FOR ORLA: A MOTHER'S REVENGE

FOR ORLA: A MOTHER'S REVENGE

Ana-Stasia

5.0
Comment(s)
24
View
18
Chapters

Liora Callaguan's life completely changes when her daughter Orla is unjustly taken from her, and the man responsible walks free. Once a devoted baker, wife, and mother, Liora's grief transforms into a relentless pursuit of justice. Determined to confront her child's killer, Liora's actions lead to her imprisonment. Behind bars, she encounters others who share her pain, and together, they unravel a mysterious case, finding healing along the way. Can Liora navigate this new path and rediscover hope amidst this tragedy?

FOR ORLA: A MOTHER'S REVENGE Chapter 1 A Mother's Intuition

Liora Callaghan's life brimmed with the kind of contentment she had once only dreamed of. After enduring the heartache of two failed pregnancies, the arrival of her daughter, Orla, felt like a miracle. At six years old, Orla embodied every ounce of joy Liora had yearned for-a radiant child with bright eyes that reflected her boundless curiosity and a laugh that could melt the coldest of days.

Their home, a sprawling suburban mansion tucked away in the embrace of tall pines, stood as a testament to the life Liora and Alaric had built together. It wasn't just the grandeur of the architecture or the manicured lawns that made it special, but the warmth within its walls, a warmth cultivated by love, resilience, and shared dreams.

Alaric Callaghan, her husband of twelve years, was more than the head of Cortex Systems, a titan in the tech industry. To Liora, he was a steadfast partner, a man who somehow managed to balance the high-stakes demands of his career with the tender role of fatherhood. It wasn't uncommon for Alaric to spend his evenings explaining the intricacies of the latest technological breakthrough to a captivated Orla, only to switch seamlessly into reading her a bedtime story. His ability to navigate these two worlds with such grace left Liora in a quiet awe.

Liora's own journey had been one of rediscovering herself after years of uncertainty. Her exceptional baking skills, honed over countless hours in the kitchen, had evolved from a personal solace into a celebrated craft. What began as a therapeutic outlet during her most trying times had transformed into something far greater. Neighbors clamored for her pastries, and her name began to circulate beyond their community. It was not just her talent but the love and intention behind every creation that made her work stand out.

Today was a milestone for her-a recognition of that passion and hard work. She had been invited to conduct a prestigious baking class in a neighboring city, a moment that felt both surreal and deeply validating. As she carefully folded her favorite apron into her suitcase alongside her cherished utensils and secret recipes, excitement bubbled beneath the surface. This was more than a professional engagement; it was a reminder of how far she had come.

The morning light poured through the kitchen windows, casting a golden hue over the breakfast table where Liora shared a meal with her family before departing. Orla sat cross-legged on her chair, her face alight with curiosity as she peppered Liora with questions about the class. "Will you teach them how to make the chocolate cake?" she asked, her tone laced with admiration.

"Maybe," Liora replied with a smile, smoothing a strand of Orla's hair, admiring the ribbon that matches her dress. "But no one makes it quite like you and I do, sweetheart."

Across the table, Alaric chuckled. "That's because she's your best apprentice," he said, his voice filled with pride. His hand brushed against Liora's as he added softly, "You'll be amazing. Don't worry about a thing here. We've got this."

Liora nodded, though a familiar twinge of worry tugged at her. Leaving Orla, even for a short time, never came easily. Still, she trusted Alaric implicitly. He had always been an anchor, steady and reliable, no matter the storm.

As she stepped into the bustling airport, her suitcase trailing behind her, Liora allowed herself a moment of reflection. The energy of the terminal-filled with hurried travelers, overlapping announcements, and the occasional burst of laughter, felt distant, as if she were cocooned in her own thoughts. This opportunity was a significant one, a chance to share her craft and connect with others who shared her passion. And yet, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered reminders of home.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar vibration of her phone. Alaric's name lit up the screen, and she answered with a smile, expecting a casual check-in. Instead, the tremor in his voice immediately set her on edge.

"Liora," he began, a note of urgency creeping in. "It's Orla. Her temperature is high, and I can't find her medicine."

