THE MASTER’S BRIDE

Alia stood by the grand entrance of the Alfredo Mansion, the night breeze ruffling her light cotton dress. The rhythmic hum of insects filled the air, accompanied by the occasional rustle of tree branches swaying in the wind. Her bare toes lightly tapped against the ornate doormat as she fixed her gaze on the iron gates in the distance. "What is taking them so long?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Was the flight delayed? Did something happen to the Master? Her hands clenched into small fists, anxiety gnawing at her. Just as her mind spiraled with worry, a sharp, commanding *horn blast* from the gate pierced through the silence, jolting her back to reality. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the gleaming black convoy pulling into the driveway. "The Master is back!" she gasped, her heart racing as relief flooded through her. A small smile tugged at her lips, illuminating her delicate features. As the sleek Mercedes-Maybach rolled to a stop, the mansion's security team swiftly moved into position. The driver stepped out first, moving briskly to open the door. Then, from the dimly lit interior of the car, Mr. Gael Alfredo emerged—tall, imposing, and effortlessly elegant in a crisp, tailored suit. His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed under the mansion lights, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet authority. He had the aura of a man who controlled fortunes, industries, and empires—but in this moment, Alia only saw the exhaustion shadowing his face. "Alia, don’t you know how important sleep is? Why are you still up? Are you not done with your chores?" Mr. Alfredo’s voice, though calm, carried a hint of concern. She swallowed nervously before answering, "I was worried about you, Master. You've been away for two months, and I... I just wanted to make sure you returned safely." For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Alia's hazel orbs shimmered under the porch lights, and in them, Gael saw something genuine—unfiltered care. A sudden tension filled the air. His security men exchanged silent glances, while Fernandez, his ever-loyal chauffeur, remained stone-faced beside the car. Breaking the thick silence, Alia quickly lowered her gaze, realizing her boldness. "I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to overstep."Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and darted toward the maids' quarters, her heart hammering against her ribs. --- That night, Mr. Gael Alfredo lay awake in his expansive king-sized bed, staring at the chandelier above. "No one has ever looked out for me without a motive." Since the passing of Marco’s mother, every woman who had entered his life wanted something—wealth, power, status. But Alia… she was different. He sat up, rubbing his temples, his mind restless. “Why am I just realizing how lonely I’ve been all these years?" he pondered. For decades, his life had been meticulously structured—business, wealth, legacy. But now, an unfamiliar thought crept into his mind, one he never entertained before. "Do I need to remarry? Would Alia even consider me?" The thought alone made him chuckle. The age gap between them was staggering. She was young, beautiful, and full of life—while he was a man in his sixties, weary from years of corporate battles. "Ridiculous." He shook his head, brushing the idea away. "By morning, all of these thoughts will disappear." He turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the duvet over himself. But sleep never came. --- Despite his attempts to suppress it, the thought of Alia lingered in Gael’s mind. Every stolen glance, every gentle smile, every unspoken moment. Even during his busiest days, sitting in the back of his Tesla, reviewing stock reports, his thoughts would drift. "By the end of this month, I will celebrate my 64th birthday… Would Alia accept a life with me?" Would she overlook the years between them and see the man, not the number? The car slowed to a halt in front of The Alfredo Group of Companies. Fernandez stepped out first, swiftly opening the rear door. "We’ve arrived, sir." Gael adjusted his cufflinks as he exited. "Call Marco and his brother. Tell them I want to have dinner with them tonight—no excuses." Fernandez gave a slight nod. "Understood, sir." --- The dining room was lavishly set, the gold-rimmed plates and crystal glasses reflecting the dim chandelier light. But despite the luxury, tension filled the air like an unspoken storm. Marco, Gael’s eldest son, absentmindedly lifted a bowl of vegetables, dishing some onto his plate. He didn’t even glance at his father, a cold expression on his face. “We live in the same mansion, yet we barely see eye to eye," Marco muttered, bitterness dripping from his voice. Gael set down his silverware, leaning back in his chair. "That is exactly why I called this dinner. You and your brother are too consumed with the inheritance, forgetting that before the company, we were family." He let his words settle before delivering the final blow. "I am getting married." The clinking of utensils stopped. Marco’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing into pure rage. His younger brother, who had been sipping wine, nearly choked on his drink. "What?" Marco’s voice was sharp, almost venomous. Gael remained calm. "I don’t need your approval. I am telling you this so you don’t have to hear it from the media first." He chuckled, taking another bite of his steak, unbothered by the turmoil he had just unleashed. "To who?" Marco demanded. "When?" "Why now?" The questions fired like bullets. Marco leaned back, taking a deep drag from his vape, exhaling smoke in frustration. “I won’t let anyone stop me from becoming the next Chairman of The Alfredo Group of Companies." He clenched his jaw, his mind already racing with plans. --- The Alfredo Mansion was unusually quiet. The domestic staff exhausted from the day's work, had all retired to their quarters. Alia, too, had retreated for the night, curling up in her small bed. But just as sleep was about to claim her, a loud bang on her door startled her. BANG! BANG! BANG! Her heart pounded. “Who could that be at this hour?" The knocking grew louder, more forceful.A shiver crawled down her spine. She reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. Taking a deep breath, she cautiously tiptoed toward the door. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the handle, slowly turning it. As the door creaked open, her eyes widened in fear and disbelief. "What are you doing here?" she gasped, stepping backward. "Why are you at my door at this hour?" Her voice cracked, her breath shallow. But the figure in front of her didn’t answer. Instead, they took a step closer.