Chapter 12: You Missed Something?
Frances was speechless.
For a moment, she couldn't find her voice. She had never imagined Raymond would bring up their past—like that—in public. Her chest tightened, but she quickly collected herself. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Attention."
Her voice echoed, slicing through the tension in the room. Everyone turned their eyes to her, while Raymond smiled a little wider. She was more composed, more powerful than before—he found it intriguing.
"Let's begin the meeting, Mr. Raymond," she said, emphasizing his name with a deliberate chill.
Everyone took their seats again, confusion dancing in their eyes. The atmosphere had shifted, thick with unspoken history.
"Hey, do you know what's going on between those two?" one of Raymond's employees whispered to a colleague.
Frances shot them a glare. "Focus on what you're here for—or leave."
Silence. Even the air held its breath.
"Alright, we can begin," Raymond said at last.
The meeting dragged on for hours. Neither Frances nor Raymond gave the other an inch. Every proposal sparked a rebuttal. Every suggestion turned into a silent battlefield. Yet, somehow, they reached an agreement.
After the meeting, the crowd dispersed. Frances walked toward her car but suddenly stopped and checked her handbag.
"Bianca, did anything fall out of my bag?" she asked, anxiety creeping into her voice.
"No, ma'am. I didn't see anything," Bianca replied.
"Wait here. I need to check the meeting room again."
Frances hurried off. Her heels echoed in the empty corridor, a steady reminder of her urgency. She pushed the door open and searched every corner of the room, crouching low, hands sweeping under chairs.
"God, no... not what I'm thinking." Her voice trembled.
Then a calm, chilling voice broke the silence.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
She froze. That voice.
Raymond.
Why can't he just leave me alone? she thought, straightening her back as she slowly turned to face him.
"Hello, Mr. Raymond. How may I help you?" Her voice was gentle, her smile tight.
Raymond leaned back into a chair and crossed his legs, casual and smug. "You missed something?" he asked, lifting a small glass container and pulling out a tobacco wrap. He lit it with ease, toying with it like it held no weight.
Frances watched the smoke curl from his lips. He still smokes... after all this time?
"I'm fine, Mr. Raymond. I'll be on my way," she said and turned toward the door.
"You sure you don't need this?" he said, tossing a small red card in her direction.
She caught it—her fingers trembled slightly. It was their marriage card, the one they'd gotten from the civil office on that long-forgotten day. The same card she thought she'd thrown away with her past.
"Thanks," she mumbled, her tone forced.
Raymond's smile vanished. His voice dropped like ice.
"I never forget a debt. And you—Frances—you'll pay for everything."
Her stomach sank. While she was in Lichfield, she'd learned the full truth: Raymond wasn't just wealthy—he was a mafia boss. The kind you never cross. The kind who never forgets.
She swallowed hard, forcing calm into her voice.
"If it's the money, I'll repay you. Just send your account details. I'll make the transfer as soon as possible."
He didn't respond. The silence stretched. Then he laughed—deep and loud.
"I don't want your money, Frances."
She stared at him, heart pounding.
"I want you to follow through with the marriage agreement… the one you started." He crushed the tobacco wrap into the ashtray and stood up, staring deep into her pearl-black eyes.
Frances forced a laugh, pretending not to take him seriously. "Right. I'll see you around."
She turned and walked out, heart in her throat.
Raymond watched her go, a knowing smirk on his lips.
She'll understand soon. Very soon.
---
Meanwhile, at the Berish residence...
Charlotte sat on the couch in the sprawling living room, slicing an apple delicately. She popped a piece into her mouth, savoring the sweet crunch. But the taste didn't match her mood. Something had been bothering her for days.
She wanted to talk to Marcus. And as if on cue, he appeared, coming down the stairs in a crisp suit, tying his last knot.
"Darling," she said sweetly, "what's wrong? You don't look so good."
He shrugged. "Just heading to the company. There's not much going on today."
"You're only going now?" she raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it late?"
"Like I said, light day." He picked up an apple from the bowl.
"I heard something strange," she said. "Frances is back."
Marcus froze, mid-bite. "What? That can't be true. Why would she just show up again?"
Charlotte smiled slyly. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
Marcus laughed, brushing it off. "What's it got to do with us? You're the one I love. No one's taking me away."
Charlotte's gaze hardened for a second before she softened her expression again. "Still… she could become a problem for us. Maybe we should deal with her now, before she ruins things."
Her voice was playful, but Marcus caught the poison in it.
He liked it.
"Alright, babe. Tell me your plan."
---
Elsewhere…
In a smoky office filled with the scent of power and danger, Lupin handed a photo to his boss.
"Boss, this is her."
Harry took the photo and studied it. Frances' image stared back—elegant, calm, unknowingly beautiful. A woman marked by fate.
Harry's belly pressed against his desk as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "She's back in Macedonia?"
"Yes, boss. She just returned."
Harry smirked. "We'll work on her. Track her movements. Stay close."
Lupin bowed. "Consider it done."
"You can go."
As Lupin left, Harry leaned back, puffing a thick cloud of smoke.
Stafford Raymond had cost him three men. Three. He hadn't forgotten.
Now that Raymond had allowed himself to get tangled with a woman, Harry finally had his weakness.
He smiled darkly.
This time, it was personal.