"HOW WAS YOUR DATE?" Emma stopped in middle of her knitting process and eyed her daughter who had just stepped her foot into the hall in her usual insouciance.
"Riveting." Danica replied, offering a faintest smile that was far from convincing.
She upheld her precious purse and as if on the cue, server immediately showed up, took her purse and the fur coat before brisking away from the spot.
Emma's eyes twinkled with hope and equal parts of skepticism.
"That's great. I should have known better, considering your time of arrival." Her mother took a quick glance at digital clock in her cellphone before returning. "It's eleven past thirty. Seems like you had best evening of all time."
Best would be an understatement, considering how coldly Danica had tightened the strings and unmasked the man, leaving his borrowed brilliance in shreds.
"Yes, it was different and fun," She took a seat across her mother and plastered fake enthusiasm before quickly adding. "I made him run for his life."
The spark of hope died in the eyes of Emma on the spot, as if she'd expected this but still wished she hadn't been right. She knew something was off when Danica agreed to see Rodriguez this morning, and this familiar piece of news shouldn't have rattled her or fanned the flames of supressed indignation. But, this time it did. Colder and sharper than before.
"You know this isn't joke, right?" Emma battled to not lose her cool. "You are turning thirty next year and I will be close to sixty. Before I die, I have to see you happy and settled. But with your stubbornness and record of pushing away proposals, I don't see that becoming a reality."
"So, just to appease your little misery…" Danica's voice was so calm it bordered on the edge of nonchalance. "…I have to just end up marrying anyone? Is that what you are trying to say, mother?"
Emma sighed exasperatedly. "Daniel wasn't just anyone. He seemed respectable person with good amount of status and..."
"Oh please," Danica scoffed. "That's what he wanted to show you. He wasn't respectable person, neither he was an industrialist or with good status. Rather, he was a piece of shit downing in millions of debts, with three children and rubble of social status at some start-up company."
Danica stopped for a second enough to spot the scar of concern and disbelief in her mother's eyes before adding with emphasis.
"I just barely saved myself from a disaster. And I guess, you should be grateful. Or else, you would have seen me anything but happy."
"I am forever grateful, Dan." Emma placed a hand on hers and replied in soft tone. "But that doesn't cut a slack to my ever-growing concern. I'm not saying you need to settle, or force yourself into something that doesn't feel right."
Her mother forced out a breath, closed her eyes and opened them quickly. "…I am trying to say that love isn't just another word. It has the power to rip you apart and then piece you back together with more meaning than you ever had alone. And whether you want to admit it or not, having someone beside you…someone who stays…makes the chaos of life easier to bear."
"I don't need a man to lead a meaningful life." A breeze of determination solidified into a giant rock in Danica's belly. "Love... can make you fragile, chained to feelings you thought you controlled. It pulls you under until you forget who you were before. Marriage isn't a promise to me; it's a trap and I'll not step into it. I'm already whole in my own way, even if that means walking through the darkness alone."
The words landed hard in Emma's chest, leaving her shaken and powerless to argue further. It was hard to imagine any man brave enough, or willing, to stand close to Danica's fierce fire and try to soothe it, rather than be scorched or driven away by its heat.
"And, if there are any slim to null chances of me finding the right man," Danica gently removed her hand from the weight of her mother's. "…I'll put him through hell, test him in ways he won't survive, before I let him anywhere near my heart or my life." She let a generous smile slip for a nanosecond before adding. "But I am sure mom, there is no such man on this planet who can shake my torturous belief about love, much less survive those tests."
A tight snarl of irritation and concern traveled down her mother's spine, raw, unfiltered, and far too heavy to fight under the circumstances.
"How did you find about Daniel's shady profile?" Emma averted the topic before the emotions got better of her.
"I called my manager this morning and asked him to dig everything he could about Rodriguez. And rest is the history."
"Good heavens."
Danica pushed to her feet, catching her mother off guard. "I'm assuming your carefully curated suitor list is finished. Or is there another poor soul lining up to test his luck?"
"I…" her mother exhaled sharply, standing up from the couch. "I was planning to set three more dates with someone better, of course, from business world. The one who..."
"That's very unfortunate, mom. Because I don't plan to go on any dates. Not after what happened today."
"But..."
