CHAPTER-2
1994 Words
“The first two quarterly sales of Premium Mall in both Australia and the Philippines are performing exceptionally well,” Director Johnson reports, standing at the rostrum beside the board monitor positioned at the far end of the room. His tone carries unmistakable pride, his expression one of satisfaction.
The BOD Function Room mirrors the kind of setting one often sees in movies—a grand, circular table occupied by individuals of authority. These are the Board of Directors, each representing a key department within my company. At the very center of the table sits a meticulously crafted geographic miniature of Australia, a testament to our empire’s reach. At its heart stands the crown jewel—my company, an undeniable force within the country’s economic landscape.
“I can see that. And?” I respond with a faint smile, my voice laced with quiet amusement.
The air in the room brims with subdued excitement. Every individual present mirrors my reaction—pleased with the report, relieved by the success. But beneath their carefully controlled expressions, I recognize the truth. They are cautious. Always cautious.
None of them have ever seen me smile before. And they have certainly never seen me angry.
They don’t want to.
I have no doubt that Zoren has warned them.
Zoren—my personal assistant and security detail. After all, my parents have already sent Jims, my former bodyguard, back to London.
“The neighborhood surrounding the Premium Shopping Mall has reached full capacity. I believe continued advertising won’t be necessary to sustain our growth in that area,” Director Johnson adds, concluding his report. With that, the final discussion of the day comes to a close.
Two hours have passed, and the weight of the meeting begins to settle into my muscles.
“That settles it then. That’s all for today,” I announce, my tone light. At once, the directors gather their documents, exchanging murmurs of approval as they make their way out of the conference room.
Exhaling slowly, I remain seated for a brief moment before following suit. A leader must always wear a mask of composure, I remind myself. To ensure productivity, to maintain respect, I have to cultivate an environment that thrives on efficiency rather than intimidation.
That, after all, is what a good CEO does.
The moment I step into the hall, Paige is already there, waiting with a cup of cappuccino in hand. She has anticipated my needs without being told.
Efficient. Reliable.
It is hard to tell if she does it to impress me or if this is simply how she operates. Either way, I am fortunate—I never have to waste words giving orders.
Instead, I can afford the luxury of silence.
Sipping my coffee, I make my way back to my office. Every employee I pass along the way greets me with a respectful bow—not just as their CEO but as the heir to a legacy that spans generations.
The empire my family has built has flourished for decades. What once was a modest enterprise offering a single service has transformed into the largest conglomerate in the Asia-Pacific region. The Beaurlington Group now stands at the forefront of multiple industries—retail, real estate, banking, telecommunications, energy, electronics, information technology, automotive, healthcare, and business process outsourcing.
A titan among corporations.
Which is why, if anyone ever uncovered the truth about my past, I know exactly how they would react.
Shock. Disbelief. Scandal.
But I have been careful. The name I used during those years was different—a ghost, detached from the man I have become. If my real identity had ever been exposed, my world would have crumbled.
Fortunately, biographers can be brilliant yet still naive. None have managed to unearth that chapter of my life—a chapter I have never fully regretted. Because it was in that life that I met Saphire.
The woman I loved.
As I near my office, my thoughts drift to old friends. Sophia and Rex have a child now—a three-year-old. They still live in the Philippines.
I miss them.
I miss home.
Here in Australia, my daughter, Ceena Pervivian, lives with Eurika. I didn’t choose her name—her mother did. And though I never wanted her birth, though anger and resentment still linger toward her mother, I could never bring myself to hate my daughter.
She is innocent in all of this.
She didn’t ask to be born. She didn’t choose to be part of the mistakes her mother and I made. And so, despite everything, despite my carefully built walls, I am trying to be a good father to her.
She is a bright, affectionate child—always running to greet me whenever I visit. But I don’t live with them. I can’t.
Instead, I reside in one of our hotel branches, managed by Da. He understands everything—which is why he has never forced me to stay under the same roof as Eurika.
My parents, however, have never stopped asking me the same question.
“Have you found Saphire? Have you found your son?”
Even knowing about Ceena, they have never truly accepted her. They offer her no affection, no warmth. Not even the smallest kindness.
And I can never bring myself to blame them for it.
They have always wanted Saphire for me. And because of that, they despise Eurika.
They remember. They witnessed everything.
They know what happened the day Saphire confronted us—know the betrayal that unfolded in front of the world.
To them, Eurika is the villain.
And so, I understand why they are desperate.
Why they long for the day I find her.
Why they aren’t just waiting—they are aching to see Saphire again.
And most of all, to meet my son.
