The meeting was set for 11 a.m. sharp at a discreet executive suite tucked inside the Botho Group's Innovation Wing. Melissa arrived at 10:45, dressed like a walking prophecy in a custom FireThreads midi-dress scarlet, off-shoulder, with an asymmetric hemline that whispered danger ahead every time she moved.
A high bun crowned her head, her cheekbones sharpened with precision contour, and her lips painted the same red that had once made Max forget entire boardrooms.
Dineo, her new assistant, walked beside her clipboard in hand, heels clicking with calm urgency. "You've got ten minutes. Do you want coffee or blood, ma'am?"
Melissa didn't blink. "Blood. But make it double shot espresso for now."
Inside the glass-walled boardroom, two senior strategists from Botho Group waited both men, both impeccably dressed, with nervous smiles that flickered when Melissa entered. She didn't sit until they did. The air was all sharp angles and quiet admiration.
Jonathan Tema joined shortly after. "Ms. Kgomotso," he said with a respectful nod. "Glad you could make it."
"I had a wardrobe crisis," she said coolly. "Had to make sure I looked like twelve percent of a billion-pula empire."
The room chuckled.
Then business began.
Slide decks. Market forecasts. Demographic charts.
Melissa listened, asked sharp questions, circled back to critical gaps in their portfolio. The room transformed from presentation to negotiation that was quick, intense, layered with veiled power. At one point, Jonathan leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"We don't just want your brand, we want your mind. The way you position identity and femininity. The FireThreads story is personal, and that's what Botho Group lacks. Humanity. We want that edge. And we want it from you."
Melissa's smile was soft but feral. "Then understand this,if I'm walking into this house, I'm not entering through the back door."
They didn't blink.
"We'll draft a proposal," Jonathan said. "Privately, for now. But expect fire once it reaches Max's desk."
Melissa stood, smoothed her dress, and gave them a look that could fold steel.
"Let him squirm, we are about to rain money on him anyway he can at least appreaciate it"
By late afternoon, she was back at her penthouse. Gaborone's skyline stretched across the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise she'd already started to cash in.
In the living room, Rama lounged barefoot, music sketching the air around him, headphones askew, his fingers tapping beats against his knee.
"Let me guess," he said, looking up. "You either closed a deal or plotted a murder."
"Both," Melissa said, tossing her handbag onto the couch. "But in reverse order."
He smiled. "Careful. That kind of power's addictive."
She looked at him. Really looked. The white tee clinging to his torso, the shadows under his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw every time she mentioned Max's name.
"Are you okay, Rama?"
He shrugged. "Fine. Just… watching someone rise can be beautiful and terrifying."
Before she could reply, a familiar knock rang at the door.
It was Lorato again as se entered with two pizza boxes, a bottle of red wine, and absolutely zero boundaries.
"Hope y'all weren't bonding in some weird emotional tension thing. Because we're eating carbs and dragging men tonight."
The living room floor was now a battlefield of empty pizza boxes, fuzzy socks, and laughter that echoed into the walls. Rama had long retreated to his studio, giving them space.
Melissa and Lorato sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, wine glasses in hand, faces flushed with joy and sugar.
Lorato had kicked off her heels and was , swirling the last of her merlot like she was about to spill something heavier than secrets.
Melissa raised a brow, sensing the shift. "You're unusually quiet. That's suspicious."
Lorato inhaled, then exhaled dramatically. "Okay. I'm gonna say something, and I need you to not judge me."
"Uh-oh."
"I think… I think I have a crush on Rama."
Melissa blinked. "What?"
"Not like a little 'he's cute' crush. Like a crush-crush. Like I hear him humming from his room and I suddenly want to take a pottery class and learn how to make a bowl just so I can drop it in front of him dramatically and he can pick up the pieces."
Melissa burst out laughing. "You want to seduce him with broken crockery?"
Lorato fanned her face. "Girl, I'm serious. He's sexy in that tortured-artist-who'll-paint-you-in-linen-and-regret way. And those hands? I've seen them stitch fire into fabric. Imagine what they could do elsewhere."
Melissa forced a smile, though something twisted deep in her gut.
Lorato leaned forward. "I want your help."
Melissa's smile faded. "Help with…?"
"I want him to notice me. Like really notice me. I want to start coming over more often when you're not home just to hang around him casually. Let him get used to me. Let him wonder why I'm always there. And then," she grinned mischievously, "I strike."
Melissa stared at her wine. Swirled. Swallowed. "You want me to be… what? Your co-conspirator?"
"Yes!" Lorato grabbed her hands. "Please. You've got that whole queen-pin thing going. I need strategy. I need style. I need you."
And Melissa took a moment to think,conflicted but decided to do it for her friend, so she nodded. "Fine. I'll help."
But inside?her chest ached.
Meanwhile…
In his room, Rama lay across his bed, a sketchpad open beside him, though the page was blank. His thoughts weren't. They never were. not when it came to her.
He'd tried to bury it, tried to distract himself with projects, with coffee runs, with late-night edits and quick glances when she wasn't looking. But it was getting worse. The way she moved through rooms like she owned the moon. The way she challenged the world and still kept space for soft things like baby clothes and broken people.
She had no idea what she did to him.
He closed his eyes, imagined her in his arms. Not as a boss. Not as a savior. But as his. The woman he wanted to wake up next to, argue with about curtain colors, kiss with the kind of hunger that made enemies out of men like Max.
Because yes he knew exactly who Max Botho was to him, both a cousin and a rival while Mels is the winners trophy!
And he was done pretending. Melissa wasn't just an infatuation. She was the finish line.
"I'm going to win her," Rama whispered to the ceiling. "I don't care if Max has money, power, or her history. I've got her present. And I'll take make future."
His phone buzzed.
It was a DM from Lorato.
"Hey… are you around tomorrow evening? I was thinking of stopping by. Just me this time. Thought we could chill?"
Rama stared at the message.
Typed:
"Sure. I'll be around.",he hit send right away because the real war wasn't about making friends with Lorato but getting Mels and it was about time to make his move before Max did.
Rama smiled,the same smile Lorato was also beaming with like a little girl promised sweets!