WANT ME BACK. BREAK ME TWICE

A Discrepancy

The heavy silence of the empty corporate office was suffocating. It was past eight in the evening, and the rest of the executive floor had long since gone dark. In his private office, Rohan sat behind his massive desk under a single stark lamp, buried in a mountain of old paper bank ledgers and financial auditing folders from four years ago.

Lord Sterling’s legal team was ruthless. Before they would authorize the final signatures on the eight-hundred-million-dollar merger, they demanded a complete manual review of every old foundation account linked to the Margualie name.

Rohan worked mechanically, his mind numb, his scarred, scabbed knuckles throbbing with a dull ache. He didn't want to think about his empty house. He didn't want to think about Elara’s cold face under the hospital sheet. He just wanted to lose himself in the numbers.

Then, his eyes locked onto the old transaction file from the fourteen-million-dollar embezzlement case.

The crime that had ruined everything. The theft that had made him turn his back on Elara, transforming her from a woman he was learning to care for into a common, deceitful servant in his mansion. Back then, the internal security team had simply shown him a digital printout with Elara's employee access code stamped on the transfer, and his blinding fury had done the rest. He had never looked at the raw banking trail himself.

Rohan turned the page of the deep-level audit archive, tracing the path of where the stolen money had actually landed before the account was closed.

His pen stopped mid-air. His obsidian eyes narrowed.

The stolen fourteen million dollars hadn't gone into an account bearing Elara Vale's name. The final destination of the funds was a private offshore account registered to a name he had never seen in his life.

`[BENEFICIARY HOLDER: L. TRINIDAD]`

Rohan stared at the faded ink on the paper. Trinidad.

He racked his brain, his chest tightening as a cold, calculating adrenaline began to pump through his veins. Who the hell was Trinidad? Elara had no family left. She had no known associates outside the mansion.

Rohan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle violently leaped at his temple. His mind began to race down a dark, dangerous path. She didn't act alone, he thought, his heart slamming against his ribs. This Trinidad person was her partner. Elara didn't just steal from me—she hid the money with an accomplice, took the fall, and played the silent martyr for three years while her partner kept the cash.

The realization that there was a ghost in the system, a hidden player he had completely missed, sent a volatile fury rushing through his blood. He slammed the ledger shut, the heavy sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty office. He grabbed his coat, his eyes dark with a lethal, unhinged focus. He needed to find out who Trinidad was, and he was going to tear the city apart to get the answer.

An hour later, the front doors of the upper valley mansion were thrown open with a violent force that rattled the glass chandeliers.

Rohan stepped into the grand foyer. He looked entirely demonic. His tie was loosened, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were completely bloodshot, wild with an intense, racing madness. The scars across his knuckles looked stark and brutal under the foyer lights. He didn't look like a billionaire; he looked like a man possessed.

Treas and Marina were sitting in the adjacent parlor, whispering over teacups. At the sound of his explosive entry, Treas flinched, her hand flying to her six-month pregnant stomach as she hurriedly stood up.

"Rohan?" Treas breathed, stepping into the foyer, her face twisting into a mask of sudden, anxious worry. "Darling, what's wrong? You look... you look terrifying."

Marina followed close behind, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed Rohan’s erratic, heavy breathing and the sheer tension radiating from his massive frame. "Rohan, did something happen with the Sterling merger? Did the compliance deeds fail?"

Rohan stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned his head to look at them, his obsidian eyes completely hollow, staring right through them as if they were ghosts. His mind was spinning a mile a minute, entirely consumed by the name Trinidad, trying to connect the dots to a dead maid.

"The merger is fine," Rohan rasped, his voice a gravelly, dangerous whisper.

Treas reached out, her trembling fingers trying to touch his arm. "Then what is it? Why are you looking at us like that? You're sweating, Rohan. Please, talk to me. The stress isn't good for the baby..."

"Stay away from me, Treas," Rohan commanded coldly, taking a definitive step back, completely isolating himself from her touch. He didn't yell, but the sheer iciness in his tone made the breath evaporate from her lungs.

Marina stepped forward, trying to maintain her authoritative composure. "Rohan, you cannot come into this house and treat your pregnant wife with such hostility. If there is a problem, state it."

Rohan’s gaze snapped to Marina. For a split second, a terrifying, predatory instinct flared in his eyes—an instinct that made Marina’s maternal instincts scream in sudden danger, though she didn't understand why.

"I have work to do," Rohan said flatly, his voice dropping into a dead, level register. "Do not disturb me tonight. Either of you."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched up the grand staircase, his heavy boots slamming against the wood like thunder. He stormed into his private study, slamming the heavy oak door shut behind him, and the sharp, echoing click of the lock turning signaled his absolute isolation.

Down in the foyer, Treas and Marina stood frozen, staring up at the dark staircase.

"Mother..." Treas whispered, her voice trembling violently as she clutched her womb, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. "What did he find? Why is he acting like he wants to kill someone? Do you think... do you think he fixed the server?"

Marina swallowed hard, her elegant composure fracturing for the first time as she stared at the locked study door upstairs. "No. The server hardware was melted. It's impossible. But he discovered something tonight, Treas. Something that has completely unhinged his mind."

Upstairs in the dark study, Rohan didn't turn on the lights. He paced the floor like a caged predator, his chest heaving with ragged, suffocating breaths. He pulled out his phone, his scarred fingers aggressively typing a message to his private investigator.

`[FIND EVERYTHING YOU CAN ON A NAME: L. TRINIDAD. REGISTERED OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS FOUR YEARS AGO. CONNECT IT TO ELARA VALE. I WANT AN ADDRESS BY MORNING.]`

He threw the phone onto the desk and leaned his head against the cold glass of the window, staring out into the pitch-black valley. His mind was a burning labyrinth of questions. Who was Trinidad? Where was the money?

He thought he was hunting the truth about Elara's thievery. He had no idea that the name Trinidad was the maiden name of the woman standing right downstairs in his parlor—and that the web of lies was about to collapse right onto his head.