Chapter 4: Something Needs to Change
Raymond left early that morning after spending some time in his study. The house remained quiet after his departure, carrying the weight of unspoken tension. He had promised to send the money once he got to his office, and true to his nature, he kept his word. Raymond was not a man who made empty promises, especially when control was involved.
Downstairs, Frances sat alone at the dining table.
She ate slowly, forcing each spoonful down her throat despite the heaviness in her chest. Her appetite had long disappeared, but she understood something important. Hunger weakened the body, and she could not afford weakness, not now.
Everything she needed had already been prepared.
Her clothes and the few belongings she had left were packed carefully and hidden upstairs. All that remained was timing. She needed the house empty, free of watching eyes and unnecessary questions.
Her phone vibrated against the table.
She picked it up.
An alert appeared on the screen.
₦100,000,000 credited to your account.
Her gaze lingered on it, calm and unreadable. There was no excitement, no surprise. Money had never been unfamiliar to her. Once, she had controlled far more with nothing but a signature.
This was not wealth to her.
This was a tool.
A beginning.
She locked the phone and continued eating until she was done. When she finished, she wiped her lips neatly and stood up.
"Butler French," she called.
Moments later, the elderly man hurried in from the garden, concern already written across his face. "Yes, madam, how may I help you?"
Frances gave a faint, fragile smile. "I'm feeling dizzy. My head hurts. I just want to rest for a while."
Worry deepened in his expression immediately. "Oh madam, should I prepare something for you? Or call the doctor?"
She shook her head gently. "No, that won't be necessary. I just need sleep. Please inform the others not to disturb me. I will call when I wake."
He nodded quickly. "Of course, madam. Please rest well."
There was no suspicion in his eyes.
Only concern.
And that made it easier.
Minutes passed.
Voices faded.
The house fell silent.
Frances did not hesitate.
She moved quickly upstairs, her heartbeat steady, not from fear, but from relief. Her bags were exactly where she had left them.
Ready.
Waiting.
She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the room.
This room had seen too much.
Her silence.
Her pain.
Her quiet tears in the middle of the night.
Without another thought, she picked up her bags and walked out.
No note.
No hesitation.
Only the sound of her heels echoing against the marble floor.
By the time anyone would think to check on her, she was already gone.
Not long after, Frances arrived at the airport.
Everything happened quickly.
A ticket was booked.
A destination chosen.
England.
Lichfield.
A quiet place, far removed from everything she was leaving behind.
As the plane lifted into the sky, she sat by the window, staring at the endless stretch of clouds.
For the first time in weeks, she breathed.
Freely.
Not because everything was okay, but because she had taken back control.
That night, Raymond returned home.
The house felt different the moment he stepped in.
Too quiet.
Too still.
His eyes shifted slightly as he walked in, his presence alone enough to command attention.
"Butler French," he called.
The old man appeared almost immediately. "Young master."
"Where is she?"
"Madam is upstairs resting. She complained of dizziness earlier, so we left her undisturbed."
Raymond said nothing.
He simply turned and walked upstairs.
Each step was calm, measured, controlled.
He pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
The silence inside was louder than anything.
His gaze swept across the space.
The wardrobe.
The bed.
The corners.
Everything was in place, yet something was missing.
Her.
A slow realization settled in.
She had left.
Not carelessly.
Not impulsively.
But deliberately.
The air around him seemed to grow colder.
He checked again, opening drawers, stepping into the bathroom, scanning every possible corner.
Nothing.
She was gone.
His phone rang.
The doctor.
Raymond answered, his voice flat. "Forget."
The call ended.
Moments later, Sky and Roger entered carefully.
"Boss," Roger began cautiously, "should we contact our men outside and trace her location?"
Silence followed.
Then Raymond spoke.
"Get out."
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
They hesitated.
"Don't look for her," he added. "Let her be."
That was all.
No anger.
No urgency.
Only a decision.
From that moment, Frances became nothing more than a name no one was allowed to mention.
Days later, Paris visited.
She looked around the house, confusion evident in her expression. "Where is Frances?"
Raymond did not look at her.
"Forget about her."
That was all he said.
And just like that, it was as though Frances had never existed within those walls.
Far away, Frances was beginning again.
And in Macedonia, life continued without her.
Or so they believed.
The city buzzed with excitement.
Marcus and Charlotte's wedding had become the center of attention.
It was grand.
Lavish.
Overflowing with luxury and admiration.
Guests filled the venue, laughter and music blending into a celebration that masked everything beneath it.
Mrs. Anna Stompson stood proudly among them, glowing with satisfaction. This was the moment she had long waited for.
But beneath that pride, something darker lingered.
Before the ceremony began, Charlotte pulled her aside.
Her smile was soft.
Too soft.
"Mother," she said sweetly, "do you remember your promise?"
Anna blinked, confused. "What promise?"
Charlotte tilted her head slightly, her voice still gentle. "Today is already perfect, but I want something more. I want you to convince Marcus to give me half of his properties."
The words landed heavily.
Anna stared at her in disbelief. "Half of his properties? That is not necessary. Everything he owns is already yours."
Charlotte's expression changed.
The softness disappeared.
"What about you?" she asked quietly. "Did you not take what belonged to your husband's first wife?"
Anna froze.
The truth hit its mark.
Charlotte smiled faintly. "You should not act like you are any different."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Anna exhaled slowly. "Fine. I will talk to him."
Victory flickered in Charlotte's eyes.
"Good," she said, lifting her glass. "At least I asked nicely."
To everyone else, it was a perfect day.
But beneath the beauty, something had already begun to decay.
And far away, Frances heard whispers of it.
Not the celebration.
But the cracks within it.
And for the first time, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in her chest.
Because she understood something they did not.
No evil lasts forever.
And theirs had only just begun.