CHAPTER 18
1873 Words
The hum of the office surrounded me—the faint scratching of pens, the distant murmur of conversations, and the occasional tapping of shoes against the marble floor. But despite the background noise, my mind was somewhere else.
I tapped my fingers on my desk, staring at the blueprint in front of me, but the lines and numbers blurred together. My head was elsewhere—on the viral video, on Maurice Miranda, and most of all, on the mess I was about to clean up.
I was about to send Leland a message, checking if he had made any progress in tracking Maurice down, when my phone rang.
Violet Elwood.
I sighed. Of course, it had to be her.
I stared at the screen for a second, debating whether to answer or not. But ignoring Violet wasn’t an option—not when her family had just saved my company’s biggest project.
I picked up.
"Fabian," her voice was smooth, sweet—too sweet. It always carried that tone, like she was smiling even when she wasn’t.
"Ms. Elwood," I greeted, keeping my voice indifferent.
There was a soft chuckle on the other end. "Oh, drop the formalities. We’re beyond that, don’t you think?"
I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to be beyond formalities. I didn’t want to be anything with her.
"I assume you already know why I’m calling," she continued.
"To remind me of the debt I owe you?" I leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers against my temple. "Don’t worry, Violet. I haven’t forgotten."
"Good," she said, her voice light but firm. "I went out of my way to convince Mr. Darious to reconsider, you know."
"As if you did it out of the kindness of your heart," I muttered.
"Of course not," she said, amusement lacing her tone. "I did it because I expect something in return. And you know exactly what that is, Fabian."
I clenched my jaw. The marriage.
"You’re really going to force this?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You’re that desperate to trap me into a marriage I don’t want?"
"Desperate?" Violet scoffed. "Don’t flatter yourself, darling. This isn’t just about you. This is about business. About power. Our families together—unstoppable. You should be thanking me, not questioning me."
I exhaled, rubbing my forehead.
She knew I didn’t want this. But that was the thing about Violet—she didn’t care about what I wanted. She only cared about winning.
"Well, here’s your chance to thank me," she continued, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Dinner. Tonight. 8 PM. The Ritz."
I frowned. "The Ritz?"
"Only the most expensive restaurant in the city, of course," she said. "Nothing but the best for my future fiancé."
"Violet," I started, "I—"
"You’ll be there, Fabian," she cut me off, her voice suddenly sharp. "I expect punctuality. And don’t even think about standing me up."
She hung up.
I stared at the phone in my hand, my grip tightening.
Damn it.
Tonight was going to be hell.
After the call with Violet, I stood there, gripping my phone, feeling an overwhelming sense of frustration.
I wasn’t ready for this. Not for her, not for dinner, not for the forced marriage my father was hell-bent on making happen. But did I have a choice?
I sighed. No.
Walking toward the window, I pressed a hand against the cool glass, staring at the skyscrapers lining Linus City. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting the buildings in hues of gold and amber. From up here, the world seemed calm. Peaceful.
Unlike the storm brewing inside me.
“Why the hell am I being forced into this?” I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with frustration.
I thought about Rex Montague and his ridiculous offer. That smug bastard was just waiting for me to fall so he could pounce. Then there was Violet, expecting me to play the role of a devoted fiancé at dinner tonight. And, of course, Maurice Miranda—the woman who started this whole mess.
I scoffed. “This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
And just as I said that, my phone buzzed again.
Leland.
If there was one person I could rely on, it was him. Through every crisis, through every stupid decision I made, he never left my side.
I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. "Leland. Any updates?"
"Of course, Fabian," he said, but there was hesitation in his voice.
"Tell me," I demanded.
He let out a deep sigh, and I could hear the sound of shuffling papers in the background. "It’s Maurice."
I frowned. "What about her?"
"She and her family... were kicked out of their apartment," he said, his voice carrying an unusual hint of concern. "Apparently, they were behind on rent. Too much debt to pay."
I paused. The words hung in the air for a moment.
Then, without thinking, I muttered, "Oh... Good for her."
There was silence on the other end.
Then Leland snapped.
"Are you even hearing yourself right now, Fabian?" he hissed. "Good for her? Seriously?!"
I rolled my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Leland, she ruined my reputation. She trashed my office, got herself recorded, and dragged my name into the dirt. And you expect me to feel bad for her?"
"God, you’re unbelievable," he muttered, and I could practically hear him shaking his head. "I get it, she screwed up. But you? You're being cruel. This isn’t the Fabian I know."
