"Are you free tonight? Julian's voice was warm.
"For what? is there a serious business matter we need to discuss?"
"Nothing of the sort. I just wanted to take you out for dinner."
Phoebe hesitated, her mind racing through her physical state and the looming shadow of Raymond's arrival. "I don't think I can tonight, Julian. I'm not feeling particularly well."
"Are you sick? Since when? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"
The question sent a jolt of panic through her, if she stepped foot in a hospital, her secret would be out, the pregnancy would be documented, and her control over the situation would vanish. "No, that's not necessary," she said quickly. "I think I'm just exhausted. I probably just need some vitamins and rest."
"I'll drop some vitamins off for you later," Julian said, his tone softening. "Stop overworking yourself, Phoebe. You're already wealthy beyond measure. Don't break your body for another dollar. Besides, there's no man left in your life that you need to bankroll anymore."
"Hey! Are you mocking me?!" Phoebe's voice rose, though the edge of a playful smile lingered in her tone.
Julian chuckled softly. "Hardly. 'm just trying to lighten the mood."
"Hmph! I'm done with financing men and building their careers from the ground up," Phoebe remarked, her eyes darkening for a brief second. "From now on, I only want to be with a man who can afford to take care of me."
"You want me to handle the bills? I think I can manage that."
Phoebe burst into a genuine laugh, assuming his comment was nothing more that a well-timed joke. "You've been alone for too long, Julian. You need to find a woman who can keep you grounded before you lose your mind entirely."
"Don't worry," he said, his voice dropping into a more serious register. "I think I already know who I'm willing to fight for."
"Oh? Who is it?" Phoebe asked, her interest piqued.
"We'll discuss that over dinner next time. I'll let you get back to your busy schedule for now."
"Fine. I'll let you know when I'm feeling better."
"I'll be waiting. Get some rest."
"Miss, everything is prepared in the meeting room. Are you ready?" Zara's voice was cautious, her eyes lingering on the slight tremor in her boss's hands.
Phoebe offered a sharp, singular nod and stood, forcing her spine to straighten against the wave of exhaustion. "I am."
As she stepped into the hallway, the clicking of her heels masked the internal chaos of her mind. I cannot let this opportunity slip through my fingers, she thought, her jaw tightening. This is the golden ticket, the leverage I've built from nothing. Despite the throbbing behind her eyes and the secret weight of the life growing within her, she refused to yield. She still had time, time to secure her empire, time to finish her work before the storm named Raymond Rodriguez finally made landfall in her world.
****
After a grueling hour in the boardroom, Phoebe back into her office chair. Phoebe stared at the vibrating device on her desk, the name Luca Moretti flashing like unwelcome warning light. She exhaled a sharp, jagged breath before sliding the icons to answer.
"Hello? Phoebe?" the voice on the other end began.
"Yes, I am."
"Phoebe, have I caught you at a bad time?"
"No, why?"
"I wanted to ask you to meet, if it's possible."
"No." The word left her lips before he could even finish the sentence. The bluntness of it seemed to vibrate through the line, catching him off guard.
"Why am I interrupting something? Or are you just that busy?"
"Neither," Phoebe snapped, her hand tightening around the phone until her knuckles turned ghostly white. "I'm simply not feeling well. I'm heading home now."
"You're sick? Do I need to take you to a doctor or perhaps bring you some medicine?"
"No. I just need rest and I expect you to understand that." Without waiting for a rebuttal, she severed the connection. The silence that followed was worse than the ringing, it allowed the throbbing in her temples to take center stage.
"Why are there so many people who want to meet me today?" Phoebe muttered to herself, shaking her head in genuine bewilderment as she adjusted her professional composure.
Phoebe stood, her movements stiff as she exited her office. Zara was there in an instant, her eyes scanning her boss's pale features. "Miss, are you leaving now?"
"Yes. Arrange the schedule, Zara. If there are meetings, tell them I'm out for the day."
"Of course, Miss. But … are you driving yourself? I can have the car brought around or I can drive you."
