The morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Velmonte estate, gilding the edges of Alexander's neatly pressed shirt as he stood by the window in silence. He had been up for hours. Sleep had evaded him again, stolen by the memory of Emily's eyes—cold, defiant, unbending. Her final words echoed like a challenge: "Don't come back here."
Alexander's jaw tightened as he pulled on his jacket. He hated loose ends. And Emily Wards had become one—unpredictable, sharp, and far too composed for someone who had just lost everything. She was a storm disguised in silk.
He stepped away from the window, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor as he made his way downstairs. Andrew was already waiting in the study, a spread of maps, files, and tablets neatly arranged before him.
"You're early," Alexander said curtly, taking his seat across from him.
Andrew looked up. "Didn't sleep either, did you?"
Alexander didn't answer.
After being quiet for a while, we have to go to the airport,"Alexander said" Andrew simply nodded. Soon the left for the airport and landed in Alderidge where Alexander was taken to a penthouse.
The morning was still young when Alexander Velmonte stepped into the sleek black car waiting outside his penthouse. He wore a dark turtleneck beneath a sharp overcoat, and his expression was colder than the wind brushing through the city. Andrew was already at the wheel, sipping from a thermos and checking through a manila folder of contact leads.
"Ready?" Andrew asked without looking up.
Alexander nodded once. "Let's end the guessing game today."
They drove in silence for most of the trip. The school they were headed to was just outside the city, a well-funded private institution surrounded by aged oak trees and iron gates. The kind of place that polished young elites into future assets of power. If Emily Wards ever stepped through those doors, they would find out.
They were led into the school by an older woman with a warm voice and sharp eyes. She introduced herself as Mrs. Harrow, the registrar and one of the few still working there since before the pandemic. Her office smelled of pinewood and fading paper, and she eyed Alexander and Andrew with curiosity as she accepted the business card.
"Velmonte Technologies?" she said, then smiled. "Quite the name. Not often we get company men looking through yearbooks."
"We're trying to verify some background information," Andrew said, before Alexander could speak. "It's confidential."
Mrs. Harrow tilted her head, thoughtful. "And what name are you looking for, exactly?"
Alexander folded his arms. "Emily Wards."
She blinked, the name stirring something. She walked over to one of the shelves and pulled out a thick, leather-bound yearbook. She flipped through pages slowly, thoughtfully, scanning names.
"We've only had two students here with the surname Wards," she said at last. "Susan Wards… and her sister—"
"That's okay," Alexander cut in, not wanting the name spoken aloud, not yet. "We're only interested in Emily."
Mrs. Harrow paused, a bit surprised at the interruption. "Very well," she said, flipping again. "Susan Wards is the only one listed in the graduation archive. Grey eyes. A little on the chubby side back then. But brilliant. Top of her art class."
Alexander leaned forward as the woman turned the book toward them. The photo was in black and white—an average-looking girl, her hair pulled back, her face soft, her eyes grey.
"Do you have any more information on her?" Andrew asked the woman.
"Not much. Records were wiped almost a year ago. It's odd, but not unheard of. Sometimes students request full privacy after graduation. She and her sister disappeared around the same time. We assumed they moved out of the country."
The rest of the day was a maze. Alexander and Andrew split up for part of the investigation, pulling every string they could through personal and corporate contacts. But no matter what angle they approached from, every trail on Emily Wards or Susan Wards dried up. The names led nowhere. Banks. Housing records. Health data. All disconnected or hidden behind impenetrable privacy clauses.
"She covered her tracks," Andrew muttered, frustrated, as they regrouped outside a closed archive office. "Every one of them."
"She had help," Alexander said, the faintest trace of respect laced beneath his icy tone. "But even the best walls crack."
By nightfall, they returned to the city, defeated in the practical sense—but more certain than ever that Emily was hiding something deeper than either of them had expected.
Andrew checked himself into a hotel, needing space to process and rest. Alexander returned to the penthouse alone.
The moment the door shut
"Who are you really, Andrew thought to himself"
Alexander returned to his penthouse late in the evening, the city's amber lights casting faint glows across the cold, glass walls. He unbuttoned his coat, tossed it aside, and headed straight for the drink cabinet in the corner. His fingers reached for the familiar bottle of whiskey, pouring amber liquid into a crystal glass.
