LATIFA, HIS EX-WIFE'S GHOST

Episode9 (THE PREPOSITION)

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Latifa's POV

The air was thick with unspoken questions, the clinking of glasses, and the muted thrum of music only half concealing the tension that had fallen over the room. Gaze followed me, some wide-eyed, some thinly veiled fear.

I pushed through the crowd with stealthy furtiveness, giving the weight of my presence a chance to seep in around them. They whispered, they speculated, but none of them would ask.

I was not Joyce.

I was not Latifa.

I was in between—a fleshed-out specter.

And I did not answer their wonders, to their questioning silences.

I just watched. Listened.

A group of businessmen hung around the private lounge, laughing with cigars and whiskey. One of whom I recognized—Don Velasco.

Lady Joan's most avid investor. Of course, he's on my list. He will soon be facing my fight.

I caught his eyes, and for an instant, I believed that I saw a flash dart across his face.

Recognition?

Doubt?

Uncertainty.

I approached, the soles of my shoes tapping on the marble. The conversation at the table ceased when I arrived at theirs.

"Mr. Velasco," I stated suavely, my tone polite but unreadable. "I've heard a great deal about you."

He turned to me, his fingers drumming the rim of his glass. "Miss Del Mona, isn't it?"

I smiled, tilting my head to one side. "You did your research. Impressive."

Some of the men chuckled at the tension in our conversation that was flavored with curiosity. Velasco stirred his drink, never looking away from me.

"I prefer to be current," he said after a pause. "Especially when new faces appear in familiar places."

I nodded in agreement, letting the seriousness of his statement sink in.

"New faces?" I said. "It's a function of how much you remember about the past."

There was stillness.

And then his mouth curled into a slow smile, but his eyes never relaxed. "The past will only be important if it affects the future."

I slightly tilted my glass in a quiet salute. "Wise counsel."

And with that, just as suddenly as I'd appeared, I was gone, and they were left to speculate.

I hadn't had five steps when I felt her.

Lady Joan.

With one foot on the bar, one looks in my direction with equal parts warning and amusement.

She wasn't one to show her hand so early. No, she'd watch, gather, manipulate.

But I'd raised the stakes the moment I crossed the threshold here.

With hesitant, calculated steps, I crossed with her, claiming the distance between us.

"Miss Del Mona," she replied, her tone smooth. "I must say, your entrance is quite a surprising pleasure."

I smiled, lifting my glass. "I do have a talent for surprising people."

She measured me, the way a predator measures something it does not yet understand.

"Your name," she thought, mixing her drink, "Del Mona. Not known to me."

I arched an eyebrow. "Not everything is known, Joan."

Her lips curled, but her eyes darkened just slightly. "Intriguing woman."

I took a slow sip of my drink. "So I’ve been told."

Let her wonder.

Let her guess.

I wasn’t here to confirm or deny.

I was here to haunt.

"How interesting."

A voice tinged with saccharine haughtiness slithered between us.

The Prime Minister's granddaughter.

She stepped forward, stances gracious, and measured. She raised her hand by a fraction, not quite enough for the diamond ring to glint.

I did not blink.

"Miss Del Mona," she said, smiling modestly. "It's such a pleasure finally to meet you, the lady everyone's been whispering about."

I tilted my head to one side. "Is that so?"

She laughed. "Of course, of course. Enigmatic. Business-minded. And so; Familiar."

Lady Joan sneered, sipping her wine, relishing the drama.

I exhale softly, my eyes jumping to the ring.

"Very pretty ring," I said. "Shiny." My lips puffed into a pout. "Transitory."

She smiled a bit uncertainly.

Lady Joan's eyes tracked me.

I sipped a long mouthful of my drink, eyes never dipping from hers. "The past has a habit of catching up."

The granddaughter of the Prime Minister bristled. "You sound very familiar with Zack."

I shrugged my head, defaulting to mild curiosity. "Do I?"

The air between us thickened, the weight of unspoken truths choking the air.

And then, with a deliberating, calculated turn, I left them guessing.

I sensed him again as I headed towards the other corridor.

A hand encircled my wrist, firm but unsure.

This time, I did not slip away.

Not yet.

I turned around, and looked into his eyes for the first time.

Zack.

We stood there for a few moments and didn't talk.

His eyes burned into mine, searching, pleading, demanding answers I wouldn't give.

"Who are you?" His voice was tight, low.

I smiled, slow and unreadable. "Latifa Del Mona."

His jaw locked. "You look like her."

I raised an eyebrow. "Look like whom?"

His hand on my arm flexed, just a little. "My wife."

My smile didn't waver. "You are married?"

His Adams apple bobbed, his fingers overflowing my wrist. "I—" He stopped, as if he were afraid of his own words.

And then, as quickly as he had clamped me, I escaped.

Let him chase me.

Let him question me.

Let him hurt.

The game was beginning.

Standing in the ballroom, A man stood. One of the old tycoons, with his insatiable greed.

His cologne was overpowering, his smile slick with opportunism.

