The office was an reflection of discipline — minimalist, modern, awash in the muted tones of off-white, ash gray and soft beige. Behind the executive desk, a panorama window spanned a clear view of a dull L.A. skyline from the wet, fast twilight that bled toward night.
There was no painting on the wall only shadows dancing in silence. The room was peaceful, sterile even — but not tonight.
It was a controlled space, in which, aside for the slabs of granite on one wall, there was nothing other than a woman probably in her early 40s, wearing a clean ivory blouse tucked into high-waisted beige slacks.
Her smooth caramel-brown hair had been drawn into a taut low bun — not one strand out of place — but she was falling apart fast.
Helen Velasquez, had always been the epitome of poise, the woman orchestrating polished press releases, soft-spoken boardroom murmurs and carefully crafted contracts.
But now — now she appeared as though she was waiting in judgment for a verdict that might alter everything.
Her eyes remained locked on the window, wide and unblinking, a soul searching lost in thoughts knotted with regret and caution.
A smooth voice behind her shattered the silence.
"Helen, what are you so lost in?"
The voice jolted her out of the fog. She pivoted and, standing by the glass door, was Alejandro Marquez — her longtime confidant and business partner. A sharp-dressed man in his late fifties, silver at the temples but a commanding presence that was only softened by the worry in his eyes.
Helen didn't respond.
Alejandro stepped in, his ither shoes making no noise on the carpet and sat across from her. Between them sat her tidy desk—papers stacked neatly, laptop closed and steaming cup of untouched coffee.
"You look tensed," he said, studying her face, his voice softer.
"What happened?"
She pressed her lips and finally said.
"Oliver called."
Alejandro's brow lifted slightly. "Oliver? Why what's going on?"
Helen nodded, clutching the armrest with her fingers.
"He said.… maybe we won't get our hands on the Brown's project."
That stopped him stilled.
Helen looked up and she saw it in his face then — that flicker of realization, sense of worriness. She didn't need to say more.
Alejandro knew it all about that project and how important it was for both of them.
Alejandro sat back, stunned.
"What?—"
"He must have found another way. You know how he works. Always go for less but good." Helen whispered.
The tension in the room was almost unbearable.
Alejandro leaned forward now, his voice lower, more urgent. "What we do next—?"
"I don't know" said Helen, interrupting passionately, and her eyes hardened though her voice shook.
"He wouldn't dare do that to us. Thats's the one thing I'm sure of."
Helen gazed out the window once more, the lights of Los Angeles winking beneath them like fickle memories.
"In my presence," she admitted. "I won't let it happen. I'll make sure, he doesn't get a single soul to investe."
A silence stretched between them.
The words sent a cold, hard weight sinking to the bottom of Helen's stomach: she felt her mind racing—
Helen Velasquez, was the woman, who could bring down everything… because if she wants it she gets it.
Hopeful Hearts Charity Event
The venue sparked under the light of soft golden tones, cloaked in flowing fabrics of cream and ivory decorated with fresh florals and awash with the gentle sound of strings. It was a lovely evening, the annual charity gala that Suzzanne Gutierrez never missed – an event she didn't just attend but had worked to build from the ground up.
Her presence as usual, was the real highlight.
Wearing a swan-like pearl-white suit, an embroidered bodice as light as a butterfly's wings, she glided serenely across the dias with all the poise and grace of a queen yet simultaneously radiated something deeply maternal.
Her dark hair framed her face in soft waves, and she smiled with lips painted a soft rose, laughter dancing in her eyes as children played around her.
She stood in the lush backyard garden of the venue, with smiling kids from the orphanage she had supported for years.
The press called her a "Saint with a steel heart" — a woman full of elegance, powerful but with hands always reaching down to lift others.
To them, she had been an angel in disguise.
However, not everyone was transfixed by her glow.
Inside the place and standing near a drink station with a half-empty glass of juice in his hand, Maximiliano was caught in between shadows.
He was dapper as ever, his tall frame looked resplendent in his black tuxedo, though the man himself couldn't have been further from composed.
Every so often, he glanced around the hushed room with sharp eyes, as if working out a puzzle he hadn't simply yet cracked.
"What's wrong?" came a voice beside him.
Maximiliano cast his head slightly to see Felix, his twenty-four-year-old son – stading there with nonchalant ease, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a flute of sparkling water.
Felix was always the smoother one — young and handsome with a dark recklessness to him — but, even he could tell that something wasn't right tonight.
"I don't feel good about all these." Maximiliano said, voice low, taut with tension.
Felix raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I don't feel good about visiting here. Or… about Suzzanne."
Felix blinked, baffled.
"You're quite silly," he said with a dismissive chuckle, shaking his head. "Come on. This is her santuary. Her people. Her world. What could possibly go wrong?"
Maximiliano turned a sharp gaze to his son.
Yes-father and son, bound not only by blood but also by the burden of secrets neither had ever spoke of.
They labored side by side under the same company, circulated in the same political circles but he was always the cautious one, always watching from shoadows.
"Where is she?" Maximiliano inquired after a pause, his voice less agitated, but honed with steel.
Felix shrugged and indicated the back garden with his head. "Backyard. Kids wanted to have some pictures with her."
Staring at the expanse that were the huge French doors to the back, Maximiliano said without turning around, "Leave. Stay by her side."
"I—" Felix started but-
He was cut off.
A series of high-pitched scream cleave the air, causing the soft music and polite laughter to come to an immediate halt.
"What the hell was that?" Maximiliano's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
He and Felix didn't faff around, pushing their way through bewildered space as another sound of screaming fainted in the hallway that opened into the west wing.
A man came running, panic written plainly on his face. There was some stain on his tuxedo near the sleeves. Gasping, he attempted to forge ahead, and Maximiliano stepped in front of him.
"What happened?" Maximiliano demanded.
The man stuttered, nodding behind him. "T-T-There's a…a body," he gasped. "In the hallway. Blood… soaked. I think he is… dead."
The air fell completely still.
Dread crawled up Maximiliano's back as his eyes narrowed.
"Felix—go to Suzzanne. Now."
Felix didn't argue. He wheeled around and ran for the garden.
Author's Note:
Thankyou for reading:)
Have a Good Day/Night<3<3