I stood before the mirror, my reflection staring back at with a haunted look, while the echoes of my nightmares still lingered in my ears, sending shivers down my spine. Goosebumps danced along my skin, a tangible reminder of the unsettling dreams that had plagued .
Once, I had yearned to rember my dreams, eager to unravel their mysteries. Now, however, I found myself desperate to forget them. The dream was a puzzle, a twisted fantasy—how could I have seen and conversed with my mother, a woman I had never known since birth?
"Carla," Mr. Deans’ voice broke through my thoughts, and I hastily ended the call, plastering a bright smile on my face to dispel any worry he might feel.
"I certainly made the right choice. You look stunning in black," he remarked, approaching from behind and placing his hands gently on my shoulders. His tall figure lood over as he held a sparkling diamond necklace before my eyes.
"What do you think? Do you like it?" His gaze t mine through the mirror, and I nodded, offering a small smile that seed to please him. With care, he fastened the necklace around my neck.
I should have felt joy, excitent at being treated with such care and gifted with such elegance. Yet, an unexplainable anger and pain gnawed at .
"Why do I feel this way?" I wanted to scream, to demand answers from the depths of my soul.
"I know your hands no longer ache, and you’re tired of these gloves. But for now, you must bear them," he murmured, guiding to the bed and helping into the long gloves. "I cannot bear to see pity in anyone’s eyes when they look at you. Let them stare out of envy or hatred, but all I want is respect for you."
He tied the cloth that covered half of my face, a gesture both protective and suffocating. Taking my hand in his, he led back to the mirror, his gaze unwavering.
"You are Nix Deans’ Woman," he whispered in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "The world must tremble when you pass, they must bow at your feet with respect. And if they do not... I will make them."
I gazed into his eyes, searching for truth, for sincerity. Was I truly his woman? The question lingered on the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked. Yet, I hesitated, unable to push aside the intoxicating allure of his words.
Deep down, despite the doubts and uncertainties, I found myself believing his promises like a foolish drear caught in a web of romance and suspense. The air crackled with tension, and in that mont, I knew my life would never be the sa.
***
Stepping out of the helicopter onto the cold, crisp air that enveloped us, I found myself wrapped in a luxurious black feather jacket. Glancing to my side, I discovered Mr. Dean, his face half-masked like mine, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
"This side is much colder,beloved. We wouldn’t want you catching a chill," he murmured from behind the mask, drawing closer to his warmth.
The location of our arrival remained a mystery as I surveyed the scene before . n dressed in sleek black suits lined up on either side, heads bowed in deference. The air crackled with an aura of power and respect, leaving to wonder about the magnitude of Mr. Dean’s influence.
"Mr. Dean!" A man’s voice called out eagerly, hurrying towards us with a wide grin. "The boss has been eagerly awaiting your arrival," he announced, a smile stretching across his face.
"I highly doubt that. If he truly was, he’d be here to greet himself," Mr. Dean retorted, his voice carrying an air of nonchalance.
"Who says I haven’t?" A smooth, lodious voice interjected from behind the man, and I turned to behold a figure that seed almost ethereal.
Should I call him an angel? His dark hair was ticulously styled, a few errant strands framing his face. His smile was both warm and enigmatic, his presence exuding an easy confidence mingled with an undeniable allure.
"Hello, beautiful," he greeted , extending his hand in a gesture of greeting. Before I could react, my palm t his with a sharp slap, causing him to recoil in surprise.
"What was that for?" He exclaid, half in jest, but Mr. Dean seed unfazed as he whispered sothing to the man beside us before fixing his gaze on the newcor.
"You would do well to greet your sister-in-law with a bit more decorum," Mr. Dean remarked, a hint of steel underlying his words.
"You must be joking," the man began, incredulity flashing in his eyes before Mr. Dean’s sharp gaze silenced him.
"Aren’t you going to show us inside?" Mr. Dean redirected the conversation, taking the lead as if he owned the place, leaving to ponder the enigmatic dynamic between the two.
Before we could move, the man who had initially greeted us reappeared, presenting a platter with a pair of comfortable slippers. I was caught off guard as Mr. Dean swiftly knelt before , removing the elegant heels I had been struggling with and replacing them with the soft slippers.
"Go ahead, I have so pressing matters to discuss with Justin," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead before striding off purposefully, leaving bewildered and intrigued.