They once hire special agents to track her down, but I put a stop to it. The mistake is mine to begin with—so it has to be me who fixes the mess I created.
It even crosses my mind to go directly to Mr. Luther Ravens, to plead with him, beg if necessary, for the whereabouts of my son and Saphire. But Mom and Da immediately dismiss the idea. They warn me that the moment her father discovers I am a Beaurlington, he will only make sure she and my son are kept even farther from my reach. And so, I take matters into my own hands to find them.
Just as I reach my office door, my phone suddenly rings. I halt, and so does Paige. Slipping my hand into the inner pocket of my coat, I retrieve my phone. The moment I see the name flashing on the screen, my pulse quickens. My fingers tremble slightly as I answer, barely containing the surge of emotions rushing through me—excitement, apprehension, and a quiet, gnawing fear.
I unlock my phone and press it to my ear.
"Halter, what’s the news?"
My voice betrays my anticipation, cracking slightly as I step into my office, ensuring privacy. No one among my staff knows about my children. They have no idea. And I intend to keep it that way—especially regarding my daughter with Eurika. Not because I am ashamed of her, but because I want to avoid my parents’ anger and disappointment.
With my status, if the media gets hold of this information, it will be all over the country. A published article, interviews, rumors—it will never end. My daughter is still young. I don’t want her followed by the press at every turn, her every move scrutinized. Yellow journalism, that’s what I call it—journalists who have nothing better to do than invade people’s privacy.
"Sir…" Halter’s voice is cautious, hesitant. Just from that single word, I already know—I am not going to like what he has to say. My excitement dulls, replaced by something heavier.
"Go on," I say, bracing myself, bitterness seeping into my tone.
"Sir, the CCTV footage from Australia International Airport spots Ms. Saphire Ravens departing with a young boy in a blue coat. I presume he is your son. However, the footage was recorded over two years ago. When I check the departure records, I can’t find her name."
She changed her name.
Why?
Why doesn’t she want me to find her?
Even if she doesn’t want to see me, I still search for her. I have waited this long—I am not about to give up now. That is never an option.
I take a deep breath. "How about the boy’s name?" My voice holds a desperation I can’t hide.
If I am lucky, maybe—just maybe—she has given him my last name. But a part of me doubts it. And that doubt comes crashing down like a lightning bolt straight to my gut.
Are you nuts? Or just being naïve?
Of course, she wouldn’t have done that. Not after everything that happened.
"How about the young boy? What’s his name?" I repeat, this time more urgently.
"I don’t know either, sir. He’s not using the Ravens or Beaurlington surname."
There it is. The final confirmation. She hasn’t allowed him to bear my name. She is still furious with me.
"You said you have the list of all departing passengers during that time," I prompt, grasping at any remaining thread of hope. It is my only lead.
"Yes, sir. I do," he confirms, as if already anticipating my next command.
"Get all the names of those who departed during that very moment. Track them. I’m sure we’ll find her soon."
I will find them. And when I do, I won’t waste a second.
"As you wish, sir." There is a hint of satisfaction in his voice. He knows I am pleased with his report. If he manages to locate them before Christmas, I will triple his midyear bonus—his holiday bonus too.
"Okay. Call me immediately when you find them. Bye." I end the call with a deep sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. It hurts—knowing my own son isn’t carrying my name. And yet, beneath that pain, there is something else.
Hope.
Closing time arrives. I gather my things, shut down my computer, and leave the office. The maintenance team can handle turning off the air conditioning. Picking up my phone from the edge of my white glass desk, I step out.
As always, employees bow in respect as I pass them in the hallway. Sometimes, if I am in a good mood, I acknowledge them with a small nod. Other times, I simply walk past, indifferent.
When I reach the elevator, a small group of employees has started to gather, waiting for the next available one. I have no patience for waiting, so I step into the elevator on the far right, ensuring an uninterrupted descent to the ground floor.
The doors slide shut, enclosing me in silence.
And in that silence, all the thoughts I push back begin to resurface.
Of all of them, one burns the deepest—
My son isn’t carrying my name.
No matter how much I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, that maybe Saphire has done it because I wasn’t there when he was born… it still stings.
The control freak in me can’t stand it.
It isn’t just about pride—it’s deeper than that. It feels like a piece of me has been erased, like I have no claim to my own flesh and blood. And it hurts.
It hurts so much I want to disappear into nothingness.
I will myself to think of something else, something brighter. But the pain of knowing my son doesn’t bear my name slowly grinds my heart into dust.
And with that pain comes a renewed determination.
I will find them.
No matter what it takes.
God, help me.
- Writer
