Two Versions of Her
1437 Words
After leaving the basement, leaving Eleanor locked behind in the cellar, Vernon Hale stepped out of the warehouse.
The warehouse had been abandoned long ago. It stood near the shipping dock, surrounded by rusted containers and broken machinery left behind by time.
Dim yellow lights flickered weakly along the harbor, barely cutting through the thick night fog rolling in from the ocean.
The cold ocean breeze brushed against his face, soothing some of the tension in his body.
He took a long breath.
It was almost midnight.
The distant sound of waves echoed softly through the quiet harbor while weak lights flickered near the dock.
But his mind remained restless.
One sentence kept echoing inside his head.
“I remember you.”
Vernon frowned slightly.
“That girl is a complete psycho,” he thought.
And yet…he remembered her.
Not vaguely. Not as a passing face.
But vividly.
Months ago, during a business meeting with Adrian van Laurent.
Vernon had gone to Adrian’s corporate office to finalize one of Lucien’s private dealings.
But he remembered stepping out of Adrian’s office afterward—he saw her following him.
That day had started badly from the very beginning.
He had been collecting money from one of Lucien’s underground routes when a deal went wrong.
Before Vernon could stop it, a knife had been driven into the left side of his stomach during the fight.
Not deep enough to kill him immediately.
But deep enough to leave blood soaking through his shirt.
Then an urgent call from Adrian van Laurent’s office reported issues with money laundering transfers connected to Lucien’s network.
Lucien had ordered him to handle it personally, without delay.
So he wrapped thick layers of bandages around the wound, changed into a dark coat to hide the blood, and went straight to the meeting without treatment.
The entire discussion with Adrian had been tense and exhausting. By the time it ended, Vernon’s vision was already beginning to blur slightly from blood loss.
Still, he showed nothing.
After leaving the office, he walked toward the private elevator leading to the underground parking basement where his car was parked.
The hallway was empty and silent.
He pressed the elevator button and stepped inside once the doors opened.
The moment the doors closed, his composure finally cracked.
A sharp pain tore through his side.
Blood already had started soaking through the bandages.
Vernon leaned heavily against the wall before slowly lowering himself onto the floor of the elevator, one hand pressed tightly against his stomach.
His breathing grew uneven.
“Damn it…” he muttered quietly.
The elevator doors slid open again.
He lifted his head slightly.
A girl stood outside.
Young. Simple. Completely out of place in the cold corporate building at that hour.
She wore an oversized T-shirt and loose shorts, her hair slightly messy as if she had been dragged out suddenly from somewhere comfortable.
Her eyes widened the moment she noticed the blood.
“I noticed you’re bleeding,” she said, stepping inside. “Did Adrian van Laurent do this to you?”
Vernon’s expression hardened instantly.
He straightened slightly despite the pain.
“None of your business,” he said coldly. “Don’t bother yourself.”
The elevator doors closed again.
The silence inside felt heavy.
The girl kept looking at the blood staining the floor.
“You need a hospital,” she said after a moment.
“I said stay out of it.” He said barely looking at her.
Finally, the elevator reached the basement.
The doors opened.
Vernon forced himself up and walked out, though his steps had become noticeably unstable now.
But then—
footsteps followed behind him.
He stopped beside his black car and placed one hand against it for support, breathing harder than before.
The girl had followed him all the way into the parking basement.
“You’ll die soon if you keep bleeding like this,” she said stubbornly. “At least let me help you.”
He slowly turned toward her.
Even wounded, he carried an unsettling presence around him—quiet, controlled, and dangerous enough to make most people step back instinctively.
“Get lost,” he said quietly. “I don’t need your help.”
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she frowned slightly.
“You’re really rude for someone half-dead.”
This time, he looked genuinely irritated.
He took a slow step toward her.
“Walk away while you still can, if you keep bothering me…” his voice turned colder.
But the words never finished.
Because despite the warning—
despite the violence he was capable of—
he couldn’t bring himself to scare her further.
The girl simply stood there staring at him with concern instead of fear.
It irritated him strangely.
Without another word, Vernon opened the car door and left.
But he never forgot that incident.
And he never forgot her.
And later, when he learned through Lucien’s work that the girl from that night had been Edith van Laurent—
he could hardly believe it.
Because the Edith van Laurent he knew from photographs, files—was elegant, untouchable, raised in luxury and perfection.
But the girl he met that night—
wearing oversized clothes, looking completely ordinary while trying to help a bleeding stranger—
felt like an entirely different person.
“So… she actually remembered.”
The realization settled heavily in his mind.
The sharp vibration of his phone interrupted him.
He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
Lucien Morello.
Vernon answered immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
For a brief moment, only silence came from the other side of the line.
Then Lucien’s cold voice spoke.
“Where are you?”
“Outside the warehouse,” Vernon replied.
A short pause followed before Lucien spoke again.
“Meet me now.”
The line disconnected immediately after.
Vernon lowered the phone slowly before slipping it back into his pocket.
The ocean wind grew colder around him as he started walking toward his car parked near the edge of the dock.
⸻
Lucien Morello stood alone in the dim glow of the surveillance room. His attention fixed on the footage of the captive.
The room was quiet, dimly lit, the only movement coming from the shifting images on the screens and the slow swirl of wine in his glass.
Something was off.
His gaze narrowed slightly as he watched her again.
He had seen Edith before.
Elegant. Composed. Controlled in every movement, every word.
But the girl on the screen—
she didn’t match that image.
Her behavior didn’t make sense.
Lucien called Vernon Hale—his most trusted right-hand man. Vernon was the one who handled Lucien’s work, managed his deals,and handled the entire kidnapping operation of Edith van Laurent.
A short while later, there was a faint sound—the heavy door opened and footsteps followed.
Measured. Respectful.
“Sir.”
Lucien didn’t turn immediately. He let a moment pass before setting the glass down and glancing back.
Vernon stood a few steps behind him, posture straight, expression carefully neutral.
Lucien gestured lazily toward the screens. “What was going on there?” he asked.
Vernon stepped closer, his gaze briefly flickering to the footage before returning to Lucien.
“Everything is under control, sir,” he began. “We intercepted the call while she was speaking to her father. The line stayed clean. Adrian Van Laurent received the message… and he complied.”
Lucien said nothing. His eyes drifted back to the glass of wine, the dark liquid swirling slowly in his hand.
Vernon continued, more carefully now. “He assured her she would be released soon. If he keeps his word, this situation should end without complications.”
His fingers lightly tapped against the glass.
“But…” Vernon hesitated, the word lingering as he chose his next sentence carefully. “There is something… unusual.”
Lucien’s eyes shifted back to the screen.
“Go on.”
There was a short silence.
Vernon spoke again, more carefully now. “It’s possible the van Laurents are hiding something.”
That made Lucien turn.
His gaze settled on Vernon, sharper now.
“Hiding what?”
“I don’t know yet,” Vernon replied. “But something doesn’t add up.”
Lucien looked back at the screen, his expression unreadable.
A faint, cold smile appeared on Lucien’s lips.
“Then find out,” he said quietly.
Vernon nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.”
Without another word, he turned and left.
The door closed, and silence returned.
Lucien remained standing there, his eyes fixed on the screen.
- Writer