"It takes more mental energy than you think to set cunning and flawless trap to dodge away men that are carefully dressed in masked arrogance and bottled-up white lies. I'd rather pour my energy into my company." She took a purposeful pause. "The new skincare launch depends on it, at least that's something real."
Emma's heart tightened around its final scrap of resolve, and before she could coax her daughter into going on another date—
"Also, my ten days here are done." Danica steamrolled on, keeping her voice polite but firm. "I just came here to collect my belongings and let you know that the latest one didn't even come close to impressing me. Not a trace of charm, let alone pursuing."
She could sense the worry and nervous tension radiating from her mother. But being a terrible consoler and even worse at expressing emotion, she had no idea how to calm the desolation simmering beneath her mother's meticulously maintained exterior. In the end, Danica did the only thing that came to mind.
She exhaled, stepped closer to her mother and wrapped her into a warm hug. Emma returned it with equal warmth.
"I will now head back to my place." Danica pulled away.
Her mother was overwhelmed by anger, disbelief, and just enough grace to keep from snapping. But more than anything, she was tired. Too tired to beg Danica to stay a few more days, too tired to argue her into changing her mind.
The Clarkes had always lived by their rules: One dinner together every year. Ten days where Danica came home, no arguments, no excuses about work. Family time, in their world, was non-negotiable.
Initially, these gathering had meant something; shopping sprees with her mother, golf games with her father, impromptu trips that dissolved into laughter and blurred into memories.
But traditions, she'd learned, had a way of decaying from the inside.
For six years now, those visits had been hollow. No trips, no indulgent shopping, no reckless spontaneity. Only fleeting appearances and her mother presenting a lineup of polite, well-bred men like candidates under inspection. To Danica, it resembled a staged performance more than a family reunion, and its weight pressed down harder than any duty she could slip away from.
"Sophia." she called the butler of the house, who immediately made an appearance before her; half nervous and half in attempt to stay uptight. "Pack my belongings and bring the suitcase to porch."
Sophia gave a curt nod before rushing upstairs to carry out the order. And here Danica plastered one half-decent smile before exiting the hall in her all dark and brooding energy.
Emma forced a breath and massaged her temples as if they could squeeze out the whirlwind of chaos of last twenty-four hours.
********************************
The journey back to Blackthorn was meant to be smooth, uneventful. Instead, Danica's thoughts betrayed her, drifting again and again to the words she'd sent to Alfred. It was unnerving, mildly alarming and full-fledge aggravating.
She'd buried version of herself in the abyss of her subconscious; the one who hesitated, dissected every detail and felt too much. But his unsolicited entrance in her life with all those Greek God features and overdose of gallantry had triggered something she couldn't name. Whatever it was, was a mindfuck. It made fragments of who she once was surface when Danica least expected them.
Dammit. She bit her bottom-lip.
From: Danica Clarke*
To: Alfred Brown*
Date: 3 August 2021, 11:30 p.m.
Hello,
If bending rules means crashing into inboxes at ungodly hours with cliché lines, then yes, you've certainly broken something, mostly my patience. And if you think obsessively noting the exact shade of my lipstick is charming, you're dead wrong. It's creepy and downright pathetic.
For your brief moment of happiness, yes I remember the purse, the rescue, and the last minute of the awards night. But not all memories deserve a replay.
Consider this your polite notice: stay in your lane.
Thanks for the unsolicited intrusion. Next time, don't confuse desperation with charm. It's a lousy look.
On the bright side, the user definitely exists. Whether she'll read any more of your emails? That's doubtful. Keep guessing.
-Danica
By the time she had finished replaying each sentence of her response in her head, the vast expanse of her estate loomed ahead. Two guards stood sentinel near the wrought-iron gate, bowing in silent deference before sliding it open.
The sprawling structure, a seamless blend of gothic grandeur and sleek modern architecture, stretched over fifty acres of pristine land.
True to its name, Blackthorn was an imposing vision in shades of grey and black, nestled deep within the heart of Beverly Hills.
Danica parked her Aston Martin in front of the porch and threw the keys at another guard, before stepping into giant black and grey castle.
"Miss, finally you are here." A lady in a neat black dress, hair swept into a low bun with a few wisps falling near her temple, greeted her with a polite, tight smile. "I've already prepared a hot bubble bath for you. Your dinner is also waiting."
"I appreciate how proactive you are, Evelyn." Danica handed her purse and coat to the server, who took them and placed them carefully. "You make an excellent butler, you know."
