Sinking With You

Accident

"How dare you threaten me? Do you have any idea what I’m capable of?” Clara demanded, rising to her feet.

“It wasn’t a threat. Derrick and Daniel deserve to know the truth,” Sandra countered, summoning her courage.

Aria was unfamiliar with Clara's personality since she rarely appeared in the media, but the anger—and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on—in Clara's eyes was unmistakable.

“You're starting to grow wings, and it's time to clip those wings,” Andre interjected, from his seat.

“Know your place, woman. Don't bite more than you can chew,” Stephen warned.

Aria sensed the heat in the atmosphere; Rebecca and Heather appeared lost, but Aria understood that whatever secret they were talking about was significant—one that Clara would go to great lengths to conceal.

“I see,” Clara said, nodding slightly. “Don’t worry; I’ll ensure that the secret remains under wraps,” she added, a sinister smile creeping across her face.

“Whatever. Just show a little respect to Derrick, or I'll be forced to let everyone know the monster that you are ” Sandra shot back before storming out.

Aria observed her exit, recognizing the innocence etched across Sandra's face; she knew she was no match for Clara. However, Derrick would protect his mother at all costs. No one would dare harm her with him around.

“It's okay, mom. The maids are watching,” Andre reminded.

Clara locked eyes with Aria. And Aria understood immediately that she now had a secret to keep, she had to keep the discussion she just heard a secret.

“Leave, now,” Clara commanded, and Aria and the other maid hurried out…

***

“How’s business?” Donald, Derrick’s best friend, asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“Everything is on track. I’ve had some distractions lately, but it’s all good,” Derrick replied, his focus on his laptop.

“Distractions? You mean your father’s company?” Donald inquired, and Derrick nodded. “I think your father has a point; merging could provide you with a significant advantage in the company,” he continued.

“I have zero interest in my father’s company. I don't want to deal with my brothers' and stepmother’s drama,” Derrick stated, still typing.

“Think about it. Besides taking control of the company, it would address the swirling rumors,” Donald insisted.

Derrick shot him a deadly glare. “What rumors?”

“I’m just saying,” Donald replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t care about the rumors. They can say whatever they like. I’m focused on the business I built with my own effort—not one handed to me by my father,” Derrick asserted.

“But I’m curious,” Donald said, a mix of caution and curiosity on his face.

“Curious about what?” Derrick asked, not sparing him a look.

“The rumors,” Donald began, his voice laced with unease, causing Derrick to pause his rapid typing. Donald continued, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Are they really true? Those girls discovered in your company and even in your room—did you actually do it?”

Derrick’s lips curled into a sinister smirk as he resumed typing on his laptop, the soft clatter of keys filling the air. “Welcome to my world,” he shot back nonchalantly as if the weight of Donald’s words barely affected him.

“Your world? Are you admitting guilt?” Donald pressed, the uneasiness in his stomach twisting further.

Derrick’s demeanor shifted in an instant, the playful facade vanishing as a serious one settled over his face. “It’s my business, Donald. Best to stay out of it,” he warned, his voice low.

There was a brief silence like a thick fog. Donald had known Derrick since grade school and witnessed his violent temper firsthand. The violent impulses Derrick had displayed over the years made the thought of his friend's potential guilt both chilling and all too possible. Still, feeling a sense of loyalty, urged him to want to give Derrick the benefit of the doubt.

“But I care about you as a friend, and I…” Donald attempted to argue, but his words were abruptly cut off by the insistent buzz of Derrick's phone, vibrating fiercely against the table.

“Who is this?” Derrick inquired as he answered his phone.

“Hello, sir. Is this Mr. Derrick Wilson?” a man's voice responded on the other end.

“Yes,” Derrick confirmed.

“Do you know anyone by the name Sandra Bells?” the man asked.

Derrick felt his heart race as he sprang from his chair. His friend Donald, observing his sudden shift, whispered, “Who is it?”

“Yes, that’s my mother,” Derrick replied, his throat feeling tight.

The man on the phone paused briefly before letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, but there was a fire accident earlier, and your mother didn't survive,” he explained, the weight of his words palpable.

“Where is she?” Derrick asked, struggling to maintain his composure.

“She’s at St. Patrick’s Hospital,” the man replied. “But you can…,” he began to say.

Without waiting for the man to finish, Derrick ended the call and quickly left, with Donald right behind him.

After an hour, Derrick and Donald arrived at St. Patrick’s Hospital. They headed directly to the doctor’s office, not needing to identify themselves; everyone was aware of the purpose of Derrick’s visit.

“Third floor, ward 27,” a doctor directed, as Derrick walked past, his expression focused and determined.

As he ascended to the third floor, people naturally parted to allow him through. He sensed the mix of fear and respect in their gazes but remained unbothered.

Upon entering the ward, he saw his mother on a stretcher, her body severely burned and almost unrecognizable.

He approached her still form, gently turning her face to the side, searching for something familiar.

“How did this happen?” he asked, his eyes fixed on his mother's lifeless body.

“Her car exploded, and she got trapped inside,” the doctor replied.

There was a brief silence as Derrick continued examining his mother's body, squinting his eyes to find something. After a few minutes of assessing her body, he found what he was looking for, a familiar mark on the back of her neck.

“This was no accident,” he declared, firmly.