#Meanwhile, downstairs #
"That bratty girl. She thinks she can act as she pleases, huh? I'm going to teach her a lesson she'll never forget." Miranda said to herself, as she paced angrily around the living room. "Pick up the dang phone! This is the fifth time I'm calling." she mumbled into the phone placed against her ear. "C'mon, c'mon." she whispered, her pacing increasing.
"Hello?" a masculine voice sounded through the phone speakers. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Finally! I thought you'd keep my number specially,...considering I have information that's very valuable to you." Miranda said. "Get to the point b****." the man at the end of the line said. "You better be nice or I'll hang up Sheriff." Miranda smirked. "You're the one who called me,...so evidently you're ready to give me my information." Sheriff Coleman said. "Still,...if you piss me off too much I can change my mind." Miranda said smiling to herself. Sheriff Coleman growled, "Alright. Where is she?" "Glad to hear we're speaking the same language now."
#Same time; at the Ember Mansion #
Mackenzie sashayed into the enormous house, swaying her hips sexily. She was led by the butler into a large waiting room.
The waiting room exuded a kind of power that didn't need to announce itself—every inch whispered it instead. The air was thick with the scent of aged leather, cigar smoke, and something subtler—sandalwood, perhaps, or the residue of old money. Light filtered in through tall, narrow windows dressed in heavy, burgundy velvet drapes that barely swayed, even with the breeze of a hidden air vent. Shadows clung to the corners like loyal dogs.
The walls were paneled in dark mahogany, polished to a mirror sheen, interrupted only by gold-framed oil paintings—hunting scenes, stoic patriarchs, and one disturbingly calm depiction of a lion tearing into a gazelle. Beneath them, a row of high-backed leather armchairs stood like silent sentinels, their brass studs gleaming under the ambient light of a chandelier that looked more like it belonged in a palace than a private home. It dripped crystal and menace in equal measure.
At the center of the room sat a low black marble table, smooth as obsidian, its surface nearly empty save for a silver cigar tray, a crystal decanter half-full of amber liquid, and a neatly stacked pile of unread newspapers—each headline strategically folded out of sight. A thick Persian rug in blood-red and midnight blue sprawled beneath, muffling footsteps and adding a layer of warmth that felt almost deceptive.
Every detail was intentional. The silence was intentional. Even the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner felt like it was meant to remind you: time here belonged to someone else. This wasn't a place for comfort—it was a place to wait and be watched. A single security camera was tucked just above the ornate molding, barely visible, but unmistakably there. So were the eyes behind the mirror across from the chairs.She drank in his appearance greedily.
The man in question was in his early forties. He was dressed down in neat casual clothes. His jet black hair was deheveled but shining in the brightly lit room. His black eyes were glued to his guest who just walked in with the butler. He had a tall frame and his legs were casually crossed. He continued to stare at his visitor took her seat without invitation.
"Ezekiel Ember. What a surprise I got at receiving your invitation. I'm guessing you miss a good f***." Mackenzie said brazenly. She was still dressed in her earlier attire but she had discarded the leggings. "Where is she?" Ezekiel asked. His voice was low and authoritative. "Gosh. You still have that effect on me. At the sound of your voice, I already melting." Mackenzie flirted.
"Don't get me crossed, Kenz. Answer me. Where is she?" his voice was serious and firm. "Who are you looking for?" Mackenzie asked. Ezekiel paused a while. He studied the conniving woman sitting opposite him. "My heir. Where's my daughter?" Color drained from Mackenzie's face and her body stiffened.
"What? No. She's not yours. She's Richard's daughter. She's not yours." Mackenzie stammered. Ezekiel let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward now, both feet on the ground and his elbows rested against his knees. "Kenz, I don't have time for this." Ezekiel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"She's not yours!" Mackenzie yelled, getting to her feet. "We both know she is. You remember as much as I do the day you begged me for s** because Richard was impotent and you wanted a child. Now I want my daughter back. I need an heir."
"A heir has to be male. I heard you were engaged. Have s**, get a son just leave my daughter alone. I've gone through hell for her, I'm not giving her to anyone, father or not." Mackenzie said.
"Don't you think I've thought of that? It'll take too long, and the certainty of a male child is unclear. I'm not gender sensitive, my heir will be my firstborn child, whether male or female. Also I'm not seeking your permission. I'm going to find her and take her. I don't need anyone's permission to take what's mine."
"Well then, I'm sorry to say that you just wasted your time Mafia boss cause I'm NEVER telling you where she is! EVER!" Mackenzie screamed. With that she stormed out of the house. "No matter what it takes,... I'll find her." Ezekiel said as Mackenzie left.