The first sip burned slightly, the taste shivering through his veins like fire chasing through ice. He tapped the glass lightly on the table, leaned forward, and exhaled. The silence of the penthouse was loud, but his thoughts were louder.
"Emily Wards," he muttered, rolling the name over his tongue like a foreign word. "Your magical appearance, your eyes—everything screams the intruder… except the body shape. And your voice—so polished, so clean." He narrowed his eyes and stared at the darkened city skyline beyond the window.
"She looks too kind. Too innocent. That face… it's sculpted like art, not danger." He paused, letting the glass dangle from his fingers. "What if I'm looking in the wrong direction?" His voice grew softer, more irritated. "What if I'm just wasting my time?"
The silence pressed in again—until it shattered with the loud vibration of his phone. He stared at the screen. Juliet.
She had been calling him repeatedly ever since the engagement was announced. Until now, he hadn't cared enough to answer. But tonight, something in him allowed it.
With a flick of his thumb, he slid to accept.
"Finally," came Juliet's voice, breathless with a mix of relief and desperation. "Alexander, you picked up. I am your best friend—or so I thought. How could you get engaged and not even tell me?"
Alexander leaned back in his chair, swirling the drink slowly. His tone was icy and calm. "I'm engaged, not dead, Juliet. It's not my fault you missed it."
Her voice rose, cracking with emotion. "It was meant to be me! Me and you, Alexander!"
His eyes darkened at her words, a sudden flame of rage flickering in his chest—though his voice remained composed. "Juliet, I don't want to be reminded of what you did. Just because I chose to forgive you doesn't mean I've forgotten."
There was a stretch of silence on the other end. Juliet's breath caught in her throat. She knew what he was referring to—how she left when Velmonte Technologies began to crumble, how she humiliated him in front of others, claiming she deserved "better" than a man whose empire was falling apart. She'd walked away when Jude and Jason were temporarily in charge, when the Velmonte name was on shaky ground.
But Alexander had rebuilt it—no, resurrected it—with his bare hands. And now, with the company thriving again, she wanted back in.
Pulling herself from the spiral of guilt and thoughts, Juliet finally spoke, softly, "I'm coming back tomorrow, Alexander."
He took another sip, then stood and walked toward the window, staring down at the glimmering city.
"I'm not there," he said coldly. "I've gone on a business trip."
Before Juliet could say another word, he ended the call with a sharp, "Good night."
The screen went dark. Juliet was left staring at her phone, and Alexander, glass still in hand, returned to his chair.
He stared into the drink, but his mind drifted again—to a girl with green eyes, or were they grey? A soft voice. A mysterious presence. Emily Wards.
He was going to find her truth—no matter how deep he had to dig.
He set the glass down with a dull clink, the amber liquid swirling lazily at the bottom. The city lights outside seemed to blur slightly as the weight of the day settled on him. He loosened his tie and leaned back against the velvet cushion of his armchair, thoughts spiraling again—not about Juliet, but about Emily.
There was something about her that clung to his mind like smoke. He could recall every subtle movement, every word she spoke, every glance she gave him during those brief, calculated exchanges. He had met dozens of liars in his lifetime—fluent manipulators with polished facades—but Emily… she had layers. Dangerous ones.
Alexander exhaled sharply and stood, walking slowly to his bedroom. The day had been fruitless—he and Andrew had searched Emily's former school, dug into connections, traced records, and yet nothing concrete emerged. Just a yearbook photo and a name—Susan Wards—with grey eyes and a round face, hardly resembling the woman they knew.
When the elderly teacher flipped to that page and said, "Ah, the Wards sisters," both Alexander and Andrew had leaned in.
"We're looking for Emily Wards," Andrew had clarified quickly, before the woman could continue.
"Oh," she nodded, tapping the picture of Susan. "This was the only Wards student we had. No Emily."
They moved on after that. Alexander made a few quiet calls, had his men double-check records, but everything came up empty.
Now, as he stood at the window in his bedroom, gazing over the glimmering skyline, a muscle ticked in his jaw. Nothing. And he hated when a trail went cold.
Tomorrow would be different. He'd dig deeper, dig wider. Whatever Emily was hiding—whatever past she buried—he would unearth it.