"No need. I can manage. I'm still capable of driving myself home."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm leaving." Phoebe didn't look back. Every step toward the garage felt like walking through waist-deep water. She reached her Porsche, the engine roaring to life with a predatory growl that felt far too loud for her aching head. As she pulled out, she dialed her estate, her voice a strained whisper as she gave orders for a bath, lavender, vanilla, eucalyptus, anything to drown out the metallic tang of nausea rising in her throat.
"Come on … just hold on! Don't you dare make me call for a car."
*****
Miles away, a motorcade of obsidian-black SUVs tore through the city's arteries, flanked by a high-speed police escort. Inside the lead vehicle, Raymond Rodriguez sat enveloped in a silence that was more terrifying than a storm. His eyes were fixed on the blurring skyline, but his mind was anchored to a single report from his shadows, Phoebe Fortunata has left the office. She is unwell.
The motorcade suddenly lurched, the screech of tires echoing against the concrete barriers. The siren of the lead police cruiser wailed, signaling a dead halt.
"What is the delay?" Raymond's voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
Enzo leaned forward, tapping into the emergency frequency of the escort team. His face drained of color as he looked back at the man who held the world's strings. "There's been a catastrophic accident up ahead, Boss. A Porsche."
The air in the car turned to ice. Raymond's pupils contracted, his gaze becoming unnervingly sharp. "A Porsche?"
"Yes. The report is … it's severe," Enzo stammered, his hands trembling over his tablet. "A female driver. She's unconscious, significant trauma. The vehicle is unrecognizable."
Raymond's heart didn't just race, it hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal. The cold, calculated logic that had built his empire evaporated in a heartbeat. The world narrowed down to a single terrifying image, Phoebe broken and silent amid twisted metal.
"No," he whispered, the word sounding like a death knell. "It is not possible."
"Boss?"
"Order them to clear a path for me now! I have to see it!" Raymond's command tore through the stifling silence of the SUV, his voice vibrating with a primal strain. He wasn't leaning back anymore, he was pitched forward, his fingers digging into the leather of Enzo's headrest with enough force to tear the seams.
Enzo glanced back, his face a mask of hesitation. "You want to see it, Boss? Are you serious? It's just a traffic accident—"
"Do you think I am joking, Danotta?!" Raymond's eyes flashed with a predatory fire, his patience incinerated.
"No, Boss. But … you've never cared about anything like this. Especially not a roadside wreck."
Reaching forward, Raymond seized Enzo's collar from behind, pulling him inches away from his snarling expression. "Does your brain lack the capacity to remember anything once you heard a Porsche was involved?"
Suddenly, Enzo's eyes went wide. The realization hit him like a physical blow. "Miss Australia?"
"Now move! Get us through that line or clear the wreckage now!"
Driven by the urgency of the order, the lead security detail began forcing vehicles aside, creating a narrow, jagged corridor through the chaos. The SUV crawled forward, the world outside becoming a blur of flashing blue lights and somber onlookers. As they pulled alongside an ambulance with its rear doors still agape, time seemed to decelerate into a sickening crawl.
Pressed against the glass, Raymond watched as a pair of legs came into view on a stretcher. They were long, the skin a pale, flawless ivory, hauntingly familiar. One foot still wore an elegant, expensive stiletto, a sight so synonymous with Phoebe's effortless grace that his breath hitched in his throat.
"You cannot be broken! There is a child inside you, my child!" Raymond hissed, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. His fists were clenched so tight that his nails drew blood from his palms, a battle between fury and paralyzing fear raging within his chest.
"Boss," Enzo whispered tentatively, his voice trembling as he looked at the mangled wreckage of the Porsche. "If that is truly Miss—
"Do not finish that thought!" Raymond cut him off, his voice a steel wall of denial. He refused to let the possibility of her death enter the atmosphere, even as his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal, fearing that the woman he had sought to conquer was now lost to the twisted metal and the silence of the road.