Chapter 5: A Need for Reinforcement
Six months had passed since I left Macedonia.
Six months since I swore never to return to that place again — not after everything it took from me.
Lichfield had become my new beginning, my refuge, and my battleground all at once. The mornings here were always cold, calm, and almost too quiet for a woman like me whose mind never truly rests.
I sat behind my desk, eyes fixed on the screen before me, but my mind wasn't there. The numbers, the graphs, the market charts — they all blurred into one dull shade of exhaustion. I took a deep breath and tried to focus, pretending that work could fill the spaces that pain had once occupied.
A knock came at the door. I didn't even look up.
"Bianca," I said, already knowing who it was.
"Yes, ma. You called for me."
I turned to face her, holding up a file I'd just reviewed. "The documents you submitted this morning are incomplete. Care to explain?"
Her expression tightened. "I'm sorry, ma. I remember checking everything before bringing it to you. Maybe a page was misplaced."
"So, what are you saying, Bianca? That I imagined it?" My tone came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't take it back. Weakness in this world always costs too much.
She immediately lowered her gaze. "No, ma. I didn't mean that. I'll recheck them and bring them back right away."
"Good," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Be fast about it. You know this company is expanding, and we can't afford small mistakes."
She nodded, already halfway to the door when I added, "Oh, and Bianca…"
She stopped. "Ma?"
"What's the update on that new proposal coming in today?" I asked, sipping from the glass of water beside me.
"The board of directors said they'll finalize it this afternoon. They also requested a meeting with you, ma."
"Then arrange it," I said flatly. "I'll be there once I'm done with this."
"Yes, ma." She bowed slightly and left.
For a moment, silence filled the room again. I leaned back, letting my eyes roam across the office — the walls painted white and gold, the air smelling faintly of jasmine from the candle I always lit. Everything here was exactly how I wanted it to be: precise, orderly, controlled.
Unlike my past.
When it was time for the meeting, I stood up, straightened my blazer, and walked down the hall. Everyone greeted me with that polite fear people reserve for someone they both respect and can't quite understand.
Inside the meeting room, the board members were already seated. I took my chair at the head of the table, crossing my legs, my expression unreadable.
They began talking — about sales, production rates, and employee wages. Their voices blended together, familiar and monotonous, until one of them spoke up.
"Miss Frances Lin," he said, smiling too eagerly. "There's a proposal we've all agreed on. But it can't be approved without your consent."
"Then let's hear it," I said, reaching for the file he slid across the table.
The first line caught my attention. Proposal to Expand Lin Cosmetics Brand to Macedonia.
My heart stilled for a second. I blinked, thinking maybe I'd misread it. But no. The word Macedonia was right there in bold black ink — staring back at me like a ghost.
I slammed the file shut. "Who brought this idea up?"
A nervous man near the end of the table spoke up. "It was a joint decision, ma. Is there a problem with it?"
I gave a short, humorless laugh. "A problem?" I looked up, my gaze cutting through them. "Why Macedonia of all places? What about Italy, Cape Town, Patricia — anywhere but there?"
"Macedonia is a fast-developing city," another man said carefully. "It's home to several powerful companies — The Luce Group, K&M, The Bear Group—"
I raised my hand sharply. "Enough."
The room fell silent.
I leaned forward slightly, my voice low but firm. "I know exactly what Macedonia is. I know its businesses, its power, its people. Don't sit here and lecture me about a city I know too well."
A few of them exchanged glances, unsure of what to say next. I smirked bitterly. "Let this be the last time anyone brings up a proposal tied to Macedonia. If you want expansion, find another city. When you have a better plan — one that doesn't drag my company into the shadows of my past — then you can bring it to me."
I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "Meeting adjourned."
The moment I left the room, I could feel the weight of their stares behind me. They all knew my reputation — calm on the outside, fire underneath. No one dared to stop me.
Back in my office, I asked Bianca, "Have they left?"
"Yes, ma. Right after you walked out."
"Good." I exhaled slowly, picking up my water again. My reflection shimmered faintly on the surface of the glass. I looked… composed. Maybe even powerful. But deep down, the name Macedonia still echoed like warning.
Back in Macedonia, the Staffords were still at war with themselves.
Kelvin — Raymond's stepbrother — had always been ambitious, but envy was the kind of poison that only grew stronger when mixed with pride. He had been talking to his mother, Stafford May — a woman who had never learned peace. Doris, Raymond's mother, was still a ghost she could never silence in her husband's heart.
"Mum, you shouldn't be stressing yourself with menial work," Kelvin said while May folded his clothes, pretending not to hear the weight of failure in his words.
May sighed, asking about his company — the one his father had given him capital to start. But it wasn't going well. Kelvin needed ten million, and like always, he blamed his father's favoritism toward Raymond.
"If only your father had given you a place in his company…" she said bitterly.
Kelvin promised her, "Don't worry, Mum. I'll make it. For both of us."
May, with that fragile kind of love born from resentment, believed him.
Meanwhile, the city's underbelly was stirring again.
Harry's men had been captured by Raymond's soldiers. He slammed his dagger into the desk in fury. "Stafford Raymond," he cursed, dragging tobacco smoke through his rage. Lupin Blake, his right-hand man, had delivered the grim news. The siblings — Charlotte and Lupin — had started speaking again, which could only mean one thing: trouble was weaving its threads tighter.
Harry's command was simple: "Lay low. Train harder. When I call, we strike."
Raymond, as cold and calculating as ever, prepared for the inevitable.
He gathered his men at the hidden cave ground — Sky, Ice, Hunter — all attentive.
"Kill them," he said when Ice asked about Harry's captured men. His eyes were dark, his presence heavy like iron. Raymond wasn't just a man anymore — he was a storm with skin.
He ordered reinforcements, watched his preys carefully, and set strict rules. When he walked out, his command lingered like smoke: no mercy for betrayal.
He was becoming more ruthless, as he had always been.
Macedonia still echoed like a warning.
Some ghosts never really stay buried.