Her
886 Words
MARLON
I'd been staring at the same security footage for three hours, and it was driving me f*cking insane.
E.R. Marshall entering the boardroom. E.R. Marshall sitting across from me with those designer sunglasses hiding half her face. E.R. Marshall standing by the window, close enough that I could smell her perfume; expensive, sophisticated, and completely wrong. it wasn’t even enough to find out the mystery E.R Marshall is a woman but then... there was something I was missing.
Because underneath that floral b*llshit, there was something else. Something familiar that made my wolf pace like a caged animal and the way she spoke to me like she had a personal beef with me? God, that woman is tough, but I still believed there was more to her.
"Rewind it again," I told my head of security, Kairo Smith, who I'd called the moment Marshall left the building.
"Mr. Lance, we've been through this footage dozens of times. If you tell me what we're looking for ...."
"I don't know what we're looking for." I scrubbed my hands over my face, exhaustion and frustration bleeding together into something that tasted like desperation. "Something's off about her. Something that's making my skin crawl."
Smith pulled up the moment when she'd removed her sunglasses. Froze the frame on her face; sharp cheekbones, red lips, eyes that seemed to look right through the camera.
Right through me.
"She's beautiful," Smith said carefully. Successful. Rich. What exactly is the problem?"
The problem was that I'd spent two years trying to forget a face, and now I was seeing ghosts in boardrooms. The problem was that E.R. Marshall made me feel like I was drowning in my own skin, and I had no f*cking idea why.
The problem was that photograph.
Golden eyes. A baby with golden eyes that looked exactly like mine when I was that age, according to every family portrait hanging in my father's study.
"Run facial recognition," I said quietly.
"Sir?"
"On E.R Marshall. Run her face through every database we have access to. Social media, corporate headshots, university records, everything."
Smith's fingers moved across his tablet with practiced efficiency. "This might take a while. The software has to compensate for makeup, lighting, potential cosmetic surgery..."
"I don't care how long it takes."
While Smith worked, I paced to the window overlooking the city. Fifty floors up, Manhattan looked manageable. Controllable. Like something I could reach out and grab if I wanted it badly enough.
But E.R. Marshall had stood in this exact spot six hours ago, and I'd felt like the city was slipping through my fingers.
My phone buzzed. Victoria.
'Darling, how did your meeting go? I heard you were entertaining a very mysterious investor today.'
Heard from who? I hadn't told anyone except Kairo about Marshall's visit.
I typed back: Fine. Just business.
'Just business? That's not what I heard. Word is, the famous E.R Marshall made quite an impression."
Word from where? From who? Victoria moved in the same social circles I did, but Marshall Ventures was new money. Venture capital. Not exactly Victoria's scene of art galleries and charity galas.
Another message came through before I could respond: 'I think we should have dinner tonight. There are some things we need to discuss.'
Things. What kind of things required discussion that couldn't wait until our scheduled dinner tomorrow?
"Mr. Lance?" Kairo's voice cut through my paranoia. "You need to see this."
I turned back to find him staring at his screen with an expression I couldn't read. Not confusion, exactly. Something closer to recognition.
"What did you find?"
"That's... that's the problem. I didn't find anything."
"What do you mean, nothing?" I arched my brows.
Kairo pulled up a series of search results; all empty. "E.R. Marshall didn't exist before eighteen months ago. No college records, no previous employment, no social media presence that goes back more than a year and a half."
My chest tightened. "People don't just appear out of nowhere."
"No, they don't. But Aunika Duvall did.”
The name hit me like a physical blow. Aunika. Aunika Duvall, my former secretary, who'd disappeared the night of the gala two years ago. Aunika with her soft voice and nervous energy and eyes that seemed to see right through me.
Aunika, who I'd rejected in front of a room full of investors because I'd been a coward and a fool and too concerned with what other people would think.
"Show me," I said quietly.
Kairo pulled up a second screen, and there she was. Aunika Duvall, employee ID photo from two years ago. Hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, minimal makeup, wearing one of those conservative blouses she'd favored.
And then he overlaid it with the security footage from today.
The bone structure was the same. The eyes, when you stripped away the designer makeup and expensive styling. The way she held her left shoulder slightly higher than her right when she was nervous. i gasped, unable to believe what i was seeing.
E.R. Marshall was Aunika Duvall?
My Aunika?
The woman I'd destroyed had spent the last few years building an empire, and now she was sitting across from me in designer suits demanding controlling interest in my company.
"Jesus Christ," I breathed.
"There's more," Kairo spoke gently.
- Writer
