CHAPTER TWO – THE WATCHER.
What happened at the graveside was amazing. No relief came, for that moment should have ended things, but it didn't work that way.
Shivering by the graveside, I pulled myself together with my eye on the preacher as he read out words from a book my father left untouched. Cold pieced through my fabric, I had to hug my ribs tight as if that might keep things as a whole.
Beside me, my brother,Tori stayed quiet, teeth pressed hard, without a single tear running down his cheek, ever since we sat in the hospital room, all through the very first evening.
These days, I felt angry instead of inner joy, as if destroying things could be helpful. I have always conscious of that urge.
Close to my left stood Marcus, steady as ever, a reliable shoulder to lean and a friend indeed.
He quietly asked if I was holding up and getting on well.
My head moved
On that day at the graveside, just eight persons stood by me. A crowd of eight for someone who had led two hundred workers years ago?
When my dad's business began falling apart, every so-called colleague disappeared fast. Mom had named them fair-weather friends, back when she was still alive.
The priest finished his prayer. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
The ground swallowed the casket slowly, while my eyes stayed fixed as it dropped, I felt the weight pulling my chest.
Who feels it, knows it best, because pain like this ought to burn, doesn't it,?
AsIt hit me then, someone was watching, their gaze heavy on my shoulders.
Spinning round bit by bit, eyes moving across broken markers and bare branches, a few folks were still there, though many were making their way toward where they parked their vehicles. They were keen on leaving behind the weight of silence.
That is when he came into view, figure held still near an old oak, roughly fifty feet off. Behind thick bark and leaves, he stayed just out of full view.
From where I stood, his height showed clearly andvsurely above six feet. His suit hung sharp, jet-black, tailored like it came from a high-end shop. The fabric moved smoothly, nothing baggy or loose. Hair dark, face firm, shoulders wide, he carried himself without effort.
His eyes locked onto mine without moving.
There was no trace of kindness in his eyes, not the quiet pity people wear when someone dies.
This felt sharper, a gaze that weighed more, as if he were taking notes inside his head. Measuring my shape, my stance, the way I held my breath.
My pulse quickened. "Marcus, who is that?"
Marcus followed my gaze. His body tensed. "I don't know. Want me to ask what he's doing here?", Marcus queried
"Miss Bennett?" The priest touched my arm gently. "Would you like to say a few words before we conclude?"
My gaze shifted from the man standing there. Yes, I said it out loud. Appreciation followed.
Into the quiet near the headstone I moved, thoughts scattered now. "Dad," I began - then stopped. The sound broke apart, being absent weighs heavily, only regret sits beside me here.
Turning to the oak again, he had disappeared.
Just... gone.
Fading into silence, just a shadow where he once stood.
"Perhaps he'd come to see another person's resting place," I said, though doubt stayed heavy in my voice.
"Sophia, he was watching you specifically. I saw his face." Marcus unlocked his car. "Did your dad have any enemies?"
"Dad had creditors. Lots of them." I slid into the passenger seat. "But I don't think they show up to funerals."
The car hummed to life under Marcus's hands, yet the wheels stayed still. A pause hung thick before he spoke. Something felt hidden, unspoken between them
Avoiding it felt easier, because after art school, Marcus saw right through me and always did. Explaining to the lawyer wouldn't be simple, a debt of fifty million?
Tomorrow means facing someone called Damien Cross, who seems to hold what comes next, but hard to say how any of this happened.
"A lawyer came to Dad's apartment yesterday," I said finally. "Dad owed money. A lot of money."
"How much?", Marcus asked anxiously.
"Fifty million dollars,"
Fingers gripping hard, Marcus stared ahead. Who could it possibly be meant for?
"Some tech billionaire. Damien Cross."
A silence sat there after he said it.
Marcus grabbed his phone, tapping fast, a chill ran down my spine when I saw how white his face turned. That company - Cross Technologies - is worth more than most countries, it's said online.
Then came the part about Damien Cross, cold, sharp-eyed, known for crushing anyone in his way. The screen blinked under shaky hands. See for yourself
The piece caught my eye. Cold moves, takeouts without warning, means no room for kindness in deals. He became the youngest solo-made tech billionaire ever.
He lost both parents at seventeen, started with empty hands,but later shaped a world of his own.
His shadowed face filled the frame - dark hair swept back, angles carved like stone. Those eyes, pale as winter sky, held a stillness that pierced the lens. Sharp, unyielding, with zero for smiles,but doubly watchful.
I was frozen, stone-hard by fear.
There stood the one person I recognized, he had been at the graveside, quiet, hands in his coat.
"He was there," I whispered. "That was Damien Cross watching me."
Marcus grabbed my hand. "Why would he come to your father's funeral?"
It wasn't true. My purse held the lawyer's card, untouched. On the reverse, a time scrawled in ink: seven o'clock. His place sat high above Manhattan - skyline views, private elevator. That detail stayed fixed in memory.
Something drew Damien Cross here. He wanted to witness it firsthand, the thing piling up before his eyes.
Tomorrow, straight into his trap, I would go, I supposed so.
The screen lit up. A nameless caller. That note on display made my fingers tremble.
Finding it hard to say this, but I'm truly sorry about what happened, Sophia. We meet tomorrow - seven sharp. See that you're there on time. - DC
"What is it?" Marcus asked.
On display, I held it out. He looked.
Marcus's face hardened. "You're not going alone. I'm coming with you."
"No." I deleted the message with trembling fingers. "This is my problem. My father's debt."
For real, Marcus. My eyes met his, faking courage while fear sat heavy inside, and was convinced this one's on me
Finding me wasn't hard for he already had my name. Exactly what surprised me? The way he looked at me, like we'd met before.
What could he possibly need from me?
Finding out was set for tomorrow, I was in great expectation of the moment that had not arrived yet.
Somehow, deep down, a shift had already taken place. Life after that moment could only move differently.
End of Chapter Two