Getting Worse
1482 Words
Days later...
Phoebe's phone rang just as she took her seat at the dining table. Her father's ID appeared on the screen, and she answered right away.
"Good morning, Dad."
"Phoebe, dear," his voice was tight. "Things are getting worse."
She glanced around. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"They're threatening to release everything that'll make it worse. Things that will make me look guilty even to the ones still on my side.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Okay, Dad. Listen to me.”
"You need to talk to Mr Ross. That is why you married him, isn't it? He can make this stop."
"I know." She pressed her free hand flat on the table. "I will talk to him. I promise."
"Soon, Phoebe. Soon. Please."
"I know. I will handle it." She waited a moment, making sure his breathing calmed a little, then ended the call.
She sat staring into space while so many thoughts ran through her mind. Just then, the television caught her attention.
“…and in today’s business spotlight, Lane Holdings’ CEO Ethan Lane celebrates the newest partnership with Yates Corporation. Seen shaking hands with executives, Lane’s success continues to rise...” The news anchor reported.
Phoebe looked at the television. Behind the reporter, through the glass, a press conference was visible. Ethan Lane was at the podium, smiling. That smile she had known for four years.
The text at the bottom of the screen read: Lane Holdings secures landmark deal with Yates Corporation.
Phoebe did not move.
The truth was that she had written that proposal eighteen months ago. She still remembered the late nights, the cold coffee she sipped at 2 a.m. so he wouldn't stutter at the boardroom table. The sharp headache from staring too much at her screen. The cheap takeouts. Her fingers typing away furiously. That proposal, it was her plan.
Even after that night, she had gone to him one last time. Not to confront him. She had gone to give him the proposal she had already written and to tell him she was leaving for her studies. Her last act of love for a man who had already chosen someone else. He had taken it without questions. He had never once called to ask how she was getting on.
She watched him talk. His charm worked best when cameras and eyes were on him. He was taking the credit. Her credit. Again.
Her jaw tightened just enough for her to feel it.
Then she heard his voice in her head, clear as the day he said it. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Phoebe. I don't know where I'll be without you."
She used to believe that. How foolish.
Another flashback. Scarlett's mocking voice echoed. "When are you going to marry me, Ethan?"
She still remembered his response, low and cruel. "Soon. I just need to land this deal with the Yates Corporation. Then I'll get rid of her."
As if a gate was opened, the memories came rushing in.
She had told herself enough times that she had made peace with what he took. She had believed it, mostly. But seeing him on the screen, she felt something else rise inside of her.
She looked away when she heard footsteps on the staircase.
Damon walked into the dining room and sat in his usual seat.
"Good morning,” she forced her voice to sound casual.
“Morning,” he replied, his gaze studying her face.
"Coffee, sir?” The butler asked, pulling his attention back.
“Yes.” Damon nodded.
She watched him. She had rehearsed what she needed to say to him after her call with her father. "
Damon, about my—"
His phone rang, interrupting her.
He answered, listened for a few seconds, and after the call ended, he slid his card across the table.
"Get whatever you want with it," he said.
She opened her mouth again. Everything she had wanted to say dissolved quietly.
"Thank you," she said instead.
"Mhmm. I'm heading for work," he said, standing up. "Call me if you need anything else."
And then he was gone.
Phoebe sat there, staring at the card beside her cup. Then she looked back at the TV. Ethan was still smiling at the podium.
She picked up the card.
...
By mid-morning, the house had quieted down. Phoebe returned to her room and sat on the bed. She reached for her phone and scrolled to a number. After a few seconds of deliberation, she dialled the number and pressed the phone to her ear.
"It’s me,” she said when it connected. She paused, listening to the person speak. “Yes, I saw it this morning.”
Another pause.
“I know. That’s why I’m calling.”
She stood and opened her wardrobe.
“No, not yet. But soon.”
She pulled out an outfit. “Set it up like we discussed. I want everything ready.”
She stood in front of the mirror. "I will be there in an hour. See you."
She ended the call. Then she applied a little makeup, slid the outfit on, and grabbed her bag.
Downstairs, one of the maids was cleaning the table. Phoebe stopped beside her.
"I am heading out," she said.
"Alright, madam." The maid said.
Outside, one of the estate drivers was near the gate and straightened when he saw her approaching.
"Madam, let me get the car ready. I'll take you."
"I am fine. Thank you."
"Mr Ross prefers—"
"It's not necessary." She gave him a polite smile and walked past him without looking back.
...
When Phoebe arrived to meet her father, her eyes welled up, and she blinked back the tears. Her father looked smaller than she remembered.
Not only had he lost a great amount of weight. His eyes had that fear. Something he was trying hard to hide but failing at.
They sat down and talked. He showed her all the threatening messages he had received and the videos sent to blackmail him. She read the message and re-read it. It was specific. Whoever sent it had access to her father's bank records, transaction dates and names of colleagues. He handed the phone back to her father so he wouldn't see that her hand was shaking.
They talked through it, what it meant and the next steps they would take and what could happen next.
Afterwards, her father asked about her well-being, and she smiled through it all, reassuring him over and over again that she was fine.
As she stood to go, he reached out and held her hand for a moment.
"I keep thinking," he started, "what if no one believes me, dear? What if it is already too late?"
She looked at him."It's not too late, Dad." She squeezed his hand softly. "And I believe you."
He nodded and gave her a small smile and hugged her.
...
When she arrived at Glacier Residence, she pushed open the front door and stepped inside. The sitting room was dark, so she reached along the wall for a switch and could not find one. She stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
"Where are you coming back from by this time?"
She screamed.
The lights came on.
Damon was sitting in a chair across the room, a glass in his hand, watching her.
She pressed a hand to her chest. "You scared me."
"I apologise," he said.
She exhaled slowly. "I went to see my father."
He held her gaze. "And your phone?"
"It died. I forgot to charge it before I left."
"Mhmm."
He looked like he wanted to say more, but she didn’t have the energy for it. She gave him a small nod.
"Goodnight," she said, already headed for the stairs.
...
Damon waited until her footsteps faded completely. Then he set his glass down and picked up his phone. It connected on the first ring.
"She's back," he said and ended the call immediately after.
He leaned back in his chair.
Truth was that he had sent two people to follow her after the driver reported that she didn't leave with his car. But they had lost track of her after she took a cab, and not a single resource he had deployed could locate her.
Same as it had always been. Eighteen months ago, after he met her, he had turned the city upside down, looking for her, but had never been able to find her until her father came to him.
She was the only person he had never been able to find, no matter how much he tried. He glanced at the dark staircase.
"Why can't I find you whenever you're out of my sight, Phoebe?" He muttered as he picked up his glass, pondering over it.
- Writer