Evelyn offered a warm smile and bowed. She'd been steady, precise, flawless in every detail in her service to Danica for years. And in return, she'd earned something most never did: a glimpse past Danica's armour, a genuine smile, and words that carried warmth instead of command.
"I'll just have a long, hot shower and then head to bed. No dinner tonight."
"Understood, miss."
Time thinned and minutes bled into seconds. Danica finished her post-shower ritual, collapsed into bed, and reached for her sleep mask when a sharp notification pierced the silence. It was a forbidden fruit she'd no intention of resisting.
Before she could convince herself to honour her no-phone-before-sleep rule, her thumb was already sliding to unlock the screen.
Another email.
From Alfred. Again.
Goddamn it.
Sleep could wait. She couldn't close her eyes and expect her conscious mind to quiet itself without stealing a glimpse of whatever audacity he intended to unveil next.
This wasn't temptation. No. Not at all. It was a darker, more persistent curiosity, coiling through her with relentless insistence. As if fate had a hand in it, she'd exchanged more words with one man in the past week than she had in five years without biting his head off or issuing a threat.
It was disconcerting and … insidiously addictive.
The screen flashed a soft glow on her charming face, as her eyes scanned the message twice.
From: Alfred Brown*
To: Danica Clarke *
Date: 3 August 2021, 12:30 a.m.
Hello (again),
A few words of generosity and a healthy dose of sass; a trademark of the indomitable 'Danica Clarke.'
I confess, I was fully prepared for nothing short of a savage retort befitting Businesswoman of the Year.
If my little observational remark ruffled your feathers or came off as anything less than charming, I sincerely apologize. That was never the intention.
Now, on a far more important note, may I have the honour of meeting you at La Belle Vie? I assure you; it's strictly business... though some deals are worth making over more than just spreadsheets.
With utmost sincerity,
Alfred.
He wanted to meet me at an apex French restaurant? She scoffed. Too brave to extend an invite after getting served a cold dish of indifference at best.
It's just a business invite. A voice in her head cooed breezily. She hadn't known a voice lived there until now.
What's there to overthink? Don't you want to see what this deal is really about? What if it gives you the perfect reason to threaten him or better yet, end him?
The louder the voice grew, the harder she resisted. Temptation was a beast, but beyond her own conflicted thoughts, she believed in one self-realized truth: Choices are coffins waiting to be nailed shut; be certain the grave you dig is not your own.
Danica discarded every needless thought, drove the voice deep into the blackest corner of her psyche, and muted her phone.
"There's no way I'm meeting you," she muttered, tugging her sleep mask down. "Not until you ace my test number one."
********************************
"She is late." Paul huffed, losing his patience to the devil.
From his perch on the seventh-floor balcony, he scanned the entrance for the thirtieth time, as if just looking harder would make her appear.
"For Christ's sake, tell me an exact moment when the boss actually appeared on time." Lee remarked, leaning against the railing of the balcony and eyeing his friend, who was now pacing back and forth like a madman. "What are you restless for?"
Paul stopped, hands settling on his hips, his shoulders rigid with contained frustration. He drew a breath that didn't reach far enough.
"Danica's absence feels like starvation," he admitted. "It devours me. I can't think." His hand flailed in the air as he battled for right words. "I just....can't breathe when she's not close. It's like....."
Lee snorted hard, then broke into outright cackling, doubling over the railing like his friend had unlocked cosmic truth only to be dragged straight to hell with a daddy finger and potato stuck in the ass.
"I don't recall claiming I'm from some unicorn cult," Paul shot back. His ribs scorched as fury in his gut fought it's way up. "drifting through space, here to deal with idiots like you."
"No," Lee finally managed, trying to recover from his broken humor. "It's funny."
He continued to wheeze, as if God personally found him amusing, remaining blissfully impervious to the imaginary fireballs that Paul's death stare was hurling at him.
"What is funny, Mr. asshole?" Paul crossed his arms against his sturdy chest. Still breathing fire.
"You." Macen answered and then chuckled harder for a minute for adding up quickly. "You are funny. Your punchlines are as hollow as a vacuum cleaner before it's plugged in. There's no spark. No suction. No charm in it."
"This is coming from a man who has had zero dates and a Sahara-dry love life in the last thirty years?"
