Absolutely—here's the revised and enriched Chapter 10 with Rama's introduction seamlessly folded in. This version picks up from Melissa's escape from the warehouse and marks the turning point in her comeback strategy, layering in personal growth, strategic moves, and that subtle but undeniable chemistrA week after the warehouse escape
Melissa Kgomotso had vanished like smoke and now, she was rising like fire.
No tabloids, no IG lives, no camera flashes. Just real work, done in the shadows. Just Melissa in the trenches, rebuilding herself piece by jagged piece.
Her first move?She went back to the roots.
Old Naledi buzzed with heat and life as she strode through its dusty paths, sunglasses masking the steel in her eyes. She wasn't here for nostalgia. She was hunting street talent she once knew of.
She found him in a shack lit by a single bulb, surrounded by torn jeans, satin scraps, and dreams stitched into the seams.
Rama.
He was hunched over a vintage sewing machine, shirtless, skin glistening with sweat, eyes sharp with focus.
Melissa leaned on the doorframe. "You're wasting fire in a place that can't contain it."
Rama looked up, startled.
Then his lips curled into something close to a smirk. "You're either lost or buying."
"I don't get lost."
She stepped into the room, picked up a jacket hanging nearby a hybrid of street grit and runway finesse.
"You made this?"
Rama nodded, arms crossed. "From offcuts and donated fabric. Didn't go to design school, but I studied everything I could touch."
Melissa ran her fingers across the stitching, impressed. "I'm building something. You're coming with me."
"To where?" he asked, frowning.
She held his gaze. "Where your designs get seen. Where your name makes noise. You'll be working for FireThread. And living in my penthouse."
Gaborone , The Penthouse, three days later
Rama stepped into Melissa's world like he'd just entered a dream and couldn't wake up. Glass walls. Concrete and luxury. Views that stretched past the city lights.
And Melissa, barefooted on marble floors, wine glass in hand, a silk robe knotted tight like armor.
"Kitchen's yours. Guest wing's upstairs," she said coolly. "Don't try to impress me. Just be the genius I know you are."
He nodded, but couldn't help watching how the city lights shimmered against her skin. She caught his gaze and looked away quickly.
Chemistry wasn't on the agenda. But the tension buzzed. Quiet. Heavy.
Next day at the FireThread Studio Space
Melissa stood over blueprints with Tumi and Neo, her voice clipped and fierce.
"We're rebranding the whole game. Not just clothes. We launch the Power Woman Line next month styled by Rama. Inspired by real women. I want to colunch it with my prior plan of Maternity Tech lineup and fund it with my Botho Global stake sale.
Brutal and bold."
Neo raised an eyebrow. "You trust him that fast?"
Melissa's mouth tightened. "I don't trust anyone. But I respect talent when I see it."
Unknown to her, Neo, as her ever deligent assistant had been doing background checks. Quiet ones. And what he'd just discovered about Rama's bloodline made him stiffen.
Max Botho and Rama Hills are distant cousins. Different mothers but the same great-grandfather.
He didn't say anything yet. Because this? This could change the game.
Later on Melissa walked in to find Rama stirring pasta like he belonged there. Jazz played softly from the Bluetooth speaker. The city blinked behind the glass walls.
"You cook too?" she teased.
He glanced back, smile lazy. "Design is design. Doesn't matter if it's cloth or flavor."
Melissa leaned on the counter, watching him. "Why fashion?"
"Because where I'm from, everything is loud except the people. I wanted to make something that screamed without saying a word."
She went silent for a beat. "You've got pain in your eyes."
"So do you," he replied, not missing a beat. "But you wear yours like a weapon."
They locked eyes for a second too long. Then Melissa looked away, heart thumping just a bit harder.
This wasn't part of the plan.
But damn if he didn't look good doing nothing but breathing.
Newsroom ,Breaking Alert!
Max Botho seen leaving the Board of Botho Global offices with his legal team. Rumors swirl of a secret initiative linked to Project I.A.R.A. Underground sources mention inner turmoils brewing as Max reportedly obsesses over by his recent fallout with babymama"
She was alone again, sprawled on the couch, caressing her belly bump leisurely, laptop open. Her plan was no longer just about survival or reclaiming her name.
It was about domination.
About taking from Avery and Max the things they protected most.
For Max? That meant tearing open the soft underbelly of trust he was trying to give her.
And Avery? His empire. His clean reputation.
And then she will give her baby everything she deserves
They would all pay for what happened in that warehouse. For every scar. For every lie!
A voice spoke into a burner phone. "She's got Rama." A pause.
"Yes. That Rama. He doesn't know yet. She doesn't know. But it's only a matter of time before blood calls to blood."
The line went dead.