The Rare Heir
Susan Pablo was flipping through some documents while she read them. Once the door opened automatically she stared in the mirror to see it was Jamole.

“Hi sweetheart,” Jamole greeted and when Susan gave him the cold shoulders it dawned on him she was pissed by something or someone perhaps him. “How is your day going?” he queried, rubbed her on the shoulders.

Susan rolled her eyes at him, shrugged off his hands and wanted to ride away in her wheel chair, but Jamole held back the wheel chair, stopped her from making an inch.

“Let me go. I am not in the mood for this,” she nagged and her face scowled irritatingly at her offender.

The reason for the anger was that she received a debt alert for five hundred thousand dollars from VIP International Boutique. She was glad that finally her husband was out to spend on himself. But lo and behold the Jamole that just walked in was looking impoverished and ragged.

“Why are you upset with me?” Jamole queried and squatted to her, , “Are you not happy
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