"Miss Del Mona," he said, his voice silken smooth. "I've heard wonderful things about you. Your influence is… fascinating."

I smiled modestly. "Influence is a tool, Mr. Harris. It's how you use it that makes the difference."

He chuckled, looking interested. "And what do you use yours for?"

I shrugged a small amount. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

His laugh was strained, his looks flashing to Lady Gaga in the crowd.

She stood, her heart filling with a mixture of anxiety. Afraid.

Lady Joan's perfect mask shook for a moment.

For years now, she'd been the one they sought-after. The one they needed.

Tonight, though, she saw them relinquish her, each one of them, to me.

I could feel the anger from where she was.

Let her rage.

And then he came out of the area.

Engr. Dona.

One of my targets.

His gaze held while he approached, eyes drifting deliberately down my body, settling on my lips.

His grin was the kind I'd seen much too frequently before—a man who was used to getting his own way.

"Miss Del Mona," he stated, his voice full of something unabashedly arrogant.

"I do believe you are the center of attraction this evening."

I smiled, not impressed. "And you're a great observer."

He smiled slowly, taking a sip of his drink. "It's hard not to notice the most powerful woman in the room."

"Isn't that Lady Joan?"

My eyes followed her. Her cheeks are definitely red now.

"I think she doesn't have what you have…. Presence"

I sat silently. I just stared at him.

Without batting an eyelash. Impassive.

He wet his lips a little, leaning closer. "I hear you're looking for new investments."

I took a slow sip of my champagne. "That depends."

He raised a brow. "On?"

I set my glass down, my voice calm, unwavering.

"On whether it’s worth my time."

His smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second.

Good.

Let him work for it.

The ballroom atmosphere shifted. He walked in.

The silence rolled out ahead of him. Conversation became hushed. Heads turned.

Matías Cortez.

A name that carries a lot of weight.

Power. Fear.

A leading businessman among the world's greatest businessmen. One whose investments united empires or destroyed them.

I watched him walk through the crowd with a subdued self-confidence, his intense blue eyes scanning the area, then landing on me.

And then he smiled.

Not at Zack. Not Lady Joan. At me.

He entered the room, moving slow deliberate steps, his presence separating the guests like water. When he came to me, he extended a hand.

"Latifa Del Mona," he said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.

"I've heard stories."

I took his hand firmly. "Good ones, I hope."

"Intricate ones," he said, his eyes holding onto mine in the space of approximately half a beat longer than he had to.

That single moment altered everything.

The room sprang to life.

Everyone who had been competing for the attention of Lady Joan now covertly edged toward my side. Executives, investors, socialites—all of them wanted to be seen near Matías, and now near me by extension.

Lady Joan's grasp on her glass relaxed, lips pressed into a horizontal crease. She was no longer the focal point for the very first time ever.

I was.

Zack had been standing there, his expression blank. But now, finally, he stepped forward, standing slightly to one side of Matías.

"I see you've met," he said, his voice precisely uninflected.

Matias spun to Zack, then to me with a wry smile. "Not officially. But I was just going to rectify that."

He turned to face the small gathering of high-profile businessmen and women now hovering around us, waiting for his next words.

"I’ll be honest," he began, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Dutchman’s Empire has always been impressive. Zack, your leadership has kept it strong, but for a company like this to dominate globally, it needs—" he gestured toward me, "—new blood."

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Eyes darted between Zack and me.

Zack’s expression barely shifted, "New blood?"

Matias chuckled. "I’m saying, if Latifa Del Mona joins your inner circle, then I’d have no hesitation in backing the Dutchman's Empire further. She’s already a powerhouse in New York, China, Morocco, Thailand and Mexico. Ooh, please add Japan to the list—her name carries weight”.

A sharp silence followed his words.

I leaned forward and caught Zack's eyes. Challenging him to refuse.

His face set. Weighing, weighing, trapped.

If he refused the offer, he would spur Matias' trust in him. If he accepted, he was bringing me into the heart of his business.

Lady Joan's face is a mask of rage.

The Prime Minister's granddaughter, having spent the entire night luxuriating in the pleasure of parading her ring, is now stiff.

And the other businessmen?

They were staring at me.

Waiting.

Waiting for me to talk.

So I did.

I spread a slow, sly smile onto my lips. "That's an interesting proposition, Mr. Cortez."

I stepped closer to Zack, speaking so softly that he was the only one who could hear it.

"But the question is…. My fingers danced against the rim of my glass.

"Can you keep up with me, Mr. Dutchman?"

He grinned, baring his silky jawline.

For a brief, electric moment, we stood there together in a room with all the other people—frozen in an unspoken gaze neither of us was ready to release.

Matías smiled, clearly having a good time. "I like her," he declared, raising his glass. "So, what do you say, Zack? You in, or does the Dutchman's Empire stay right where it is—warm, but never explored beyond?"

The entire room was in suspension.

Zack's fingers tightened more around his beverage. His eyes never left mine.

And then—

"Welcome to Dutchman's, Mrs Del Mona."