Chapter 5
1141 Words
Victor stood motionless in front of the window of his study, his back to Mark, who stood rigidly behind him.
"A child?" Victor repeated. His voice was ice-cold.
Mark remained silent, keeping his head lowered.
Victor turned around and took a step closer. "You told me she'd been living alone all these years. You told me there was no man in her life. So where did this child come from?"
"Rose has never been seen with any man, sir," Mark replied evenly. "But the child is always with her. She works two shifts every day just to cover his ongoing medical expenses. His condition has never been stable."
Victor said nothing. He walked back to his desk and lowered himself into his chair. His gaze settled on the marble surface in front of him.
Seven years.
Without warning, Lydia's words came rushing back. Rose left because she was pregnant with her former lover's child.
The memory echoed in his head. His hands rested on the desk, slowly curling into fists until his knuckles turned white. "Mark." His voice remained steady, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.
"Yes, sir?"
"I want everything on the child. Medical records. Birth records. Where he was born. And the name of the man listed as his father. I want every piece of information on my desk before sunrise."
"Understood, sir. Anything else?"
"Don't let Rose know you're investigating this. Make sure she has no idea we know the child exists. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Victor watched Mark leave the room. Once the door closed, he turned his chair toward the city lights beyond the window. His eyes settled on the phone screen displaying the preliminary report on Rose. He picked up a lighter and lit a cigarette. Smoke drifted slowly through the cold room.
After a moment, he rose from his chair and crossed to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and emptied it in a single swallow. The burn in his throat did nothing to ease the pressure tightening in his chest. With an irritated motion, Victor crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push away the memory of Rose kneeling in front of him the night before.
It didn't work. A few seconds later, he left the room.
***
By seven o'clock the next morning, Victor was already in his office. The black coffee on his desk had long gone cold, but he hadn't touched it. Mark stood in front of the desk, setting down a brown folder. As always, his assistant waited silently.
Victor opened the file immediately and began reviewing the medical documents from St. Mary's Hospital. A history of acute breathing complications. Mounting medical bills. His hand stopped on one particular hospital form. Under Father's Name, there was only one word: Unknown.
Victor let out a cold scoff and tossed the document onto the desk. "What floor is she on?" he asked.
"Third floor administration, sir. According to the personal assistant contract she signed, her workstation has been assigned to the office next door. It connects directly to yours."
Victor nodded. "Make sure she starts on time. Keep her busy. I don't want her sitting around doing nothing."
"Yes, sir."
Victor watched Mark leave. Then he stood and walked toward the connecting door, which he had intentionally left slightly open. A glance at the clock showed 7:15.
A few minutes later, the door to the adjacent office opened. Rose stepped inside.
From where he stood, Victor noticed she never looked toward his office. She looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her posture remained straight. She set down her bag, took a seat, and opened her laptop.
Victor pushed the connecting door open.
Rose flinched. She turned sharply toward him, and he noticed her hands freeze above the keyboard. The color drained slightly from her face, but she quickly pressed her lips together and composed herself.
"Good morning, Mr. Halston," she said at last. Her voice was flat and formal.
Victor walked toward her desk. His footsteps were slow and deliberate. He stopped beside her chair. "My schedule."
No greeting. No small talk.
Rose picked up the tablet on her desk. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled through it. "Your morning is clear until ten. After that, you have a board meeting. At two o'clock, you have a meeting with a construction client."
Victor looked down at her. At this distance, he caught the faint scent of cheap soap. Nothing like the expensive perfume Joana always wore. "Make me a black coffee."
Rose looked up. "There's an automatic coffee machine in the pantry, sir. You can—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation." His voice cut through hers. "I asked for coffee."
Without waiting for a response, Victor turned and walked back into his office. He settled into his chair, leaving the connecting door slightly open so he could keep an eye on the room next door. Five minutes later, Rose entered carrying a cup of fresh coffee. Her hands no longer shook. She placed the cup carefully on his desk.
"Is there anything else you need, sir?"
Victor didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her face. Searching. Looking for any sign of guilt. Any trace of a lie. But Rose only met his gaze with the same guarded expression.
"Sit." He pointed to the chair across from him.
Rose hesitated. "Sir, I have several administrative reports that need to be finished."
"That wasn't a request." His eyes hardened. "Sit."
After a brief pause, Rose pulled out the chair and sat down stiffly. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
"What made you think you had the right to come back and work for me after what you did seven years ago?" Victor asked quietly.
Rose looked up. Her eyes met his directly. "You're the one who offered me that contract last night. I didn't have another choice."
"There's always a choice, Rose." A bitter smile touched his lips. "You just chose my money over your pride."
"I chose to survive," Rose shot back immediately. Her voice rose slightly.
Victor let out a short laugh. "Survive for yourself?" He leaned back in his chair. "Or for the child you've been hiding?"
Rose froze. Every trace of color vanished from her face. Her breathing stopped. "What... what are you talking about?" she whispered.
Victor leaned forward slowly. His expression remained unreadable. Then he slid the hospital document across the desk toward her. "Explain."
- Writer
