True Tycoon Her Empire, Her Rules

Clifford, a figure often featured in financial magazines or on the Forbes list of the rich and famous, was typically the epitome of sartorial elegance. Yet it took just a few words from his dear daughter, Winnie, to have him ditch the tailored suits for a trendier, younger look. 

Walking down the street, he felt no embarrassment even as heads turned his way. 

Instead, he found himself reminiscing about when Winnie was born and how he’d dreamt of strolling through the park on a spring day with his wife and two children. That dream was three–quarters reality, leaving him to wonder when he would reunite with the missing quarter. 

Thoughts of his wife cast a subtle shadow of sorrow in his eyes, but his face remained stoic, betraying no emotion. 

The afternoon went by with the trio shopping and moving on to the arcade level of the mall. Clifford was seemingly determined to fill the gaps in Winnie’s childhood experiences. 

Though exhausted, more so than after a marathon art class, Winnie felt an underlying sense of gratitude and pleasure. 

It was after dinner, with the city lights glittering around them, and as they were about to head home, Clifford paused before a photography studio. NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

“We haven’t taken any family photos since Winnie came home,” he mentioned, his voice lighter than usual, betraying a hint of excitement. 

Horace smiled at this and looked toward Winnie. Their gazes met, and there was an unspoken. 

agreement. 

After a day’s bonding, Winnie felt a new connection to her Bryant identity. 

Customers usually needed to make appointments in advance, but that was no obstacle for Horace. He found a private studio photographer, and the trio took a series of family portraits. 

As the camera captured the moment, Winnie could almost see the thin thread that connected her to the Bryant family, thicken and solidify. She understood its significance and no longer fought against it. 

Once they finished photo shooting, Horace had the photographer expedite the editing process. 

Meanwhile, Springer, lounging on the living room sofa, scrolling through social media, stumbled upon two new posts. 

One was from his Uncle Clifford, the business tycoon who rarely shared anything personal online. The picture of the three of them spoke volumes without a word. 

The other post was from Horace, which was more vivid, featuring the formal family portrait and 

a collage of candid shots from their day out, including them sipping milk shake. 

[A crazy shopping day with my sister and father.” Horace captioned the post. 

Winnie hadn’t posted anything but had dutifully liked both posts, maintaining the social media etiquette. 

Seeing it, Springer jumped off the sofa. 

“Jesus! I can’t believe my cousin went shopping without me!” 

His sudden exclamation startled his father, who had just returned from work, prompting him to ask, “Which cousin?” 

Still indignant, Springer replied, “Who else could it be? My only cousin sister, Winnie!” 

While ranting, he began screenshotting the posts to share in the family chat. 

The Bryant family, especially the older generation, were inactive on social media, so they weren’t updated with these posts. 

Upon opening Springer’s screenshots, a collective silence fell in the family group. 

Terrell and Middleton, Clifford’s brothers, were particularly stunned. Their usually reserved older brother was out and about, shopping and drinking milk shake, a man who hardly ever drank coffee. 

The younger ones of the family also found it unbelievable. But more than their uncle’s newfound relatability, Hobson noticed something else and pointed it out to Springer. “You can see Winnie’s like, which means you’ve added her as a friend!” 

Amber, who had focused on the family portrait, turned her piercing gaze toward Springer, her eyes filled with an implicit reproach. 

Feeling unjustly accused and unwilling to engage in an argument, Springer turned to Hobson. “Of course, I’ve added her. She’s my cousin, and why wouldn’t I?” 

The realization that Springer had been perhaps closer to Winnie than the rest brought a tinge of jealousy among the cousins. 

Springer’s mother, Janet, overlooked the children’s quarrel and said warmly. “It’s nice to see Clifford in such good spirits. They look so happy together.” 

She and Terrell were often busy, rarely finding time to take Springer out. Seeing her son’s envious gaze at the phone, she felt a pang of guilt. 

On the other hand, Leonie didn’t join the conversation, her eyes locked on the family portrait, her hair falling gracefully around her face, concealing the storm of emotions within her. 

The single photo had elicited myriad reactions within the Bryant family, but none concerned Winnie. 

She returned home with plenty of time to spare for the evening and, remembering the little ghostly companion in her backpack, decided it was time to send it on its way. 

Dealing with spirits was a delicate matter. While the Supernatural tradition focused on transcendence, Winnie’s family practices differed. She opted to summon a spirit guide to take 

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the little ghost. 

After venturing into the backyard conservatory, Winnie checked the time and took out at Summoning Charm. She passed it to the ghostly figure, letting it absorb the ethereal essence. 

Winnie pinched the charm between her fingers, chanting incantations in a rhythmic cadence that seemed to carry the secret whispers of ancient mystics. With a casual flick of her wrist. the charm spiraled into the air. 

But before the charm could ignite in a burst of magical flame, the docile Ghost Baby, floating serenely, suddenly became erratic. Disregarding Winnie’s presence, it kicked its tiny legs and zoomed off randomly. 

Winnie was at a loss for words. 

This sense of déjà vu was unsettling. 

As Winnie chased the Ghost Baby out of the Bryant Manor, she saw a gleaming Maybach cruising past, its backseat shimmering with wealth. 

Inside the vehicle, Drake casually scrolled through his phone, his attention inadvertently caught by a boastful post from Horace on social media. 

He tapped to open it without much thought, his gaze unintentionally resting on a particular detail in the photo. His handsome brow furrowed slightly, intending to look closer, when he suddenly sensed something rapidly approaching. 

Drake’s instincts tensed, and he reflexively looked toward the incoming presence. 

There, darting through the air, was the familiar figure of the Ghost Baby, heading straight for him. It flew through the half–open window of the car. 

With a soft plop, it landed squarely in the palm of his hand. 

Drake was speechless.