His indignation was getting thicker and hotter with each passing second of spineless conversation with Macen fucking Lee.
"At least I don't waste my charm and energy in writing sonnets for a woman who has zero interest in me and orders FBI-level background checks on every man who dares knock on the door to her heart."
Paul's second eye twitched as he resisted the urge to punch a hole in his friend's ass before tossing him off the railing.
"Why don't you just give up?" Macen kept going, misreading his friend's silence as acceptance or, at best, a flicker of agreement. "It's been three years since you left the board of Phoenixe just to win her over. Aren't you exhausted from pretending to be her manager?"
Paul scoffed and ran a hand through his perfectly tousled dirty-blonde crew cut.
"She doesn't even acknowledge you, much less care about what you feel." Lee deadpanned. His usual quirk was now replaced with a stone-cold expression. "You should go back to your company and be the CEO beast that you are meant to be. Phoenixe is a deadly competitor of our company because it is ruthlessly on the rise and equally powerful. Leaving that throne, your title, your power, and your position, all for one woman, who doesn't even owe you a penny of her heart, was the dumbest goddamn move you've ever made."
That was the final blow.
People could hurl insults at him, tear him down, and pick apart the man he was, but nobody had the right to challenge the life-defining decision that centered on Danica.
Paul stepped forward, eyes lit with ferocious resolve. "Titles, companies…" His voice lowered, dense and raw. "…they dissolve when love begins to suffocate you. Even life turns negotiable."
"That may be true. But you are not in love with her." Lee remained unmoved, resolute.
They stood mere inches apart, nerves tight, pride bruised, and ironclad in their convictions.
"Don't dictate my feelings or tell me how to live," Paul bit out, barely restraining the instinct to plant a fist in Lee's gorgeous face. "Not trying, not risking it all for someone who matters, and abandoning the pursuit halfway would be the dumbest and most cowardly decision I could ever make. And I'd sooner watch my whole world burn than live like that."
Macen was about to fire back with equal intensity when a movement caught his eye. He glanced instinctively over the railing and saw a royal black sedan pulling up at the forecourt.
Paul's gaze followed, locking onto the car just as a guard swung the door open and Danica stepped out, dressed in an oxblood-red outfit. Her bodyguards trailed behind her as she disappeared into the building's entrance. His expression softened briefly before tightness crawled back.
"One more thing," The snarl and the weight in Paul's voice hauled Macen back into the moment. "I don't play safe. I never have. And I never will."
Their standoff burned in silence, thick with fury and resolve for one final minute before Paul took a step back and walked away.
Lee rubbed a hand over his mouth, forcing a quick breath as he watched Paul march down the hallway with an unmistakable smugness in his gait.
****************************************
Danica's eyes punched holes onto the stack of papers as if they'd committed a personal offense across all six dimensions of her patience. The numbers stared back at her, cold, judgmental, and unblinking. She returned the glare with equal hostility.
Her latest creation, Dominion Foundation Cream, had been a flawless triumph, a monument to overachievement that had undeniably boosted the company's revenue. But she never allowed herself to dwell on victory. Admiration was a luxury, and she knew better than to indulge.
The moment she paused to acknowledge her success, anxiety crept in like a parasite, chewing at her nerves, and whispering about decay and failure. She crushed the feeling before it could take better hold of her.
By the time the thought had finished forming, she was already drafting the skeleton of her next product.
"The chief financial officer has finalized the reports and is…" The red-haired woman, freckles standing out against her pale skin, hesitated behind her glasses as if weighing every word. "…is in disagreement with the new product line. Not opposed exactly," she corrected herself in a heartbeat, "but… resistant."
Danica snapped the file shut with more force than necessary. If there was anything in this world that was capable of incinerating her inner peace into a million shards, it was defiance. No one dared oppose her orders, much less breath against her will.
"I'll be requesting an explanation from your team leader," Danica replied in an even tone, fury simmering just beneath her it, "a long, very fucking detailed one, for why these numbers are refusing to let new product advance."
Becca, the CFO's assistant, kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor, instinct warning her that meeting Danica's gaze would be a pure act of self-destruction. Unforgiving. In all capital letters.
"Yes," she began, "I will—"
"Did you call for me, boss?" The interruption came in a deep, rough voice that cleaved straight through her words.
