Chapter 5
1365 Words
Victor’s POV
I stood frozen in front of the window. The sound of music from the party downstairs was faint, but my heartbeat felt louder than ever.
"A child?" I repeated. Cold.
Julian did not answer. He simply bowed his head.
I turned around and stepped closer. "You said she lived alone. You said there were no men. Then where did that child come from?"
"She has never been seen with any man, sir," Julian replied in a steady voice. "The child... he is always with her. Rose works two shifts every day to pay for routine medical treatments at the hospital. His condition is unstable."
I did not reply. I walked back to the desk and sat down slowly. I stared at the glass in front of me until my own reflection appeared faint on its surface.
Seven years.
She left back then, and now she appeared again with a child whose age perfectly aligned with the time of her departure.
"Julian," I called out. My voice did not shake, but every muscle in my jaw tightened.
"Yes, sir?"
"Find every detail about that child. His medical records, where he was born, who registered his birth. I want to know everything before sunrise."
"Very well, sir. Anything else?"
"Do not let her know you are digging for that information. And ensure she does not realize we already know about the child. Understand?"
"I understand."
Julian left the room. I spun my chair around to look at the photo of Rose I had placed on the table earlier.
So this was the reason she was so stubborn tonight. She was not just afraid of losing her job or her pride. She was afraid that I would take the only thing she considered her own.
I lit a cigarette. The smoke rose, filling this cold room.
In the past, I hated her because she lied to me. I hated her because she ran away from a marriage she should have valued. But now, that hatred was mixed with a curiosity that left me restless.
Did she think she could hide my own flesh and blood?
I rose and walked toward the liquor cabinet. I poured a glass of whiskey and downed it in one pull. The harsh liquid burned my throat, but it was not enough to extinguish the rage beginning to dominate my thoughts.
If she thought she could raise that child with pocket change earned from being a waitress, she was dead wrong.
I would not let her feel like a winner. She signed that contract as my personal assistant, and now, she would realize that being my assistant meant handing her entire life over to my control. Including the secret she kept so tightly guarded.
I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray with a rough motion.
Tomorrow morning, I would see how she acted at the office. I wanted to see how long she could maintain that stoic face once I started digging into the child.
I would show no sympathy. No mercy. I just wanted her to realize she had nowhere to run, and now, she had no one left to protect.
I would shatter her composure, piece by piece, until she herself knelt before me and begged me to acknowledge the child. And when that happened, I would ensure she truly became mine. Forever.
Seven in the morning. I was already in the study. The black coffee in the ceramic cup was cold, but I had not touched it.
Julian stood before me, placing a brown folder on the desk. He did not speak, simply waiting for instructions. I opened the folder. Medical reports from the hospital treating the child.
I flipped through page after page. History of respiratory distress. Piling medical bills. I stopped at one document: the hospital registration form from when the child was first admitted.
In the 'Father's Name' column, it read 'Unknown'.
I tossed the document onto the desk.
"What floor does she work on?" I asked.
"In administration on the third floor, sir. According to the personal assistant contract she signed, she is stationed in the office next to yours."
I nodded. "Ensure she arrives on time. Do not give her a moment to breathe."
"Very well, sir."
Julian left. I rose and stood before the door of my office, which connected directly to the assistant's room. I glanced at the wall clock. Seven-fifteen.
A few minutes later, the door to the assistant's office opened.
Rose entered. She did not look toward my office. She appeared exhausted, faint dark circles under her eyes, yet she walked with her shoulders back. She placed her bag down, sat, and began opening her laptop.
I opened the door to my office. Rose gasped. She turned toward me quickly, her hands freezing on the keyboard. Her face went pale, but she pressed her lips into a thin line. She did not greet me.
"Good morning, sir," she said finally. Her voice was flat.
I walked toward her. My steps were slow, intentionally pacing so she could hear the sound of my shoes on the floor. I stopped right beside her desk.
"My schedule today?" I asked.
Rose took a tablet from her desk, her fingers trembling slightly as she swiped the screen. "Your agenda is empty until ten. After that, there is a board meeting, and at two in the afternoon, you have a meeting with the construction client."
I leaned down. I could smell the cheap soap she used. Not expensive perfume like Joana’s. A scent that was honest, though not attractive to my tastes.
"Make me some coffee," I said.
Rose looked up. She stared at me. "There is a coffee machine here, sir. You could—"
"I did not ask for an explanation. I asked for coffee."
I returned to my office without waiting for her answer. I sat in my chair, leaving the office door slightly ajar. I wanted to see what she would do.
Five minutes later, she entered carrying a cup. Her hands did not shake this time. She placed the cup on the desk carefully.
"Is there anything else you need?"
I did not answer. I stared at her for a long time on purpose. I observed every inch of her face, looking for any trace of resemblance to the child. There was none. She only looked like the Rose of the past. Stubborn and annoying.
"Sit," I commanded, gesturing to the chair in front of me.
Rose stood still for a moment. "Sir, I have work that needs to be finished."
"I do not accept arguments. Sit."
She pulled out the chair and sat stiffly. She stared at her own hands resting on the table.
"What made you think you could come back to work for me after what happened seven years ago?" I asked in a low tone.
She looked up, her eyes meeting mine directly. There was no fear there. Only disgust.
"You were the one who pushed the contract," she replied. "I had no choice."
"There is always a choice, Rose. You chose my money over your pride."
"I chose to survive," she retorted quickly.
I laughed shortly. "Survive for whom? For yourself? Or for that child?"
Rose froze. Her pale face suddenly lost all remaining color. She held her breath.
"What do you mean?" her voice was barely a whisper.
I leaned forward. I wanted to see her reaction when I pressed on her weak point.
"I found something interesting. The child's name. His condition. And the fact that you hid him from me for seven years."
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Now, I could see it clearly: she was truly terrified. And that was the most satisfying sight I had seen all morning.
- Writer
