Chapter 27

The weight of night had fallen, and there she was in the study pacing round and round. The atmosphere felt thick. It was like the moving shadow of the dancing candles from outside reflected the extent of darkness which she had plunged her life into. Day and night, every moment was directed toward this event, and that was the result.

The knock on the door had been slow, a tap almost, as if whoever it was on the other side of the door took their time to savor the moment. She had known he would come-she knew that someone from her past would find a way to break through the walls she so carefully built around herself. And she knew she had to face what was coming, head-on.

As the door creaked open, Beatrice's eyes narrowed. The man who stood before her now was one she had not seen in many years, a man whom she had erased out of her memory!

.

"You," Beatrice exclaimed-cold and detached-while observing the man. She neither smiled nor betrayed any hint of surprise; instead, she acted as though he were a certain part of her past that could never be avoided.

The man regarded her, his eyes calculating, unruffled, and calm. His eyes cut deep into her, as if she were an open book, and for a long time, Beatrice felt fragile. "I see you've done well for yourself," he said, low and smooth. "But that doesn't change what you've done. It doesn't change who you are."

Beatrice firmed her jaw but said nothing. She had learned a long time ago that the less you said, the less they could hold against you.

"You think you've controlled everything," the man went on, the curl of a slight, knowing smile playing upon his lips. "You think you've buried all your skeletons, but you can't bury the truth, Beatrice. Not this time.

Truth?" Beatrice repeated, her tone almost mocking. "You're wasting your time. There's nothing left to expose."

The man moved closer, his presence imposing. "You're wrong," he said now, cold and sharp. "The truth is coming, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You might have thought you'd won, but you haven't. You've just set the stage for something far worse.

Beatrice's heart was racing, but she didn't lose her cool. "I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish by showing up here. Whatever it is, it's too late."

Then he smiled. Not reassuringly. But in that manner which told something much darker was coming forth: "You really think you can continue your little game with yourself, so convinced you are calling the shots. I'm afraid the game is not over-not by a long shot.

There was a long moment of silence, and Beatrice felt the walls around her life begin to crumble. But she refused to show it. She had too much to lose.

"I suggest you leave," Beatrice said, her voice hard and unyielding. "Before I make you regret your decision to come here."

The man didn’t flinch. Instead, he took a slow step back, turning toward the door. “You won’t be able to run from this forever, Beatrice. I’ll be watching.”

With those words, he exited, leaving her standing in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence that followed felt deafening. The calm before the storm. She knew she hadn’t seen the last of him.

******

Elsewhere, in the dimly lit of the town, Mason sat hunched over a desk at a cafe, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at his phone. Tonight, there was something else gnawing at him-the call he had to make.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, making sure the Cafe was still empty, and dialed the number. The voice coming from the other end was distorted, like through a voice modulator.

"What's the situation?" the voice asked, so collected yet patently tense.

“It’s going to be a problem,” Mason replied, his voice low. “The company’s under strain. We’ve got some issues with our shareholders, and Ronald’s not the man to fix it. He’s. distracted. Everyone’s waiting for something to go wrong. They can sense the weakness.”

“Weakness?” The voice sounded skeptical. “How much of a threat is it?”

It's serious," Mason said, his fingers tapping anxiously on the desk. "People are talking. I overheard one of the investors today--he's concerned. If we don't get a hold of this, Wellington Holdings will fall apart. Ronald's in denial. He's not seeing the bigger picture."

"And you?" The voice was steady, but an edge had crept into it. "What do you think we should do about it?

Mason hesitated, then replied, "I'm working on it. But the window of opportunity is closing. We need to make moves before the damage is irreversible."

The voice on the other end seemed to consider this for a moment. "Good. Keep me informed. You know what's at stake here. Don't fail.

Mason hung up, his heart racing in his chest. He hadn't signed up for this level of manipulation, but he was too deep to back out now. He couldn't let the company-or himself-fall into chaos.

Later that night, as the hours stretched on, Mr. Rodriguez couldn't shake off this feeling of something not quite sitting right. He had always trusted Beatrice, had always been by her side, but the way she had acted earlier in the evening set something off in his mind-the tension in her voice while speaking with that man, the unease flickering briefly in her eyes; it did not sit right.

There was something more to it than Mr. Rodriguez could overlook, and Beatrice wasn't telling it. He had heard it in the tone of her voice, seen it on her face, and now he needed to know the truth.

He walked down the length of the long hallway toward her study, stepping silent on the hardwood floors. He had made up his mind. This time, he wasn't going to let it slide. Not this time. Not him. He needed to talk with her.

Reaching the door, he knocked softly. "Beatrice?" he called out, his voice even but deliberately so.

The door creaked open, and Beatrice stood before him, her face a mask of composure. "What is it, Rodriguez?" she asked, her tone smooth but guarded.

Rodriguez stepped inside, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "I overheard something earlier. You were speaking to someone. Who was it?

Beatrice's heart skipped a beat. She had hoped her little talk with the unknown man would have gone without being noticed, but now it seemed Rodriguez heard more than he should have.

"It was nothing," she replied hastily, attempting to smile. "Just an old friend. There's nothing to worry about."

Rodriguez didn't believe her. "A friend? You were looking concerned. You appeared worried. What's going on, Beatrice?

She met his gaze, but something in her eyes checked Rodriguez. For a moment, he felt that he was forcing, pressing too hard. Yet the suspicion would not be denied. "There's nothing to worry about," she repeated, her voice nearly too calm.

Rodriguez eyed her a beat longer, his suspicion rising. Yet he didn't push it. Not yet. He could tell that Beatrice wasn't telling him the whole story, but he also knew that pushing her too hard would only make her shut down further.

He gave her a slight nod. "Alright, if you say so."

Beatrice let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I do.

As he turned to leave, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was amiss. The shadows of the past had begun to creep into their present, and he wasn't sure how long they could keep them hidden.