Becca glanced to her right and found a six-foot-five man dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleek black trousers, and polished shoes grounding his imposing presence. A frown carved itself into his handsome features. On anyone else, it would have dulled their charm, made them unapproachable. On him? It was pure temptation; an icing on an already lethal cake.
Paul Williams, the boss's manager, was a beast wrapped in sheep's clothing. Becca's gaze drifted to his chest, to the way his shirt strained against solid muscle and the strength in his arms.
God.
There was something about him that demanded attention and made him stood out from millions who blurred into the background of this godforsaken company.
He must have felt the heat of her stare etching into his profile, slow and deliberate. Next moment, Paul turned and levelled his copper eyes—cool, unimpressed, devastatingly aware—to hers, exposing her in a single second.
Flustered to the core, she tore her gaze away and retreated back to Danica, pretending as if she hadn't been feeling anything between her thighs.
"I'll inform my team leader immediately," Becca rushed out, breathless, "regarding the meeting and all relevant details."
Danica dipped her chin a fraction in agreement as the CFO's assistant stepped forward to retrieve the file.
"You can leave." Her palm pressed possessively against the black folder. "I will keep this with me. Your leader must be having data on his platter, I suppose."
Becca stepped back, offered a restrained smile, and bowed tightly before exiting the cabin.
Once the door was shut behind, Paul broke the silence even before it'd privilege to settle between them.
"Is it about regenerative anti-aging serum?" He inquired, cocking one of his dirty-blonde eyebrows.
Danica gave a tight nod, her expression rigid. "I would've launched it already if he weren't sitting on the board."
"He's just a CFO and his role is compliance." Paul attempted to soften the tension. "You've made the impossible happen before and you can do it again. A hundred and eighty times, if the world insists..."
His words were as ineffective and forgettable as wind against stone. If anything, they only reaffirmed the truth she wore like a crown.
Soon, his voice droned out as Danica's attention slipped into the storm of noise raging within her. Her fingers drummed idly against the leather file, each tap mirroring the restless churn of inner turmoil.
No doubt Danica was the founder. She owned more than half the company shares and held everyone firmly within her grasp. Yet it was dauntingly necessary to acknowledge that every member of the board moved in lockstep with her will.
Power and fear often coexisted in the architecture of dominance, but terror without balance provoked resistance. Rule too tightly, and people broke or worse, rebelled in silence. So, sometimes the leash had to slacken just enough to make people believe they had a voice, even when they didn't. That's when control worked best.
Paul didn't need to know any of that. She had no intention of explaining it to him.
"That's not one of the reasons why I called you here." Danica finally addressed him. "I want the updates regarding…"
"Chief of marine corporate?" Paul finished rest of the sentence with subtleness. "The blue marks around his neck, position of his eyes and zero pulse confirmed his death."
"Well, I was furious because he'd not only hurled offensive comments regarding my company and my position and everything. He'd reputation of—" Danica stopped herself, aware she was saying too much.
"So, you killed him?" Paul supplied, keeping his tone within the range of reverence. "I do have an update, beside his death confirmation. You don't have to stress about any investigation or prosecution because I've dumped his body parts seven feet deep in the forest area behind remote junkyard." He took a purposeful pause. "I've planted a decoy to mislead the hounds if they find their way to that place."
"It's almost admirable," Danica sounded bored as if they were discussing whether, "how skilled you are at erasing the dead and silencing consequences. But this was overkill. The Chief had no heirs. No family. Just a room of cacti that he called a company. His disappearance wouldn't have raised suspicion."
Paul's head creased slightly at her remark.
What about other people that she'd killed in the past? They'd families, heirs, and were part of elite communities. Their dead bodies met the same fate, but there was no investigation. No trace of paranoia.
The pattern was disturbing.
Danica's records legally, professionally, and on paper were immaculate. No matter how many lives she'd erased, how red her hands truly were, she remained untouched by criminal consequence.
She was terrifyingly subtle and enigmatically mysterious; a combination that unsettled him yet drew him as inevitably as water draws fish.
For now, Paul swallowed his thoughts and locked them away in the darkest vault of his psyche.
"I called you here for a matter that requires immediate attention." Danica's authoritative voice sucked him back to reality. "More precisely, someone."
"Sure, Boss. Who is that unlucky bastard?"
For once, the mindless rhythm of her fingers stilled. "Alfred Brown."