Chapter 5: A Need for Reinforcement
4 years had passed since Frances left Macedonia.
4 years since she walked away from everything that once defined her life.
Lichfield had become her new beginning. It was quiet, almost too quiet, yet beneath that calm surface, it had turned into her battlefield. Every day was a step forward, every decision a brick in the empire she was rebuilding.
That morning, she sat behind her desk, her eyes fixed on the screen before her.
Numbers filled the display. Graphs moved. Market charts shifted.
But her mind was elsewhere.
Everything blurred into one dull stretch of exhaustion. She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus, convincing herself that work could replace the emptiness left behind by betrayal.
A knock sounded at the door.
She did not look up.
"Bianca," she said.
The door opened gently. "Yes, ma. You called for me."
Frances turned, holding up a file. "The documents you submitted this morning are incomplete. Explain."
Bianca stiffened. "I'm sorry, ma. I checked everything before bringing it. Maybe a page was misplaced."
Frances's gaze sharpened. "So you're saying I imagined it?"
The words came out cold, precise.
Bianca lowered her head immediately. "No, ma. I didn't mean that. I'll recheck them and return shortly."
"Do that," Frances said, leaning back. "This company is growing. Mistakes like this are not acceptable."
Bianca nodded quickly, turning to leave.
"Bianca."
She stopped. "Ma?"
"What's the update on the new proposal?"
"The board will finalize it this afternoon. They requested your presence for a meeting."
"Arrange it," Frances replied. "I'll attend."
"Yes, ma."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Frances leaned back slightly, her eyes drifting across the office. White and gold walls reflected quiet elegance. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air from the candle she always kept lit.
Everything here was controlled.
Carefully built.
Nothing like the chaos she left behind.
When it was time, she walked into the meeting room.
Her presence alone shifted the atmosphere.
Polite greetings followed her as she took her seat at the head of the table, her posture relaxed, her expression unreadable.
The discussion began.
Sales.
Production.
Wages.
Voices blended together until one of the directors leaned forward.
"Miss Frances Lin, there is a proposal we have all agreed on. It requires your approval."
"Proceed," she said.
The file slid toward her.
She opened it.
The first line stopped everything.
Proposal to Expand Lin Cosmetics Brand to Macedonia.
For a brief moment, time stilled.
Her eyes lingered on the word.
Macedonia.
It stared back at her, uninvited, unwelcome.
She closed the file sharply.
"Who suggested this?"
A man near the end of the table cleared his throat. "It was a collective decision, ma. Is there an issue?"
A faint laugh left her lips.
"A problem?"
Her gaze lifted, cutting through the room.
"Why Macedonia? What about Italy, Cape Town, Patricia? There are countless options."
"Macedonia is rapidly developing," another director said carefully. "It houses major companies like The Luce Group, K and M, and The Bear Group."
Frances raised her hand.
Silence followed instantly.
"I know exactly what Macedonia is," she said, her voice steady but firm. "I know its power, its structure, its people. Do not explain it to me."
The room remained still.
"Let this be the last time this proposal is brought to me," she continued. "If you want expansion, find another location. When you have a better plan, present it."
She stood.
"Meeting adjourned."
No one stopped her.
No one questioned her.
They watched her leave, fully aware of the storm beneath her calm exterior.
Back in her office, she set the file down.
"Have they left?" she asked.
"Yes, ma," Bianca replied. "Immediately after you walked out."
"Good."
Frances picked up her glass of water, her reflection faintly visible on its surface.
She looked composed.
Untouchable.
But the name still lingered.
Macedonia.
It was not just a place.
It was a wound.
Back in Macedonia, tension was quietly building.
Kelvin Stafford stood in a modest room, watching his mother as she folded his clothes.
Stafford May carried herself with a quiet bitterness, the kind that came from years of feeling second best. Doris, Raymond's mother, remained a shadow she could never escape.
"You shouldn't be doing this," Kelvin said. "It's unnecessary."
May sighed softly. "How is your company?"
He hesitated.
The answer was obvious.
It was failing.
"I need ten million," he admitted. "Things are not moving as planned."
May's expression darkened. "If only your father had given you a position in his company instead of Raymond."
Kelvin's jaw tightened.
"I will make it," he said. "For both of us."
She nodded, choosing to believe him.
Hope was easier than truth.
Elsewhere, danger stirred.
Harry's anger filled the room as he drove his dagger into the desk.
"Stafford Raymond," he muttered, rage thick in his voice.
Lupin Blake stood nearby, delivering the report. The captured men. The losses. The shifting alliances.
Charlotte and Lupin had begun speaking again.
That alone was enough to signal trouble.
Harry exhaled slowly, forcing his anger into control.
"Lay low," he ordered. "Train harder. When I give the word, we strike."
Raymond, on the other side, was already preparing.
In a hidden training ground, his men stood before him.
Sky.
Ice.
Hunter.
All silent.
All waiting.
Ice spoke first. "What should we do with the captured men?"
Raymond did not hesitate.
"Kill them."
The words fell without emotion.
Cold.
Final.
His presence filled the space, heavy and unyielding.
Orders followed.
Reinforcements.
Surveillance.
Control.
Every move calculated.
Every decision absolute.
When he turned to leave, his final command lingered in the air.
No mercy.
Not for enemies.
Not for betrayal.
Raymond was no longer just a man.
He had become something far more dangerous.
Far away, Frances sat in silence.
And between them, the past remained alive.
Macedonia was no longer just a memory.
It was a warning.
Some things never stay buried.