Chapter 7: At the Presume, Fate Shall Be Unlocked!
Macedonia Airport
I stepped out of the airport and into my Versace jeep, the soft click of my heels against the pavement echoing my calm confidence. My gray pantsuit clung perfectly to my frame—crisp, professional, unyielding—while my hair fell straight down my back, sleek and disciplined. Bianca carefully closed the door behind me, her presence a quiet reminder that I wasn't entirely alone.
"Ervin, drive straight to Luce Group. After the meeting, we'll visit our company here," I instructed, voice steady, precise.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered promptly.
I sank into the seat, letting the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white as the car moved. Macedonia. New territory. New challenges. And maybe… just maybe, old ghosts waiting to stir. I felt a thrill at the thought.
Meanwhile, Stafford Raymond sat in his office, studying the reports from Luce Group. My name—Frances Lin—crossed his mind like an uninvited ghost, and he couldn't suppress a small, wicked smile. The thought of seeing me again, of making me wait, filled him with a sharp thrill. Sky stepped in.
"Boss, it's time for the meeting. The other parties are already present," he said.
Raymond picked up a pen, hesitated, and finally said, "Tell them I'll be there in a few minutes."
Sky almost laughed, confused by his boss's intentions, but the deadly glare that followed silenced any amusement.
When Raymond finally entered the meeting room, the air seemed to shift. Every step he took was deliberate, measured—a predator among mortals. All the attendees stood, showing him respect, but I stayed seated, composed, letting the sound of my breathing and the rustle of papers be my shield.
"Mr. Raymond, this is poor etiquette," I said, voice calm but edged with annoyance. "Teaching your staff to keep guests waiting isn't the best first impression."
His gaze flicked to me, low and dangerous. "Miss Frances," he said, a slow, deliberate drawl in his tone, "long time no see. Is this how you speak to your beloved husband—the woman who ran away, leaving me for so long?"
I didn't flinch. My eyes remained locked on his as I flipped through the contract document in my hands. No one here knew about our registered marriage, and I would see to it they never would.
"I see," I said, letting my words carry the weight of steel, "is this how you treat your partnering companies?" I added carefully, redirecting the focus.
A wicked smile tugged at his lips.
"We can discuss personal matters later, right?" I said firmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
Inside, my pulse was steady, my mind sharp. I wouldn't gi
With a single word, I cut through the tension choking the room.
"Attention."
My voice echoed through the hall like a command. Chairs stilled. Pens stopped. Even breaths felt suspended.
From my peripheral vision, I saw Raymond widen his smile—slow, sharp, entertained. He looked at me for a brief second and then quickly tore his gaze away, like my boldness stung him pleasantly.
"Let's begin the meeting, Mr. Raymond." I emphasized his name deliberately, a silent warning for him to behave.
Everyone sat. I could feel the stares, the whispers, the curiosity clawing at the air around us.
"Hey… what relationship does she have with him?" one of his staff whispered, barely thinking his voice was audible.
I turned sharply, my eyes burning with heat.
"It's better you focus on what you came here for. If not—you leave."
Silence drowned the room instantly.
"Alright, we can begin," Raymond said at last.
The meeting went on for long, exhausting hours. And of course, he and I clashed over every suggestion. Every point. Every angle. It was as if we couldn't agree on the color of the sky if asked.
But somehow, after countless debates that felt like subtle warfare, we came to a conclusion everyone could accept.
When the hall emptied and the heavy doors closed behind the last participant, I headed toward my car. I was halfway in when I checked my bag.
Something was missing.
"Bianca, did you see anything fall from my bag earlier?" I asked quickly.
"No, ma'am. Nothing," she replied.
"Wait here. I'll check the meeting room."
I hurried back inside, anxiety already tightening my chest. My steps were fast, desperate. The item I was searching for wasn't just important—its disappearance could ruin me.
As soon as I entered the empty meeting room, I started searching.
Every seat.
Every corner.
Under the table.
On the floor.
"Please… don't let it be what I'm thinking," I whispered to myself, frustrated and breathless.
