Chapter 9: Fractures Beneath Silence
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the glass walls. Shadows stretched across the polished floor, bending around the figure standing still beside the window.
Raymond swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid dance as if it held answers. It did not. His jaw tightened. Something had happened that night. He knew it. Not from memory, but from the unsettling weight sitting in his chest, a feeling he could not explain, could not shake, could not control.
He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his throat.
Why could he not remember, he muttered under his breath.
Closing his eyes briefly, flashes came. A scent, soft and calming, lavender. A voice, faint and strained, saying stop. His eyes snapped open, and his grip on the glass tightened. Damn it. The word came sharper than intended as he placed the glass on the table with a dull thud. Something about that memory felt wrong. Not unclear, wrong.
Raymond was a man who never crossed lines without awareness. Control was his identity, precision his power. Yet that night felt like a crack in everything he had built.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
Sky.
The door opened almost immediately, as if the man had been waiting.
Yes, boss.
Raymond did not turn. That night, after dinner with his sister, he said calmly but with dangerous undertones, where did I go?
Sky hesitated, a rare thing.
I escorted you to your room, boss.
And after that?
A pause.
I left.
Raymond turned, locking eyes with Sky like a blade. Left? he repeated.
Yes, boss.
Silence stretched between them. Raymond studied Sky's expression, searching for something, anything, that suggested more. Sky remained composed, too composed. Raymond scoffed lightly and turned away.
Useless, he muttered, though the tone lacked its usual bite.
Sky lowered his head slightly. Should I look into it further?
Raymond's gaze returned to the glass, to the reflection staring back at him. Cold. Controlled. But tonight, uncertain.
No, he said finally. If something had happened, he would uncover it himself, no matter what it was, even if it was something he did not want to know.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Frances sat at the edge of her bed, her phone resting in her hand as she stared at the contact she had just saved. Slater Lauren. Her brows furrowed slightly. The name was unfamiliar yet stirred something faint in her memory.
What kind of coincidence is this, she whispered, exhaling slowly.
The image of the little boy replayed in her mind, his bright eyes, his innocent smile, the way he had spoken of his mother with so much trust.
Mama said there is no money, he had said.
Her chest tightened. No money? That did not make sense. Lauren was not just anyone. She had been from a noble, wealthy family, one of the most respected during their college days in Macedonia. Elegant, proud, always surrounded by attention. Frances remembered clearly the girl who had everything. So how had her life turned into this?
She stared at the phone again, her thumb hovering over the call button. Years had passed. People changed. Circumstances changed. And sometimes pride made things complicated. But the image of that little boy standing alone erased every doubt. She pressed call.
The line rang once, twice, three times. Just as she was about to hang up, the call connected.
Hello, a soft, cautious voice came through.
Lauren? Frances asked gently.
Yes, who is this?
Frances smiled faintly, though uncertainty lingered. It is Frances, she said.
Silence. Heavy, shocked silence.
Frances? Lauren's voice came again, barely above a whisper. Frances Lin?
Yes.
Another pause, but this one felt different, emotional.
I did not expect after all these years, Lauren admitted shakily.
Neither did I, Frances said softly. But I met your son today.
There was a sudden shift on the other end.
My son? Lauren's voice rose slightly, panic slipping through. Is he okay? Did something happen?
He is fine, Frances reassured quickly. I left him in my neighbor's care. He was playing outside alone, and I took him home.
A breath of relief echoed through the phone. Thank God, Lauren whispered.
Frances' expression grew serious. Lauren, why was he alone?
A long silence followed.
I had to work, Lauren said quietly.
And school? Frances asked. He said you could not enroll him.
Another silence, heavier.
I… Lauren's voice cracked faintly. Things are not the same anymore.
Frances sat up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. What happened?
A soft, broken laugh came from the other end. You really do not know, do you?
No, Frances said softly.
Lauren inhaled deeply, as if preparing herself. I lost everything.
The words landed heavily. My family, our name, the wealth… it is all gone.
Frances felt a chill run through her. How? she asked.
Lauren did not answer immediately. Instead, she asked quietly, Frances, are you really back in Macedonia?
Yes, Frances replied, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Another pause. Then, perhaps it is time you knew the truth too.
Frances stilled, her heart beating slow and uneasy. What truth? she asked.
The line went silent, not disconnected, just silent, as if the past itself were gathering strength, preparing to resurface.
Morning came with sharp clarity that matched the glass towers of the city. Inside Luce Group headquarters, everything moved with precision. Heels clicked against marble floors. Assistants exchanged hushed updates. The quiet hum of power flowed through every department.
At the reception area, heads turned. She had just walked in. Lee Grace. Tall, elegant, striking in a way that demanded attention without asking for it. Her fitted outfit traced her figure effortlessly. Confidence stood out even more than her beauty.
The receptionist blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Good morning, ma'am. How may I help you?
Grace smiled, removing her sunglasses slowly. I am here to see Mr. Raymond, she said smoothly, like she already belonged there.
Do you have an appointment? the receptionist asked politely.
No, but I do not think I will need one, Grace replied. There was calm in her voice, laced with quiet arrogance.
The receptionist hesitated, then reached for the intercom. Please hold on, ma'am.
Upstairs, Raymond had just settled into his chair when the call came through. Sir, there is a Miss Lee Grace here to see you.
Raymond did not look up. No, he said immediately.
Sir, she insists, came the hesitant reply.
Raymond's eyes lifted slightly, irritation flickering. Then she can insist outside, he said coldly. Do not let her up.
The line went quiet. Yes, sir, came the response. The call ended. Raymond dropped the file onto the table, jaw tightening faintly. He already knew the type: persistent, calculated, unnecessary.
Downstairs, the receptionist forced a polite smile. I am sorry, ma'am. Mr. Raymond is unavailable.
Grace did not move. Unavailable? she repeated softly.
Yes, ma'am. He is not taking visitors.
Grace let out a quiet breath, then smiled again, sharper this time. I will wait.
The receptionist hesitated. I am afraid that will not be possible. You are not permitted to go up.
Grace's gaze flickered briefly toward the elevator. So that was how he wanted to play it. Interesting. She turned back slowly. I see.
For a moment, she seemed like she might leave. Then she stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly. Tell him something for me.
The receptionist swallowed. Yes, ma'am?
Grace's lips curved faintly. Tell him Lee Grace does not give up easily.
There was confidence in her tone, neither loud nor desperate, only certain. She picked up her sunglasses and slid them back on. Oh, and one more thing, she added, pausing before turning away. Next time, I will not stop at the reception.
She walked out, heels echoing softly behind her.
Upstairs, Raymond stood by the window again, hands in pockets. The city stretched endlessly before him, but his thoughts were far from it. A knock came.
Enter, he said.
Joel stepped in. She is gone, he reported.
Raymond did not respond immediately. Then he said, Good. Simple. Final.
Joel hesitated. She left a message.
Raymond's expression remained unchanged. I am not interested.
Joel nodded, curiosity lingering briefly. Make it clear to everyone downstairs. No one gets past that elevator without my approval, Raymond added.
Yes, boss, Joel said.
The door closed. Silence returned, but not completely. Somewhere beneath that silence, something else shifted, unseen, uncontrolled, and for the first time in a long time, not entirely in Raymond's hands.