Chapter Two: Fractures Beneath Velvet
1322 Words
“Roxanne?!”
Oh God. Not again.
The pounding on my door echoed through the walls like a war drum, each knock sharper than the last.
Persistent. Irritating. Unnecessary.
My jaw clenched.
I stormed toward the door, my heels clicking against the polished floor like warning shots.
Clakk. Clakk. Clakk.
Without hesitation, I yanked the door open.
“What the hell is wrong with you, old man? Don’t you see? I’m having my siesta!” I snapped, my irritation spilling out without restraint.
He stood there, rigid and imposing, his expression carved from pure frustration. His eyes—cold, calculating—met mine without flinching.
Oh, he’s mad.
Good. That makes the two of us.
“Roxanne Moreau,” he began, his voice dangerously calm. “What in the hell are you thinking? Why did you turn down Soledad Corporation’s multimillion-dollar deal? I thought we had discussed this already.”
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, letting a slow smirk creep onto my lips.
“Oh, that f*****g company?” I replied lazily. “My private investigator found out they’re drowning. Bankruptcy, I suppose.”
His expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, then fury.
I savored it.
“What?! How dare they trick the hell out of me? Les baiser!”
I chuckled under my breath, tilting my head slightly.
“It seems they played you well,” I said, my tone laced with mock sympathy. “But not me. Pas la reine des tours. And as for what they tried to do… I’ve already handled it.”
I stepped closer, my gaze sharpening.
“So there’s no need for you to worry, old man. Now, can you please stop disturbing me? I need rest. I’m tired of dealing with idiots.”
A brief silence followed.
Then—
“Je suis tellement désolé, ma chérie. You can now rest. Au revoir. On se parle plus tard.”
His tone softened, almost apologetic, before he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Finally.
“Salamat naman,” I muttered under my breath.
I exhaled, letting the tension slip slightly from my shoulders.
But only slightly.
Because the anger never really leaves.
I collapsed onto my queen-sized bed, the maroon velvet comforter cool against my skin. Everything in this room was curated—luxury, elegance, control.
Things I could manage.
Unlike everything else.
My eyes drifted to the ceiling.
Why am I always like this?
Short-tempered. Restless. Constantly on edge.
The silence wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket.
And then—
My phone rang.
I groaned and reached for it lazily.
August.
My personal secretary-s***h-business associate in that franking country.
Of course.
I answered without enthusiasm.
“What do you need?” I said coldly.
There was a brief pause before her nervous voice came through.
“Mada’me Rox… I’m sorry, but you need to come to the main branch here in the Philippines. The situation isn’t looking good.”
My grip on the phone tightened.
“What the f**k, August?” I snapped. “I placed you there because of your expertise. You expect me to just drop everything and go back there?”
I sat up, irritation bubbling again.
“I can’t just leave. The old man is already breathing down my neck, and I have my father’s company to deal with. Fix it.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“Mada’me, you don’t understand. Someone is stealing money—and stocks—from your mother’s company. I can’t investigate properly because I’m handling both internal and external operations. I’m also promoting the vintage summer collection globally, and next week I’ll be meeting high-class clients for the fashion show.”
I closed my eyes.
Damn it.
This isn’t small.
This isn’t something I can ignore
.
I exhaled slowly, forcing calm into my voice.
“Fine. Three days. I’ll be there.”
Silence.
Then relief.
“Duly noted, Mada’me Roxy. Je vous remercie.”
The call ended.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and fell back against the mattress.
The Philippines.
That place.
That house.
Memories I buried clawed their way back into my mind.
My chest tightened.
No.
No, no, no.
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.
I wiped them away angrily.
“I’m not her anymore,” I whispered.
“I’m not weak.”
I sat up abruptly.
Sleep was no longer an option.
I need to move.
Minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror, dressed in black sports gear—bra, tight shorts, hair tied into a messy bun.
Controlled.
Focused.
Dangerous.
Perfect.
I made my way to the private gym.
Every machine imaginable filled the space—but my eyes went straight to the boxing ring.
Of course.
That’s where I belong.
That’s where everything comes out.
I sat on the couch, grabbed the intercom, and pressed the button.
“Faust. I need you in the ring. A.S.A.P. Compris?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. Je comprends. Je vais là-bas. Attendez une seconde.”
I dropped the intercom and stood up.
Moments later, he arrived.
And damn.
Faust.
Tall. Lean. Strong. Refined.
He removed his suit, revealing a sculpted physique that would make anyone stare.
And I did.
For a second too long.
Shit.
I shook my head.
Not now.
Not him.
Not this.
“I don’t need that,” I muttered to myself.
What I need is a fight.
We stepped into the ring.
I stretched, rolling my shoulders, feeling adrenaline slowly build.
“Rappelez-vous les règles, Faust,” I said firmly. “Treat me as an equal opponent. Compris?”
“As you wish, Mademoiselle.”
I locked eyes with him.
“Battez moi.”
He hesitated.
My patience snapped.
“Imbécile! Je t’ai dit de me frapper, Faust!”
Finally—
He moved.
A weak jab.
I scoffed.
“Again. Harder.”
This time, the punches he throws had weight.
Good.
He should do better.
That will definitely do the trick.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
The exchange intensified.
Jabs. Blocks. Movement.
My blood started to boil.
My pulse quickened.
Then—
I struck.
A roundhouse kick.
Blag!
Direct hit.
He fell.
I smiled.
But it wasn’t enough.
It’s never enough.
Something inside me snapped.
I attacked again.
And again.
And again.
My fists collided with his face repeatedly.
I could hear him groaning.
Felt the raw impact from my punches.
Saw the bursting blood from his face.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
More.
I need more.
Everything blurred.
All I knew was rage.
Then—
Hands grabbed me.
Voices shouted.
And—
SLAP.
The world snapped back into focus.
I froze.
The old man stood before me.
Faust lay on the ground.
Unconscious.
Covered in blood.
My heart dropped.
“Did… I freaking do this?” I whispered.
“Is he dead?”
“No. He’s alive,” the old man said coldly. “But you almost destroyed his face. Femme stupide! A quoi étais-tu en train de penser?”.
I said nothing.
Because there was nothing to say.
Later, in his office, silence filled the space.
Then he spoke.
“You need a break.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Six months. Go anywhere. Clear your mind.”
I stared at him.
This… is unexpected.
“Why?”
He sighed.
“I thought removing you from that country would fix you. I was wrong. You’re getting worse. Like a volcano waiting to erupt.”
His words hit harder than any punch.
Because they were true.
“So you’re leaving,” he continued. “Tomorrow. I’ll handle everything here. Compris?”
I nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now go.”
Back in my room, I stared at the ceiling.
What a day.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
Looks like I’ll be returning to the Philippines sooner than I thought.
“Merde…”
And this time—
There’s no running from it.
- Writer
