Chapter 9: Fractures Beneath Silence
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the glass walls. Shadows stretched across the polished floor, bending around the figure standing still beside the window.
Raymond swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid dance like it held answers.
It didn't.
His jaw tightened.
Something had happened that night.
He knew it.
Not from memory—but from the unsettling weight sitting in his chest. A feeling he couldn't explain, couldn't shake off, couldn't control.
He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his throat.
"Why can't I remember…" he muttered under his breath.
Raymond closed his eyes briefly.
There were flashes.
A scent—soft… calming. Lavender.
A voice.
Her voice.
Faint. Strained.
"Stop…"
His eyes snapped open instantly.
His grip on the glass tightened.
"Damn it!"
The word came out sharper than intended as he placed the glass on the table with a dull thud.
Something about that memory felt wrong.
Not unclear—wrong.
Raymond wasn't a man who crossed lines without awareness. Control was his identity. Precision was his power.
So why did that night feel like a crack in everything he stood for?
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"Sky," he called out coldly.
The door opened almost immediately, as if the man had been waiting.
"Yes, boss."
Raymond didn't turn.
"That night… after dinner with my sister." His voice was calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it. "Where did I go?"
Sky hesitated.
A rare thing.
"I… escorted you to your room, boss."
"And after that?"
A pause.
"I left."
Raymond turned this time, his sharp gaze locking onto Sky like a blade.
"Left?" he repeated.
"Yes, boss."
Silence stretched between them.
Raymond studied his expression, searching for something—anything that suggested more.
But Sky remained composed.
Too composed.
Raymond scoffed lightly and turned away again.
"Useless," he muttered, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
Sky lowered his head slightly. "Should I look into it further?"
Raymond didn't answer immediately.
His gaze returned to the glass, to the reflection staring back at him.
Cold. Controlled.
But tonight… uncertain.
"…No," he said finally.
If something had happened, he would uncover it himself.
No matter what it was.
Even if it was something he didn't want to know.
..........
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Frances sat at the edge of her bed, her phone resting in her hand as she stared at the contact she had just saved.
Slater Lauren.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
"Slater Lauren…" she whispered, the name unfamiliar yet stirring something faint in her memory.
She leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly.
"What kind of coincidence is this…"
The image of the little boy replayed in her mind—his bright eyes, his innocent smile… the way he spoke of his mother with so much trust.
"Mama said there is no money…"
Her chest tightened.
"No money?" she murmured softly.
That didn't make sense.
Lauren wasn't just anyone.
She was from a noble, wealthy family—one of the most respected during their college days in Macedonia. Elegant, proud… always surrounded by attention.
Frances remembered it clearly now.
The girl who had everything.
So how did her life turn into this?
Frances stared at the phone again, her thumb hovering over the call button.
She hesitated.
Years had passed.
People changed.
Circumstances changed.
And sometimes… pride made things complicated.
But the image of that little boy standing alone on the road erased every doubt.
She pressed call.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Just as she was about to hang up, the call connected.
"…Hello?" A soft, cautious voice came through.
Frances straightened slightly.
"Lauren?" she asked gently.
A pause.
"Yes… who is this?"
Frances smiled faintly, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
"It's Frances."
Silence.
Heavy. Shocked silence.
"…Frances?" Lauren's voice came again, this time barely above a whisper. "Frances Lin?"
"Yes."
Another pause—but this one felt different.
Emotional.
"I—" Lauren exhaled shakily. "I didn't expect… after all these years…"
Frances softened.
"Neither did I," she admitted. "But I met your son today."
There was a sudden shift on the other end.
"My son?" Lauren's voice rose slightly, panic slipping through. "Is he okay? Did something happen?!"
"I am not home, I left him in my neighbor's care".
"He's fine," Frances reassured quickly. "He was playing outside alone. I took him home."
A breath of relief echoed through the phone.
"Thank God…" Lauren whispered.
Frances's expression grew serious.
"Lauren… why was he alone?"
That question lingered.
Not harsh.
But direct.
There was a long silence before Lauren spoke again.
"…I had to work," she said quietly.
Frances frowned slightly.
"And school?" she asked. "He said you couldn't enroll him."
Another silence.
This one heavier.