Then—
A cold calm voice shattered the silence.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
I froze.
That voice.
Of all people… why him again?
I forced myself to stand and turned around, schooling my expression into a gentle, polite smile.
"Hello, Mr. Raymond. How may I help you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he walked to a chair, sat down, crossed his legs like a king claiming territory, and brought out a small glass container holding a tobacco wrap.
"How may I help you, Miss? You lost something?" he asked, lighting the tobacco effortlessly.
Smoke curled into the air, cold and sharp. I thought he would have stopped smoking by now. I wondered how he even stayed alive with the way he handled his health.
"I'm fine, Mr. Raymond. I'll be on my way." I smiled again and walked toward the door.
A small red card sailed through the air, landing at my feet.
"Are you looking for this?" he asked.
I stared—dumbfounded. Again. Twice in one day.
I bent down slowly, my fingers trembling as they closed around it.
Our marriage card.
The one we got that day at the bureau.
"Thanks…" I whispered, forcing out a weak smile.
Raymond stood up, eyes locked on me, voice dropping to a dangerous calm.
"I never forget your debt. And I'll make sure you pay for everything."
My blood ran cold.
While I lived in Lichfield, England, I learned things about him. Things that weren't meant for ordinary ears.
Not just a mafia.
But a head.
A king.
A man whose name alone made crime lords bow.
I swallowed hard. "If it's the money, I'll definitely pay you. Send me your account details, and I'll transfer it immediately."
At least that would clear the air… or so I hoped.
He didn't respond.
I turned to leave.
Then his laughter cracked through the room—rich and mocking.
"Hahahaha… I don't want your money. You can't pay me back with money."
My heart stopped.
He stepped closer, eyes piercing, voice unyielding.
"Just follow the marriage agreement you started."
He dropped the tobacco and crushed it under his shoe.
My lips parted in disbelief. I laughed—light, dismissive—pretending he was joking.
I left the room without looking back.
But I felt his gaze on me… sharp, knowing, burning.
And deep inside, I knew one thing:
He was serious.
Dead serious.
In the expansive living room of the Berish family, Charlotte sliced an apple, savoring each bite as the sweetness lingered on her tongue. She was a Mrs. now, yet a heaviness lingered, gnawing at her thoughts. She needed Marcus's attention—soon.
"Here he is," she murmured, noticing him descending the stairs on his own.
"Darling, what's wrong? You don't look quite yourself," Marcus asked, knotting his tie with casual precision as he prepared for work.
Charlotte arched a brow. "Babe, I should ask you—why are you just heading to the company at this hour?"
"My work isn't much at the company today," he replied, plucking an apple from the bowl in front of her.
She leaned closer, dropping the words deliberately. "I got news—though I'm not sure it's true—that Frances is back."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? How is that possible? Why would she come back all of a sudden?"
Charlotte smiled, concealing her sharpness. "Babe, what does that have to do with us? As long as you want me, love me… no one can take you away from me." She spoke sweetly, but her eyes flickered with something sharper beneath the surface.
Marcus laughed, teeth flashing, clearly charmed by her act. Charlotte's lips curved in a coquettish grin. "Honey, she could become a hindrance in the future. I think we should just… take care of her."
Marcus's gaze lingered on her, his expression softening as he considered her tone. "Alright, babe. Tell me your plans."
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit office, Lupin presented a photo to his boss, Harry. The image was of a striking woman—her smile radiant, her presence clean and captivating enough to make Harry pause for a heartbeat.
"Hmm. We'll work on her," Harry said, puffing on his tobacco. "Monitor her movements closely. I hear she's back in Macedonia."
Harry's large frame seemed to swell as he leaned back, a belly prominent like a pregnant woman's, yet his eyes gleamed with intent.
"Yes, boss. She's back, and you can rest assured—we won't lose track of her," Lupin replied, bowing deeply.
"Leave now," Harry said, dismissing him. Three of his men had already fallen victim to Stafford Raymond's reach; letting her go unnoticed was out of the question. Yet he had a plan. If Raymond wanted to cling to a woman, Harry would make sure she became a pawn in the game.