CHAPTER 16
1473 Words
A loud banging on my door jolted me awake.
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
It felt like the pounding was happening inside my skull rather than outside my door. My head throbbed, a dull, agonizing pain spreading across my temples—probably from the ungodly amount of alcohol I consumed last night.
Groaning, I buried my face into the pillow, trying to block out the sound.
Knock! Knock! KNOCK!
"Fabian!"
The voice was sharp, commanding, and angry.
I recognized it instantly.
Dad.
Shit.
A sudden wave of panic shot through my chest, instantly sobering me up. I struggled to sit up, my body heavy, sluggish from exhaustion and alcohol. What the hell was he doing here?
Then, like a dam breaking, memories of last night came flooding back.
Maurice Miranda. The chaos. The viral video.
I groaned again, this time from frustration. That crazy woman had turned my life into a complete disaster, and now I had to deal with the aftermath.
Knock!
BANG!
"Damn it, Fabian, open the door!" Dad barked from the other side.
I forced myself up, my muscles stiff and aching. My clothes were a mess, and I reeked of alcohol. I quickly ran a hand through my hair, trying to make myself look somewhat presentable before unlocking the door.
And the moment I did—
Dad stormed in.
His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, his expression cold and furious. I barely had time to react before his sharp, disapproving eyes locked onto mine.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he snapped, his voice dripping with anger and disappointment.
I barely managed to stand my ground.
"Dad, I—"
"You disappoint me, Fabian!" he thundered, stepping dangerously close. "Drinking your problems away while your company—our company—is being dragged through the mud?"
I clenched my fists, frustration boiling in my chest.
"It wasn’t me who caused this!" I shot back, defensive. "It was that crazy janitress, Maurice Miranda! She made a scene, she—"
SLAP!
My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging from the impact.
I froze.
For a moment, the room fell silent, except for the ringing in my ears.
I lifted my hand to my face, my skin burning from where his palm had struck me.
I turned back to face him, stunned.
Dad’s gaze was sharp, his chest rising and falling with every breath. His expression was stone-cold, completely unfazed by what he had just done.
"Fix this." His voice was low, calm, but dangerously final.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
"Fix it within a week, Fabian," he continued, his eyes boring into mine, "or else..."
A pause.
"I will overthrow you from that company—"
My heart pounded against my ribs.
"—and forget that you were ever my son."
Silence.
The weight of his words settled over me, heavier than anything I had ever carried before.
I stood there, frozen, my mind struggling to process what had just happened.
Then, just as quickly as he had entered—
Dad turned on his heel and walked out.
Leaving me standing there, stunned, shaken, and completely alone.
I thought things would finally settle down. That my past—the mistakes, the betrayals, the regrets—would stop haunting me.
But I was wrong.
Even now, it still lingers. Like a ghost that refuses to be forgotten.
Nothing has changed.
I took that long break, hoping things would go back to normal. I thought that if I distanced myself from everything, the storm would pass on its own. But look at me now.
I'm still Fabian Isidore—weak, gullible, and drowning in responsibilities I never asked for.
I wasn't growing. I was just surviving.
Sighing heavily, I reached for my phone and dialed Beatrice, my secretary. The line rang twice before she picked up.
I forced myself to stay calm. If I sounded even the slightest bit shaken, the whole office would know something was wrong and that I am terrified. And right now, the last thing I needed was for people to see through the cracks.
"Beatrice..." I started, my voice carefully measured. "How’s everything going there?"
There was a slight pause on the other end, as if she was hesitating. Then, she spoke.
"Sir..." she sighed. "I'm glad you called."
I frowned.
That didn’t sound good.
"Some of our investments and partners have gone wild," she continued. "Including that project with Mr. Darious. In fact, his representative is here—waiting for you."
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples.
Just great.
That project was one of our biggest deals. If it crumbled, it wouldn’t just be a loss for me—it would be a massive blow to MCC’s reputation.
"And Leland?" I asked, gripping my phone tighter. "Where the hell is he?"
"He said he went to find Maurice Miranda and bring her back to the office," Beatrice informed me. "He wants to make a compromise—to settle everything before this situation gets worse."
Wait. What?
I stood up straighter, my irritation spiking.
"Did he really do that?" My voice dropped into disbelief. "Come on, Beatrice. Tell me you’re joking."
Silence.
She wasn’t.
I let out a sharp, frustrated laugh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of course, Leland did this.
Of all the reckless, unnecessary, completely absurd things—he went after Maurice Miranda?!
That woman is the reason I’m in this mess!
And now, Leland was trying to bring her back?
I shook my head, leaning back into the wall, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I should just let this company burn.
But deep down, I knew I couldn’t do that.
If Maurice really was the key to fixing this mess, then I had no other choice.
She needed to come back. No matter what it took.
After my call with Beatrice, I wasted no time.
I got up from my reminiscence, shaking off the remnants of my hangover, and headed straight to my closet. My head was still throbbing from last night’s drinking, but there was no time to dwell on it. I needed to get back to the company—fast.
I scanned my wardrobe, grabbing a fitted black tuxedo that accentuated my frame. The fabric felt crisp and professional—exactly what I needed to project authority today.
As I slid the jacket on, I moved toward the mirror, running a hand through my hair. It was a mess, thanks to my restless sleep, but a few brushes and some styling gel fixed that in no time.
Just as I was reaching for my cologne, something caught my eye.
A picture.
Tucked in the corner of my vanity mirror, slightly hidden behind my collection of expensive watches and cufflinks.
I hadn’t seen it in months.
My fingers hesitated before pulling it out.
And there she was.
The woman who betrayed me.
My former secretary—the one who framed me, who dragged my name through the mud, and who almost destroyed everything I had built.
The memory hit me like a slap to the face. That scandalous video, the whispers, the looks of pity and amusement from my so-called business allies. The way people suddenly saw me not as a respected CEO, but as a walking joke.
I clenched my jaw.
Never again.
With a sharp inhale, I gripped the photo and ripped it apart.
The sound of tearing paper filled the silence of my penthouse.
I watched as the torn pieces fell onto my dresser, then let out a soft sneer.
A small, bitter laugh.
"It’s all gonna be okay, Fabian. You got this."
I told myself that, trying to believe it.
Because what other choice did I have?
Within minutes, I was out the door, sliding into my sleek black Aston Martin. The leather seats felt cool against my back as I settled in, gripping the wheel tightly.
The engine roared to life.
With a deep breath, I stepped on the gas, speeding through the city streets.
The roads were relatively empty, given the early hour, but my mind was anything but. My thoughts raced, jumping from one problem to the next.
The viral video.
The company’s reputation.
Maurice Miranda.
That woman.
I let out a frustrated sigh, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel.
I couldn’t believe that Leland, of all people, had gone after her. That he actually thought bringing her back was the answer to all our problems.
I needed updates.
Grabbing my phone from the passenger seat, I quickly typed out a message.
“Leland, any news? Keep me updated.”
I sent it and tossed the phone back onto the seat, hoping—no, praying—that he could settle this before things got worse.
Because if he didn’t?
Then I’d have to handle Maurice Miranda myself.
- Writer
