CHAPTER TWO: Undertow
1078 Words
Alexander lounge against pillows, scrolling his phone with a scowl. Three texts about the Ferrari’s delivery. One from a jeweller gushing over the emerald necklace. He had won. Obviously.
So why the filthy mood
It was her. Madison. The cleaner. Her soft voice stuck in his head like a bad song.
The currents are wrong
He flung his phone onto the duvet.
“The currents are wrong. Excuse me, Professor Mop Bucket, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a river genius”
The words echoed, but they didn’t erase hers.
His gaze locked on the abstract painting across the room. A chaotic splash of colours he had bought simply because it was the most expensive piece in the gallery. What would she say about it ? The blue was emotionally dishonest. The gall of her. Talking to him like he was some i***t tourist. Him. Alexander Fayne.
The bedroom door opened. Karen glided in, ivory silk pyjamas flowing, a silver tray balanced in her hands.
“Morning, sweetie,” she chirped. “Ricardo made your juice extra spicy. For vitality”
She set the tray on his lap, perched on the bed, and admired her manicure.
Alexander sipped, grimaced.
“It’s bitter. Tell Ricardo he’s fired”
Karen smiled.
“You always say that. So, Claiborne’s party is a black tie. Tom Ford for you. I’ll wear the La Perla with feathers”
Alexander cut her off.
“Do you think I’m an i***t”
Karen blinked.
“About fashion Sometimes. You have a tragic affinity for that burgundy tie”
“No. About art. About deeper meanings. Subtext”
She tilted her head, patient.
“Darling, you have exquisite taste. You own more art than some museums. Who would think you’re an i***t”
“This nobody,” he snapped. “This cleaning woman at the auction. She critiqued the LeClair painting. Said the currents were wrong. Like she’s some savant who mopped her way to a PhD”
Karen’s eyes flickered.
“A cleaner. And you’re letting her live in your head rent free. How quaint. Ignore her”
“I can’t ignore her,” he growled. “She corrected me. In my space. With her sad little bucket. I pay people not to do that”
“Then have her fired”
Alexander went still. His petulance sharpened into something colder.
“Fired No. That’s too easy”
A slow smile spread.
“I want to know who she is. Everything. What gives a person with nothing the right to talk to me like I have nothing”
He snatched his phone, dialed Marcus.
“Marcus. The cleaner from last night. Madison. I want a dossier. I don’t care what it costs. Social security, report cards, grocery lists. If she has a goldfish, I want its name. Find her”
Marcus hesitated.
“Sir, is this a priority? We have the Singapore merger”
“The merger is boring,” Alexander barked. “This is interesting. She’s a puzzle I didn’t buy, and I want to solve her. Do it”
He hung up.
Karen tilted her head, mocking.
“You’re being dramatic about a janitor”
“She’s not a janitor,” Alexander muttered, staring at the skyline. “She’s a typo in my perfect world. And I hate typos”
Marcus sat in his office, a fortress of glass and steel. His desk immaculate, screens glowing with streams of data. He had built his career on precision, on knowing what Alexander wanted before Alexander himself knew.
But tonight, the request was different.
A cleaner. Madison.
Marcus leaned back, rubbing his temple. He had handled mergers worth billions, silenced scandals, orchestrated security operations that rivaled governments. And now, his employer wanted a dossier on a woman with a mop.
He replayed Alexander’s voice. She’s a puzzle I didn’t buy, and I want to solve her
Marcus knew Alexander’s obsessions. Dangerous. Consuming. Leaving collateral damage. If Alexander wanted Madison found, she would be found. But Marcus also knew the cost of digging too deep. Sometimes, the dirt you unearthed wasn’t ordinary.
He tapped commands. Databases opened. Employment records. Tax filings. Utility bills.
Madison Cole.
Her name surfaced in faint traces. A cleaning contract at the Vendôme Gallery. A small apartment on the city’s edge. Sparse, almost deliberate.
Most people left trails—credit cards, subscriptions, social media noise. Madison’s life was silent. Too silent.
Who erases themselves this completely
Employment gaps. Months missing. No travel records. Medical files sealed. Criminal databases spotless. Too spotless.
Marcus exhaled. Alexander wanted a dossier. Marcus would deliver. But something about Madison unsettled him. She wasn’t just a cleaner. She was a shadow. And shadows hid things you didn’t want to find.
He typed a final note. Subject requires deeper investigation. Possible anomalies. Proceed with caution
In her apartment, Madison stood perfectly still in the dark living room.
The confrontation at the auction had unlocked something. A door she kept welded shut rattled in its frame. The ghosts were whispering.
A flash. Brutal. Silent.
A dark room. The smell of industrial cleaner and something metallic, sharp with fear. A choked sound. The weight of something cold in her hand. A shape blotting out the light. Impact. Shock travelling up her arm. Silence more terrifying than sound.
She gasped, hand flying to her chest. The present rushed back. The hum of the fridge, distant sirens, worn carpet under her feet.
She didn’t move toward the locked drawer. She didn’t need to touch the hidden object to feel its imprint. The memory was the trap. The feeling was the prison. It was why she saw falsehood in a painted river, the flaw in a jade mask. She had learned that surfaces were lies. Beneath everything beautiful or calm, there was a darker truth.
To Madison, Alexander Fayne was already fading into yesterday’s strange encounter. He belonged to that other world of glittering surfaces.
She had survived by staying beneath notice, in the spaces people like him never looked.
She was a ghost. Ghosts are forgotten.
Or so she believed.
Across the city, Marcus’s search window flickered with a new alert. A sealed file cracked open, spilling fragments of a past that should have stayed buried. Names. Dates. A shadow of violence.
Marcus leaned closer, pulse tightening. Madison Cole was not just a cleaner. She was something else. Something dangerous.
And Alexander Fayne had already set the hunt in motion.
- Writer
