Chapter 12: Aftermath
1016 Words
The penthouse was unusually quiet the morning after the Hollywood Hills party. Golden sunlight poured through the windows, but none of the women felt like celebrating the fat stack of cash sitting on the dining table.
Adanna Eze hadn’t left her room since they returned. She lay curled up in bed, still wearing the crimson dress from the night before, mascara streaked across her cheeks. Her phone lay face down on the nightstand — silenced after the final devastating text from Marcus: It’s over. Please don’t contact me again. I have to protect my family.
A soft knock sounded on her door. Nneka Okoye entered without waiting for an answer, carrying a tray with hot tea, fresh fruit, and painkillers.
“You need to eat something,” Nneka said gently, setting the tray on the bedside table. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a braid away from Adanna’s face. “Heartbreak is painful, but it cannot break you. Not here. Not now.”
Adanna’s voice was hoarse. “He threw me away the moment it got difficult. After all the promises… I was so stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid,” Nneka replied. “You were human. That’s the danger of this life. We sell fantasy, but sometimes we buy it ourselves.”
In the living room, the tension between Chine and Ife had reached a boiling point.
“You see what playing it safe gets us?” Chine snapped, gesturing wildly. “Adanna gets her heart broken, Elena is running circles around us, and we’re still reacting instead of attacking.”
Ifeoma “Ife” Nwosu stood with her arms crossed, eyes blazing. “Attacking is what got us here! Your little confrontation at the party probably gave Elena more ammunition. We need to be strategic, not reckless.”
Nneka emerged from Adanna’s room and immediately stepped between them. “Both of you, sit down. We are not doing this today.”
The three women gathered around the dining table. Adanna eventually joined them, eyes swollen but composed. Nneka laid out the new reality.
“Elena has drawn blood. The Marcus situation has exposed us. We have two choices: go underground for a while and rebuild stronger, or hit back hard and risk everything. I want to hear every opinion.”
Chine spoke first. “We hit back. I have contacts. We can leak information about Elena’s operation — her blackmail tactics, her connections to shady producers. Make her the story instead of us.”
Ife shook her head. “That’s suicide. The moment we go public with dirt, the authorities start looking at all of us. I say we pause new clients, focus on our existing ones, and accelerate the legitimate businesses I’ve been building. Event planning. Luxury travel consulting. Real companies with real paper trails.”
Adanna stared at the table. “I don’t know anymore. I just… I need time.”
Nneka listened carefully, weighing every word. “We do both. We go quiet on new client acquisition for two weeks. Ife, move forward with the legitimate company filings. Chine, you gather information on Elena — quietly. No direct confrontations. Adanna, you take a few days to recover, but stay off social media and away from Beverly Hills.”
The agreement was uneasy, but it held.
That afternoon, while Adanna tried to sleep, Chine slipped out despite Nneka’s warning. She met one of her Houston contacts at a discreet coffee shop in Culver City — a man who had deep ties in the entertainment underground.
“I need dirt on Elena Voss,” Chine said, sliding an envelope of cash across the table. “Anything real.”
The man whistled low. “You’re playing with fire, sis. Elena doesn’t just have girls. She has politicians, cops, and at least two major label executives in her pocket. But I heard something… she’s got a weak spot. A sister in Nigeria she sends money to. Family is usually the soft underbelly.”
Chine’s eyes gleamed. Information was power.
Meanwhile, Ife was making moves of her own. In her Culver City apartment (she had returned there for privacy), she finalized the incorporation documents for “Luxe Pathways Concierge” — a legitimate high-end travel and event planning company. She had already transferred a significant portion of her personal savings into it. Part of her hoped she could convince at least Adanna or Nneka to join her when the time came.
Nneka spent the day reinforcing their digital security and reaching out to their most loyal clients, reassuring them that Velvet was still the gold standard.
But the calm didn’t last.
At 8:47 p.m., Ife received another anonymous email. This one contained a short video clip. It showed Adanna and Marcus kissing passionately on the balcony of his Beverly Hills mansion. The message read:
Next time, this goes to every major blog in LA. Shut down Velvet or I will shut you down. — E
Ife rushed back to the Downtown penthouse and showed the video to Nneka first.
Nneka watched it once, her face hardening into stone. “Call everyone back. Emergency meeting. Now.”
When all four were together again, Nneka played the video for the group. Adanna gasped and covered her mouth, fresh tears falling.
“They were watching us the whole time,” Adanna whispered.
Chine slammed her fist on the table. “This is war. We can’t keep letting her dictate the terms.”
Ife looked exhausted. “Or this is the sign we need to get out while we still can.”
Nneka stood tall, but for the first time, the weight of leadership showed clearly on her face. “We have forty-eight hours before Elena might release this. We need a plan tonight. A real one.”
As the women began strategizing late into the night — voices rising and falling, alliances shifting — the city of Los Angeles continued its eternal glow outside the windows.
Some lights were soft and inviting.
Others hid dangerous flames.
And for Velvet Concierge, the fire was getting closer.
- Writer