"Well, maybe the Fabian you know is tired of being the nice guy," I shot back.
Leland sighed. "Look, I’m just saying... she’s in a bad place. Whether or not you care is up to you."
I didn’t care.
…Did I?
I clenched my jaw. "Leland, just focus on finding her. That’s all I need from you."
"Fine," he said, his tone clipped. "I’ll update you later."
The call ended, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled.
Maurice was homeless. She had nowhere to go. And for some reason, instead of feeling satisfied, there was a tiny, nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that this wasn’t right.
I shook my head.
Who cares?
After the call ended, I walked back to my desk, reaching for the pack of cigarettes sitting next to my files. I pulled one out, placed it between my lips, and lit it up. As I inhaled, the familiar burn settled in my lungs, easing the weight pressing on my chest.
I turned toward the window, watching the skyline of this City. The towering buildings, the blurred streaks of traffic below—this city belonged to me. To my family. But right now, it felt like I was losing control of it.
I exhaled a long, slow stream of smoke, feeling its warmth drift through the cool air of my office.
Then, the door swung open.
Beatrice, my secretary, stepped in, carrying a small tray. The scent of fresh bread and coffee wafted in, momentarily cutting through the smoke lingering in the air.
"Sir," she said gently, placing the tray on my desk. "You've been through a lot today. I thought you could use some fresh snacks."
I didn’t respond right away. I took another drag from my cigarette, the ember at the tip glowing briefly before fading into ash.
"Just put it on my table," I said, my voice calm but distant.
She did as I asked, then pulled out a chair and sat across from me. I could tell she wanted to say something. Beatrice wasn’t just my secretary—she had worked for me long enough to see through me, to understand that no matter how composed I looked, there were moments when the pressure got to me. I guess that's how I see her.
After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke.
"Our investors and partners called," she said, watching me carefully.
I turned my gaze to her, flicking the ash from my cigarette into the tray. "Tell me more."
She hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. "They were checking up on us. They’re... concerned, but at the same time, they still have faith in you. Maybe they believe you’ll settle this issue soon."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Oh, it’s not because of me," I muttered, taking another drag. "It’s because of the Elwood family."
Beatrice sighed, crossing her legs as she adjusted her glasses. "Regardless, sir, you’re still the CEO. At the end of the day, this company stands because of you."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Everyone thought I had it all figured out. That Fabian Isidore was untouchable, a man who never faltered.
But they didn’t know the half of it.
The press outside, the scandal, the goddamn arranged marriage looming over my head. And now Maurice, a woman who had been nothing but a problem, was homeless—and for some damn reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I rubbed my temple, trying to push away the headache that was creeping in. "Did they mention anything else?"
Beatrice pursed her lips. "Just that they’re keeping a close eye on how you handle this situation. Some of them are... cautious. But most are still on your side."
I let out a humorless chuckle. "For now."
She didn’t argue. She knew how this worked. Loyalty in the business world was as fragile as glass. One wrong move, one bad scandal, and suddenly, everyone who once praised you would turn their backs.
"Sir," Beatrice said after a pause. "Do you really think accepting Ms. Maurice back into the company will fix this? After what she did to me?"
I glanced at her, tilting my head slightly. "Leland thinks so."
"And you?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don’t know."
She nodded, as if she expected that answer. "You’re under a lot of stress," she murmured. "Maybe it would help if you talked to someone about it."
I smirked. "Like who? My father?"
Beatrice frowned, but she didn’t push further.
I looked at the cigarette between my fingers, watching the smoke curl into the air before finally stubbing it out in the ashtray.
"Anyway," I said, shifting the conversation. "I have dinner with Violet Elwood tonight. I assume she already had the restaurant booked."
"Yes, sir," Beatrice confirmed. "The Ritz, 8 PM."
I exhaled sharply. "Great."
"Would you like me to have someone accompany you?"
I shook my head. "No need. I can handle her."
Beatrice stood up, gathering the empty coffee cup from the tray. "If you need anything, sir, just let me know."
I nodded, watching as she walked toward the door.
Just as she was about to leave, she hesitated and glanced back at me. "Sir?"
"Hm?"
She hesitated. "I… I wish you luck…”
I stared at her.
She held my gaze for a moment before bowing slightly and walking out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes for a second.
Luck?
I wasn’t sure I had any left.
- Writer
