The Devil’s Vote

Four

Gary Scott’s Pov

I waited for the phone to connect, my gaze fixed on the void beyond my multi-million-dollar mansion. I sank into a plush couch, a burning cigar between my fingers, the smoke curling lazily toward the high ceiling.

“Hello, boss,” the voice I'd been expecting said.

“Mark, what's the update?” I asked, inhaling the cigar.

“They're ready, boss. Everything you asked for.”

“Good. Prepare yourself, David is back.” I drew another long drag. “We're meeting Morris to get the document signed. Make sure the lawyer inserts the clause; I want him trapped. That old fool must pay for what he did.”

“Sure, boss.”

The line disconnected. I gripped the phone tighter, irritation etched across my face as I stared at the vast chamber.

Morgan Morris may have apologized for the past betrayals, but I'd never let him slide. I dialed another number with deliberate precision, my anger coiling like a live wire.

“Son, isn't it time for you to come back home?” I asked, loosening the edge in my voice.

“Good morning, Father,” he replied, his tone lazy, as though he had just woken up. “I lost track of time last night. I'll be with you shortly.”

“I'll be waiting,” I said before ending the call.

Even as I hung, my thoughts returned to Morris–five years ago, he had breached a contract and undercut our deal. That betrayal had cost my company a loss we've never fully recovered from. Rage washed over me again. I gripped the phone like I could crush it in my hands.

“That i***t must pay,” I muttered, teeth clenched, and setting the phone down with controlled force.

______________________

Miriam's Pov

“You are awake,” a husky voice broke through the blur in my head. I jolted upright and turned toward the man who had made the night reckless and unforgettable. He lowered the phone he had been holding and set it aside. Bare-chested, the tight boxers he wore left nothing to the imagination.

I swallowed hard, my voice caught somewhere between embarrassment and shock. My hands clutched the bedsheet like a shield, tugging it closer as if it could protect. I avoided the stranger's eyes–looking at him felt like handing him power I wasn't willing to give.

“I can give you a ride home,” he said firmly.

“I can manage,” I snapped, tugging the sheet tighter around me as I reached for my gown on the floor.

He watched me for a moment, then stepped forward and picked up the dress, extending it toward me.

“Here,”

“Thanks,” I muttered, my eyes drifting to the birthmark on his hand. My chest tightened. How could Henry and this man share the same mark in the same place?

“There’s a restroom over there, you can use it,” his cold voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. He moved to the table by the lampstand and retrieved a few dollar bills, dropping them on the surface.

I bristled. Was this man trying to pay me off?

“You don't want me to drop you off. This money should get you home safely,” the stranger said.

“And what makes you so sure that I'd accept that?” My tone was sharp, defensive.

“I don't see a purse or bag,” he replied, calm, eyes flickering toward me. “How were you planning to pay for last night's drinks?”

“That's none of your concern,” I shot back, slipping into my gown while keeping the sheet wrapped tightly around me.

“Well, suit yourself,” he said, stepping toward the fridge. “Accept it or leave it.”

A flicker of disappointment passed through me, though I refused to show it. The stranger hadn't forced me, hadn't pressed the issue. Just a cold shoulder. Totally different from who he was last night. Bitterness flared in my chest. Men pursued what they wanted with fire in their veins–but once they had it, the heat often cooled. He was one of those men.

Then my phone buzzed, breaking the moment. My chest tightened as dread coiled in my stomach. Whoever had been watching me must have sent another message.

Slowly, I reached for the phone beside the pillow where I lay, my fingers trembling.

But when I unlocked the screen, it wasn't the ghost number at all. A message from Dad:

‘Breakfast meeting with Mr. Gary Scott this morning. Big deal. Don't be late.’

I froze. Today was my first day at my father's company; hatred and contempt quickly drove out the fear I had felt before.

“Just great,” I muttered, slamming the phone back into the sheets, another reminder of how controlling he could be.

I dressed quickly, making sure my gown was secure, and went to the restroom he had mentioned to fix my hair. I passed the stranger, still perched on the tall stool near the fridge, glass of juice in hand, watching me with quiet attention.

“Just like that?” he asked, “No giving me your number? Somewhere to reach you?”

I turned. His gaze remained fixed on the juice in his hand, not even on me.

“Don't you want to see me again?”

“It was just s*x,” I replied with a smirk, “And it ends the same way it started.”

“Are you sure about that?” He finally lifted his eyes to mine, a slow smirk forming. “Because those moans last night told me something different.”

“f**k you,” I spat and stormed out of the suite.

I arrived home right on time, all thanks to Mia, who paid for my taxi without a word of complaint. She's been like that since I met her three years ago, never questioning my chaos, only helping me to survive it.

A neatly folded corporate outfit awaited me on my bed. I didn't need to ask who put it there; I already knew. Every new outfit in this house comes with an agenda.

I quickly dressed and headed to the garage.

“I'm still skeptical about this business deal with Gary,” my mother said nervously, standing beside one of Dad's black Mercedes-Maybachs. The driver waited inside, engine running.

“How sure are you that he's moved on from the past, Morgan?”

“He has, I assure you,” Dad said, placing both hands on her shoulders. “We both forgave each other. His company has recovered well.” He straightened his already perfect suit. “And I'll mainly be working with his son. Gary is just a secondary party in the deal.”

“But you still need to be cautious, Morgan.”

I slowed my steps, feeling uncertain. Recovered well? Something in my mother's tone sounded unconvincing.

Before I could dwell further, my phone chirped.

Not again! I unlocked the screen.

Good luck on your first day at work, sister. Don't get fired too quickly.}

My blood ran cold.

{Oh, and say hello to Dad for me. He must really miss my mom.}

Suddenly, everything around me went silent.

The anonymous sender knew about today, and she even dared to involve my mother.

Anger flooded me. My grip on the phone tightened as I stared at the hateful messages, my vision blurring at the edges.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

I was moments away from confronting my father there, in front of my mother.

I opened my mouth to speak.