"I…" Lauren's voice cracked faintly. "Things aren't the same anymore, Frances."
Frances sat up straighter, her grip tightening around the phone.
"What happened?"
A soft, broken laugh came from the other end.
"You really don't know, do you…"
Frances's heart sank slightly.
"No," she said softly.
Slater inhaled deeply, as if preparing herself.
"I lost everything."
The words landed heavily.
"My family… our name… the wealth…" she continued, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. "It's all gone."
Frances felt a chill run through her.
"How?"
But Lauren didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she asked quietly—
"Frances… are you really back in Macedonia?"
Frances's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then—
"Then maybe… it's time you knew the truth too."
Frances stilled.
Her heart gave a slow, uneasy beat.
"What truth?" she asked.
But the line went silent.
Not disconnected.
Just silent.
As if the past itself was gathering strength… preparing to resurface.
.............
Morning came with a sharp clarity that matched the glass towers of the city.
Inside Luce Group's headquarters, everything moved with precision—heels clicking against marble floors, assistants exchanging hushed updates, the quiet hum of power flowing through every department.
At the reception area, heads turned.
She had just walked in.
Lee Grace.
Tall. Elegant. Striking in a way that demanded attention without asking for it. Her fitted outfit traced her figure effortlessly, her confidence even more noticeable than her beauty.
The receptionist blinked, momentarily caught off guard before recovering her composure.
"Good morning, ma'am. How may I help you?"
Grace smiled, removing her sunglasses slowly.
"I'm here to see Mr. Raymond."
Her tone was smooth—assured, like she already belonged there.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked politely.
Grace tilted her head slightly.
"No. But I don't think I'll need one."
There was something in the way she said it—calm, but laced with quiet arrogance.
The receptionist hesitated, then reached for the intercom.
"Please hold on, ma'am."
Upstairs, Raymond had just settled into his chair when the call came through.
"Sir, there's a Miss Lee Grace here to see you."
Raymond didn't look up from the document in his hand.
"No."
The response was immediate.
A pause followed.
"Sir… she insists."
That made him stop.
His eyes lifted slightly, irritation flickering across his face.
"Then she can insist outside," he said coldly. "Don't let her up."
The line went quiet for a second.
"Yes, sir."
The call ended.
Raymond dropped the file onto the table, his jaw tightening faintly.
He already knew the type.
Persistent. Calculated.
And unnecessary.
Back downstairs, the receptionist forced a polite smile.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Raymond is unavailable."
Grace didn't move.
Her expression didn't change either.
"Unavailable?" she repeated softly.
"Yes, ma'am. He's not taking visitors."
Grace let out a quiet breath, then smiled again—but this time, there was something sharper behind it.
"I'll wait."
The receptionist hesitated.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. You're not permitted to go up."
Grace's gaze flickered briefly toward the elevator behind the desk.
So that was how he wanted to play it.
Interesting.
She turned back slowly.
"I see."
For a moment, it looked like she might leave.
But then she stepped closer to the desk, lowering her voice just slightly.
"Tell him something for me."
The receptionist swallowed.
"…Yes, ma'am?"
Grace's lips curved faintly.
"Tell him Lee Grace doesn't give up easily."
There was confidence in her tone.
Not loud.
Not desperate.
Just certain.
She picked up her sunglasses and slid them back on.
"Oh—and one more thing," she added, pausing before turning away. "Next time, I won't stop at the reception."
With that, she walked out, her heels echoing softly behind her.
Upstairs, Raymond stood by the window again, hands in his pockets.
The city stretched endlessly before him, but his thoughts were far from it.
A knock came.
"Enter."
Joel stepped in.
"She's gone," he reported.
Raymond didn't respond immediately.
But then—
"Good."
Simple. Final.
Joel hesitated before adding, "She left a message."
Raymond's expression didn't change.
"I'm not interested."
Joel nodded, though curiosity lingered briefly in his eyes.
As he turned to leave, Raymond spoke again—his voice colder this time.
"Make it clear to everyone downstairs. No one gets past that elevator without my approval."
"Yes, boss."
The door closed.
Silence returned.
But not completely.
Because somewhere beneath that silence… something else was shifting.
Unseen.
Uncontrolled.
And for the first time in a long time—
Not entirely in Raymond's hands.