Chapter 3–4: Better Choice & Shadows of the Past
Better Choice was an established company, founded by John four years ago. It wasn't the most outstanding among the top ten, but it had earned a solid reputation. For a business still relatively young, it had already carved a respectable place among its peers.
Unlike other companies, Better Choice catered specifically to writers, publishers, and editors.
Out of the 159 books it had released, 18 writers had become well-known, greatly boosting the company's prestige. Among those works, three had been directed and acted by famous celebrities, bringing the company the recognition it was now celebrated for. Yet, despite its successes, John knew the industry could turn on a dime—and a single misstep could undo years of work.
"You're late," said Joseph Sood, crossing his muscular arms.
Joseph wasn't the brightest man, nor the sharpest, but he was relentless and loyal. His heavy build and stern expression often made people mistake him for a gangster. Deep down, though, he was one of the few people John trusted implicitly.
"Hmm," John replied, ignoring Joseph as he walked past the guard, giving only a brief wave.
"Don't forget, you have a meeting with the reporter, Mrs. Madison, at 2:34," Joseph reminded him as they approached the stairs leading to the seventh floor.
"I know," John said simply, his gaze narrowing at the workers scurrying with files.
"Your mom left a few minutes before you arrived," Joseph added. He sighed quietly, knowing his concern likely went unnoticed. John, as usual, shook his head at Joseph's pitying gaze, silently letting him think whatever he wanted.
"Mr. Moses, the director of KB Company, has reached out about a contract deal with one of our writers," Joseph continued.
"KB Company? Never heard of them," John frowned.
"It's a new entertainment company," Joseph explained. "One of their rising actresses is interested in a piece from our writer. They want to collaborate but insist on meeting you first."
John paused. "Dig into their background. I want to know everything before signing any deal," he said softly, watching Joseph nod confidently.
Joseph hesitated, then added cautiously, "Also… Mrs. Precious had a minor accident last night. Drunk driving. No one was hurt, but some property was damaged."
John's jaw tightened. "Send someone to handle it. Cover the damages using the company account. As for Precious herself… she was arrested, but I've already arranged for bail."
Barnabas Sood, meanwhile, was dealing with his own charge of worry miles away.
"How strange…"
Mira whispered, eyes glued to her phone, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the passing scenery. Cars blurred by, houses drifted past, and yet none of it captured her attention. She let out a long, frustrated sigh.
"What's wrong?"
Barnabas asked, eyes half-open, tired but alert.
"Nothing… I'm just worried. Clara's been ignoring my calls. She does this sometimes," Mira admitted, her voice soft, tinged with unease.
"Maybe she's just busy," Barnabas replied, shutting his eyes briefly.
"Maybe…" she murmured, unconvinced.
"If you're that worried, we could drop by her place later," he suggested, only to receive silence for a few seconds.
"No need. You're probably right… she's just busy," Mira mumbled, forcing herself to focus on the road ahead.
"Are we there yet? What's taking so long?"
Her voice cracked slightly with frustration.
"Sorry, miss. The road was blocked. We had to take a detour. About an hour more," the elderly driver reassured, but Mira scoffed, itching to lean out of the window.
"Mira, behave," Barnabas's voice cut through the tension—harsh yet calm.
"This is so frustrating," Mira muttered under her breath.
Then, her eyes caught something. A figure dressed in black, masked, trembling as she clutched a sheet of paper. Burn scars marred her hands.
Mira's chest tightened. Her body recognized the figure before her mind could even process it. Four years had passed, yet the memory—the guilt—remained etched in her mind like a scar that wouldn't fade.
Around them, life continued. People went about their business, unaware of the storm passing by in Mira's chest.
"Driver! Stop!!"
Mira's sudden scream made the car screech, nearly giving the elderly man a heart attack. Horns blared from other cars, but she couldn't stop herself.
"What's wrong?"
Barnabas snapped awake, feeling a cold rush of wind on his cheek as he realized the danger. Panic surged. He leaped from the car.
"Mira!!!"
He yelled, chasing after his sister, who was now drawing suspicious and curious glances from passersby.
Within seconds, he reached her. Mira's face, once bright and lively, was now pale and listless. Her body trembled, her breath shallow.
"Mira… are you crazy?"
Barnabas's voice was sharp, laced with fear.
He gripped her shoulder, steadying her as she drew slow, shuddering breaths. Sweat beaded her brows.
"Let's head back to the car," he instructed, guiding her frail frame.
The vehicle waited, driver speaking with a traffic officer. The officer froze when his eyes met Barnabas, a flicker of recognition—and regret—crossing his face.
"M-Mr. Barnabas!"
The exclamation left Barnabas momentarily stunned.
He nodded once, watching the driver open the back door, helping Mira inside.
"Should I take you to the hospital?" he asked, worry evident as he saw her pallor.
"I'm fine… no need," she forced a smile, exhaustion heavy in her limbs.
"Okay," he replied calmly, though the doubt and concern in his eyes didn't go unnoticed.
Mira often seemed strong, but her fragile heart had limits. Stress could be deadly. That was why the transplant was so vital, not just for her, but for her family.
Ironically, after years of protection since that incident, Mira had still acted carelessly. Her gaze drifted back to the girl in black, stomach twisting with a familiar pang: guilt.
If only she could turn back time four years… perhaps she could have done something. But she knew better—wishing didn't change the past.
Barnabas climbed into the car without her noticing.
"What was that?" he asked, a thread of anger in his voice. Yet his hands betrayed him, unlocking her pillbox with care. She knew he always carried a spare for her.
Once, such care had made her feel cherished. Now, it only made her feel like a burden.
"Why are you still lost in thought?"
The car moved again.
"Water," she murmured.
Barnabas handed her a bottle before she finished, gently urging her to take her pills. She complied, swallowing the bitter medicine that always threatened to make her gag.
The ride continued in silence, each lost in thought.
"Sorry," she whispered, breaking the tension.
"You could've been killed! What were you thinking?" His voice was stern, fists clenching at the thought.
"I… I wasn't thinking straight," she admitted.
"I was just too shocked at what I saw," she added, eyes meeting his with quiet determination.
"Brother… what happened to that girl four years ago?"
Fear thumped in her chest. Barnabas didn't answer.
"It's been four years. Let it go," he said firmly, frowning.
But Mira wouldn't accept that.
"That girl… did she really die, like you said? Or are you hiding something from me?"
😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