Chapter 8 The Target
1251 Words
The doors of the cage had just snapped shut, and she was the one who had handed him the key.
Now that the deal was struck, the ice that had frozen the Rodrigo household for three agonizing weeks began to melt. But it did not give way to the warm, effortless spring of their early marriage. Instead, a strange, clinical, and transactional atmosphere replaced it.
Edward was warm again, almost overwhelmingly so. He laughed at the dinner table, kissed her forehead before he left for his law firm, and held her tightly through the night. Yet, Sandra felt entirely hollowed out. Every sweet word he uttered felt like a reward for a good behavior modification checklist. She no longer felt like his cherished partner; she felt like a defeated soldier under strict, immutable orders. The terms of her release from his emotional blockade were clear: she had an assignment to complete.
The search for the woman who would enter her husband's bed was an agonizing, soul-crushing endeavor. Sandra couldn't ask her high-society friends, her corporate peers, or her extended family. The crushing weight of the shame would kill her. If the board of directors at the bank or her deeply religious mother ever found out she was actively procuring a second wife for her husband, her flawless reputation would be permanently shattered.
She had to do this completely alone, in the dark.
Sandra converted her brilliant, analytical corporate mind into a weapon of cold observation. She began to carefully observe the women at her workplace, the contract workers, and the auxiliary staff at the sprawling corporate headquarters where she worked as a senior financial manager. She needed someone invisible to her social circle, someone whose presence could be neatly compartmentalized and controlled.
That was when she noticed Roseline Thompson.
Roseline was a 24-year-old front-desk receptionist at a subsidiary logistics firm operating out of the ground floor of their glass corporate tower. She was remarkably beautiful, but it was a completely natural, unpolished beauty. She wore no expensive hair extensions, no heavy makeup, and no designer clothes. Her beauty was quiet, almost apologetic, framed by simple braided hair and neat, ironed corporate uniform dresses that had seen better days.
But it wasn't Roseline's face that caught Sandra’s attention; it was her absolute humility and apparent vulnerability.
The corporate tower was filled with arrogant, fast-paced executives who treated the lower-level staff like transparent glass. Sandra, too, had always walked past the lobby with the rigid, untouchable posture of a senior executive. Yet, whenever Sandra walked past the central lobby, Roseline would instantly stand up from her desk, smooth down her skirt, bow her head slightly, and greet her with a deep, reverent respect that bordered on awe.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rodrigo. Hope your day is going well, ma'am," Roseline would say, her voice soft, timid, and melodic. She never looked Sandra directly in the eye, always keeping her gaze lowered in a display of traditional deference to a superior woman.
Sandra began engineering small, deliberate interactions to stress-test the girl's disposition. As a senior risk manager, Sandra knew that a target's true nature was revealed in how they handled unexpected kindness or subtle pressure.
One afternoon, during a torrential downpour, Sandra stopped by the reception desk under the guise of waiting for her driver. She watched Roseline meticulously sorting through a stack of shipping waybills, her small hands moving with careful efficiency.
"You look tired, Roseline," Sandra said softly, leaning against the polished granite counter.
Roseline jumped slightly, her eyes widening in surprise before she quickly bowed her head. "Oh! Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't see you approach. I am fine, thank you. Just trying to finish these logs before the closing shift."
"Have you eaten lunch?" Sandra asked, gesturing to the empty desk.
Roseline’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. She swallowed nervously and shook her head. "Not yet, ma'am. I will eat when I get home tonight."
Sandra didn't say another word. She pulled out a crisp, high-denomination note from her designer handbag and slid it across the counter. "Go to the executive café upstairs. Buy yourself a proper meal, and keep the change."
Roseline stared at the money as if it were a rare artifact. Her lower lip trembled, and she looked up at Sandra with raw, tearful gratitude. "Ma'am... no, I cannot possibly accept this. It's too much."
"Take it, Roseline. Consider it a reward for your excellent work ethic and your consistency," Sandra insisted, her voice firm but laced with an intentional maternal warmth.
Over the next two weeks, Sandra systematically broke down the social barrier between them. She left generous tips, bought her lunches, and occasionally stopped by the desk just to ask about her life. Step by step, a desperate, heartbreaking story unfolded.
Roseline was the sole breadwinner for an impoverished family. Her father had passed away two years prior, leaving behind a sickly mother who required expensive monthly medications, and four younger siblings who were constantly on the verge of being expelled from school due to unpaid tuition. Roseline's meager receptionist salary was a drop of water in a burning desert. She was drowning in debt, working late shifts, and skipping meals just to ensure her family survived.
Sitting in her plush, private office on the tenth floor, Sandra stared down through the glass window at the tiny figure of Roseline managing the lobby below. A dark, calculated, and deeply protective logic began to crystallize in Sandra's mind.
She is desperate, she is humble, and she respects me to a fault, Sandra thought, her heart twisting into a knot of cold survivalism.
If this nightmare was inevitable, if Edward was going to have a second wife regardless of her feelings, then Sandra had to choose the weapon that would inflict the least damage on her crown. She couldn't bring an educated, ambitious, corporate woman into their lives—such a woman would try to compete with her, challenge her authority, and steal Edward’s heart.
But Roseline? Roseline was a blank canvas of poverty and gratitude. If Sandra rescued her from the crushing weight of her family’s financial ruin, bought her mother's medications, and paid for her siblings' education, Roseline would see Sandra not as a rival, but as a savior. She would be completely indebted to her.
If I bring her into my home, she will never dare to challenge my authority, Sandra reasoned bitterly, trying to convince herself of the twisted geometry of the plan. She will bear the child, hand it over to me out of sheer gratitude, stay in the background where she belongs, and leave my marriage intact.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Edward’s private number.
He answered on the second ring, his voice warm and eager. "Sandra? Is everything alright, my love?"
Sandra gripped the edge of her glass desk, staring at her own reflection in the window. "Edward. I have found her. I have found the girl."
A heavy, charged silence fell over the line, followed by a low, shaky breath from her husband. "Are you sure, Sandra? Is she the right fit?"
"She is perfect," Sandra whispered, her voice devoid of emotion, sounding like an executioner signing a warrant. "She is exactly what you asked for. I will handle the arrangements."
- Writer