Liora's heart tightened. Memories of a previous incident surged forward-a simple fever that had spiraled into a harrowing ordeal. The image of Orla's flushed cheeks, her small frame trembling with chills, haunted her even now.

"It's in the kitchen," she said, her voice steady despite the rising panic within her. "Second drawer by the right."

There was a pause, then the sound of a drawer sliding open. Relief flooded Alaric's tone as he replied, "Got it. Thanks. Don't worry, love. I'll take care of her. Safe flight."

Despite his reassurances, Liora couldn't shake the unease that settled in her chest. She tried to rationalize it-children fell ill all the time, and Alaric was more than capable of handling the situation. But maternal instincts were not so easily quelled.

Minutes ticked by as she sat in the waiting area, her suitcase at her feet. The vibrant hum of the airport faded into a blur, replaced by the persistent rhythm of her heartbeat. Unable to resist, she dialed Alaric again, the phone pressed tightly to her ear.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

The call went unanswered.

Liora's chest tightened. She tried again and again, the silence on the other end amplifying her growing panic. What if Orla's fever had worsened? What if Alaric needed help and couldn't reach out? Her mind raced through every possible scenario, each one more alarming than the last.

The decision came swiftly, her priorities crystal clear. She abandoned her travel plans without a second thought, her suitcase forgotten as she made her way to the nearest exit. Flagging down a taxi, she climbed in, her voice urgent as she gave the driver her address.

As the car pulled into traffic, Liora's thoughts swirled in a chaotic tempest. She could picture Orla, her vibrant energy dimmed by illness, and Alaric, his usual calm demeanor fraying under the pressure. The idea of being miles away while they faced this alone was unbearable.

The city blurred past the window, its noise and movement a marked difference to the clarity of Liora's conviction. Her mind replayed the image of Orla as a newborn, her tiny fingers curling around Liora's thumb, her fragile form a reminder of the preciousness of life. No recognition, no professional milestone, could compare to the well-being of her child.

Her grip tightened on the edge of her seat belt as the taxi turned onto the familiar tree-lined street of their neighborhood. Relief mingled with anticipation as their home came into view, its welcoming facade a beacon of solace.

She rehearsed her steps in her mind-the words of comfort she would offer, the practical measures she would take to bring Orla's fever down. Liora's heart pounded as the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the house.

Continue Reading

Other books by Ana-Stasia

More

You'll also like

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn

I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

The Silent Bride's Billion Dollar Contract

The Silent Bride's Billion Dollar Contract

Landslide

My bank account showed exactly $42.18, and my student loan notifications were flashing red. I lived in a sweltering Queens apartment with my Aunt Lydia, where the air was thick with the smell of stale frying oil and the constant threat of being homeless. Lydia handed me a grainy photo of a man twice my age and told me she had already "sold" me to him. He was a dry cleaner looking for a wife, and in exchange for my hand, he would pay off her credit cards and my debt. If I didn't show up for the date that night, my boxes would be on the curb by midnight. I arrived at the cafe in a state of panic, my selective mutism making it impossible to even breathe. In the crowded room, I accidentally sat at the wrong table. Instead of the man from the photo, I found myself facing Gerhard Holcomb—the cold, terrifyingly handsome billionaire whose family owned the very museum where I worked. He didn't send me away; instead, he studied my trembling hands and offered me a different deal: a two-year contract marriage, a two-million-dollar payout, and a strict clause forbidding any children. I signed the papers and moved into his Park Avenue penthouse, thinking I was finally safe. But when I went back to the old apartment to retrieve the only memento of my dead parents, Lydia lashed out, leaving me bleeding from a head wound. Gerhard’s retaliation was absolute—he had her arrested and her building foreclosed on within hours, claiming he was simply "protecting his assets." As I recovered in his silent, glass-walled home, I saw a call from a famous socialite flash on his phone, and a cold truth settled in my gut. I wasn't just a wife; I was a placeholder, a silent shield used to fend off the women from his past. I looked at the massive pink diamond on my finger and realized the silence I had lived in my whole life was about to become my most expensive prison. I had traded a life of poverty for a high-stakes game of shadows, and now I had to survive the man who claimed to own me.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

SHANA GRAY

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book