CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
555 Words
Chapter Forty-Seven
midday, the black car was still there. Parked just far enough down the street to look ordinary, yet positioned perfectly to keep the mansion in view.
Briella watched from her office window, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She told herself not to jump to conclusions, but her instincts refused to quiet.
Marcellus entered without knocking, his presence commanding the space instantly. He followed her gaze and caught sight of the vehicle.
“Still there,” he muttered. His voice carried no surprise, only confirmation.
Briella turned to him. “Whoever it is, they want us to notice. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be so obvious.”
“Or they’re arrogant,” Marcellus countered, stepping closer. “Arrogant enough to think we can’t touch them.”
Briella studied his face. The sharp line of his jaw. The restrained fury in his eyes. “Do you think it’s Grace?” she asked finally, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
He hesitated. That alone was enough of an answer.
Before either of them could speak further, Clara slipped into the room, clutching a folder. “Ms. Tristan, the board documents you requested. Also…” she lowered her voice, “…Annabel sent me to tell you the car hasn’t moved for hours.”
Briella dismissed her with a nod, then turned back to Marcellus. “We can’t just sit here and pretend it isn’t happening. If it is Grace—if she’s behind this—we need to know why. And who she’s working for.”
Marcellus’s hand brushed hers, grounding her. “We’ll get answers, Brielle. But we move carefully. If she’s bold enough to show her face again, she wants us rattled. We won’t give her the satisfaction.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded.
That evening, instead of retreating into silence, Marcellus suggested something unexpected.
“Come downstairs,” he said as she gathered her papers. “I’m making dinner.”
Briella raised a brow. “You? Cooking?”
A faint smirk curved his lips. “Don’t look so doubtful. You’ll help.”
In the kitchen, the tension of the day melted into something lighter. He handed her a knife and guided her hands over the cutting board, teasing her for being too precise with the vegetables. She flicked water at him in mock annoyance, earning a rare laugh that rumbled deep in his chest.
For the first time in hours, Briella felt her shoulders loosen. The danger still lingered outside, but here—in this quiet space filled with warmth and laughter—it felt far away.
Later, when the meal was simmering, Marcellus leaned casually against the counter, watching her stir the pot. “You’re better at this than you let on,” he said.
She shot him a sideways glance. “You just like bossing me around in the kitchen.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, eyes gleaming.
Their banter was cut short when Annabel reappeared in the doorway, her expression sober. “The car’s gone. Drove off about ten minutes ago. But…” She exchanged a glance with Marcellus before finishing. “…something tells me it’ll be back.”
Briella gripped the wooden spoon tightly, her knuckles whitening.
Yes, it would.
And next time, she intended to be ready.
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✨ End of Chapter Forty-Seven
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