Chapter 13: Not a Mere Collision
Frances arrived at her company in Macedonia, and the welcome was more than warm—it was overwhelming.
The staff, dressed in their finest, had lined up outside the glass-front building with excited smiles. Some clapped, some offered flowers, and others simply bowed in respect. The head of HR stepped forward with a bouquet of white lilies—Frances' favorite.
"Welcome back, ma'am," he said with a wide smile. "We missed your presence."
Frances smiled, deeply touched. Her steps were calm, graceful, but every heel-click she made on the marble floor echoed power. This was hers—her empire. No matter what storms had tried to drown her, she'd made it back.
"I hope everything has been handled well in my absence," she said as she entered her office, the glass door shutting gently behind her.
The assistant beside her, Bianca, nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We've kept everything as you left it."
Frances looked around—same paintings, same view of the city skyline, same scent of lavender in the air. But she had changed. And so had the air around her.
---
Meanwhile, at Raymond's office...
Joel entered the room without knocking. He knew better than to wait when it came to urgent matters.
"Boss," he said, standing tall in front of Raymond's desk. "She's back. Confirmed. Frances is in Macedonia. She showed up at her company today."
Raymond didn't even look up. He was running a thumb along the edge of a sleek dagger on his table. Its silver gleam reflected the low lighting in the room.
"I know," Raymond said flatly.
Joel hesitated, then added, "Should I take a step? I can alert the troops. Maybe send her a message?"
That made Raymond look up. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no anger—just calculation.
"Inform the others. Let them know Frances is not to be touched… yet."
Joel nodded, tapping his phone before stepping out of the room.
Outside, he made the necessary calls to the other members of the Stafford mafia network. One message went out loud and clear:
Frances is back. Watch her. But don't touch.
Not unless Raymond says otherwise.
---
Elsewhere…
In a quieter part of Macedonia, Paris stood outside a modest townhouse, nervously wringing her fingers.
She hadn't told anyone yet—not even her younger brother—but she was planning to leave the country. The past had become too loud. Too close. She needed to escape before it swallowed her again.
She knocked, then opened the door with the spare key and stepped in.
The house was neat and smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans. Her brother wasn't home yet, but she wanted to wait. She needed to tell him face to face. She sat on the couch, legs bouncing, glancing at the clock every few minutes.
Please come soon, she thought. Before I lose my nerve.
---
Back on the road…
Frances was driving herself home that evening. She needed the quiet. The steady rhythm of the road, the hum of the tires, the soft music playing through the speakers—everything felt like a balm after such a long day.
The sun had begun to set, casting a warm orange hue across the windshield.
She exhaled slowly.
Maybe everything will finally settle now.
Suddenly—
BANG!
Her car jolted violently. She slammed the brakes. Her seatbelt caught her in a sharp jerk, and her heart thundered in her chest.
The vehicle came to a screeching halt.
She blinked, dazed, trying to process what had just happened. Smoke hissed faintly from the front of her car.
"What the hell…"
She quickly unbuckled and stepped out.
As she stepped out, what she saw was so threatening and frightening to her, she jolted back suddenly, just to steady her step. But the next thing that came to her was more shocking than the earlier.
Her breath caught.
She froze.