What had prompted this sudden act of consideration? When had Mr. Dean noticed my discomfort with the heels?
The dimly lit office held a familiar air of darkness as I glanced around Justin’s office, finding it unchanged since my last visit. The tension in the room was palpable, swirling like a malevolent mist.
"What’s your relationship with the lady outside? You even helped her change her shoes? Is she the daughter of..."
"Not what you’re thinking, and yet exactly what you’re thinking," I retorted sharply, my hand casually picking up a pen from the cluttered desk.
"You finally serious with a girl, that’s a relief. I thought you were going to die single," Justin’s voice cut through the heavy silence, earning a sharp glare from .
"I didn’t co here to chitchat with you. Where’s what I asked for?" I demanded, my tone brooking no argunt. He gestured towards the ominous brown envelope resting on the table.
"Did you offend them to the extent they had to blow up your house?" Justin’s voice was cold, the ntion of the recent attack on my ho sending a chill down my spine. I returned to the papers in front of , already braced for such reprisals.
"Are you planning on going back to your old ways?" His words hung heavily in the stifling air, the atmosphere suddenly suffocating. I ignored the weight of his question, focusing on the task at hand, though I could sense his frustration mounting.
"Listen, brother. Though I am part of the Dalton family, I never involve myself in their affairs. Especially not after what they did to your betrothed, my little sister," Justin’s voice held a bitter edge, the pain of the past echoing in his words.
"I doubt the word ’family’ ans anything to them, considering how easily they turned a five-year-old into a heartless killing machine..."
"Rumors said she isn’t dead," I interjected, and Justin nodded, taking a seat opposite mine.
"So I’ve heard. I’ve made my inquiries, but the truth is elusive. Everyone seems to have a story about her. I’ve watched her grow from afar, and I need to find her," Justin’s voice held a note of determination.
"But what if you don’t? What if she truly died, as the rumors suggest?" I pressed, watching as Justin fell into deep thought.
"I doubt she’s dead. The day she disappeared, the anger in her eyes was unmistakable. When she confronted our grandfather about her father’s death, I saw fear in his eyes. She was just a child, yet they feared her," Justin looked up at , his gaze intense.
"So, where is the human assassin machine, my betrothed, your sister?" I demanded, pushing the file back across the table. "She’s gone for good, Justin. Focus on yourself. And if she’s not dead, then perhaps one day she’ll return, as you say. For now, get an excuse to et with your grandfather," I stated firmly.
"It’s no use talking to you. There’s a family and business party in a month. I’ll send you the invitation," Justin sighed, and I stood, ready to leave. But his next words stopped in my tracks.
"Sofia..."
"How dare you?!" A sudden scream pierced the heavy atmosphere, and I turned to see Sofia, my first uncle’s daughter, livid with rage. Beside her stood Carla, cool and composed, a mask of indifference hiding her true emotions.
"Excuse ? Are you mute or sothing? You’ve ruined my dress. How do you plan on compensating ?" Sofia’s voice was sharp, filled with entitlent. I held Justin back, eager to see how Carla would handle the confrontation.
"I’m talking to you!" Sofia roared, her hand raised as if to strike, but it was caught midway by Carla’s firm grip.
"Isn’t it obvious that I don’t want to speak to you? Why do you insist on crossing boundaries?" Carla’s voice was ice-cold, her grip unwavering as Sofia trembled in her grasp.
"Why don’t you all get the ssage that I’m in no mood to speak? You bumped into , ruined my clothes, and now you demand compensation?" Carla’s tone dripped with disdain, her eyes boring into Sofia’s with a chilling intensity.
"Listen, girl. You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish. Who knows, I might just be the one to fulfill your dying wish of eting the man above the skies," Carla’s words hung in the air like a sinister warning, leaving Sofia speechless.
"Why didn’t you tell my sister-in-law could be this scary? You’re both a perfect match," Justin quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.
Even I was taken aback by Carla’s steely resolve. My beloved, usually so gentle and quiet, revealed a side of herself I had never seen before—a side as dark and unyielding as the shadows that danced around us.
"I’ve sent you so photos. Get every detail you can before I leave," I instructed Justin, my mind already focused on the next steps.
"And when are you leaving?" Justin asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"Tomorrow evening," I replied, my gaze unwavering.
As I made my way out of the office, the darkness seed to follow, clinging to like a shroud. The air was heavy with foreboding, the echoes of the confrontation still ringing in my ears.
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