something raw beneath the surface.

His arms stretched out as though he was holding me close.

I know the expression

The expression of a man who has lost his dearest treasure and found it again at once standing before him.

For one moment, my heart leaped.

He desired me as much as I desired him.

Our memories rush in, His touch, His whisper, His smile, His warmth. The way he holds me.

I could smell his scent.

The desire crept in. Desire to bump into his arms.

But then she came in.

The prime minister's granddaughter. His love

She clung to his arms. Walking into his arms with an exaggerated laugh. Her eyes were staring at me.

And then she kissed his lips.

Her kiss slow… Deliberate

A sign. Marking her ground.

My heart caught

I hacked. I tightened my grip on the microphone, my tone unyielding, inaccessible.

"It's an honor to be part of this organization," I announced, my gaze roving around the room. "To be part of something".

The crowd murmurs. Further questions.

But Zack: he was lost. His glares are not unyielding, as if he's seen a ghost.

The minister's granddaughter wrapped her arms around him, smiling. A triumph smirk.

She wanted to see me cringe, but I am no Joyce. I do not play at her cadence.

So, instead, I lifted my glass, "A roost to more victory and higher pedestals. Let history be our guest."

Pause

I leaned against Lady Joan, watching as she wriggled at the attention of my stare.

I added subsequently, lastly, "I am LATIFA Del Mona.".

I let the words sink.

And with a gradual, satisfied smirk

"The Boss"

The room burst

And Zack………. Still hasn't moved.

His eyes scantily upon me.

I gulped down my drink.

But there is a telltale smirk from across the room.

Lady Joan.

Our eyes met; glued.

This time I'm not going to run.