Maria’s eyes darted to the clock.
1:42 PM.
Her heart sank.
For a second, she just stared at the glowing digits, as if they might change if she looked long enough.
But they didn’t.
The time stayed there, solid and unforgiving, pressing down on her chest.
“Oh shit,” she whispered, her voice dry.
“Why did I wake up this late?
The whole day’s gone already.
I’ve done nothing all day.”
Her mind immediately began racing, stacking accusations on top of each other.
Lazy.
Irresponsible.
Behind.
Everyone else must already be halfway through their day, ticking off tasks, moving forward, while she was just… here.
Still in bed.
Still stuck.
She pushed herself up quickly, the sudden movement making her head spin.
Her room felt too quiet, too still, like it had been waiting for her to catch up to time and failed.
Her phone lit up.
*Madam Dupont* was calling.
Maria’s fingers fumbled as she answered, nearly dropping it in her rush.
“I’m sorry, Madam,” she rushed out before the other woman could even speak.
The words came out tangled and breathless.
“I didn’t do it intentionally — I don’t mean to wake up late.
You must think I’m slacking off.”
She braced herself, shoulders tense, expecting disappointment, maybe even irritation.
But Madam Dupont’s voice was gentle.
“Maria, slow down.
I can hear it in your voice.
You must be stressed out.”
The softness hit her harder than anger would have.
Maria blinked, caught off guard, her panic stumbling mid-run.
“I…
I guess I am,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.
“I’ve just been working nonstop these days.”
There was a pause on the other end, not awkward, but understanding.
“I know,” Madam Dupont said, and Maria could almost hear the knowing smile.
“That’s exactly why I’m calling.
You can’t pour from an empty cup, dear.
You’re no good to me burnt out.”
The words settled into Maria slowly, like warmth seeping into cold hands.
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding everything together until that moment.
Relief hit Maria so fast it stung her eyes.
Her chest loosened, her breath coming easier.
“Oh, thank you.
Thank you, Madam.
Thank you so much,” she said, the words tumbling out, uneven but sincere.
“I was panicking.
I saw the time and thought, that’s it, I’ve wasted the whole day.”
She let out a shaky laugh, half embarrassed, half overwhelmed.
“You haven’t wasted anything,” Madam Dupont said firmly, but kindly.
“The day isn’t over.
But you will waste yourself if you keep punishing yourself like this.
Eat something.
Rest your mind.
Come in tomorrow ready, not broken.
Understood?”
Maria nodded, even though the woman couldn’t see her.
She pressed a hand to her chest, grounding herself.
“Yes, Madam.
I understand.
Thank you.”
“Good girl,” Madam Dupont said warmly.
“We need you sharp, Maria.
Not perfect.
Sharp.
Now go take care of yourself.”
The call ended.
Maria stared at the phone for a long moment, her reflection faintly visible on the dark screen.
The panic that had gripped her just minutes ago had dissolved, leaving behind something unfamiliar.
Quiet.
For once, waking up late didn’t feel like failure.
It felt like permission.
She swung her legs off the bed more slowly this time, her movements no longer frantic.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains didn’t feel accusing anymore.
Her stomach growled softly, reminding her she hadn’t eaten.
She let out a small sigh, almost amused.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself.
“Food first.”
And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was already behind.
Alex was called back into the office.
The atmosphere there was different—cooler, heavier.
The kind of place where every word mattered and every silence meant something.
“Alex,” Mister Thomas said, leaning back in his leather chair.
“You know soon you’ll be meeting with other countries, right?
I want you to be focused.
Absolutely focused.”
“Yes, sir,” Alex replied, standing straighter.
His tone was steady, but inside, he could feel the weight of expectation settling over him again.
“And I won’t let your father stop you from chasing your dream,” Thomas continued, his voice low and certain.
“You know I’m way stronger than him.
I have power.
All you need to do is focus.”
There was something in the way he said it—calm, but edged with quiet authority—that made Alex pause for a fraction of a second.
“Okay, sir,” Alex said.
Thomas’s expression softened, just a fraction.
“You know your mother…
She was like a sister to me.
In fact, she’s a sister to me.
And I promised her to take care of you.”
The mention of her always did something to Alex.
A tightening in his chest.
A flicker of something he never fully let surface.
Alex swallowed.
“Yes, you told me.”
“Good,” Thomas nodded.
“Now go on.
Focus on your race.”
“Thank you, sir.
Thank you, Mister Thomas,” Alex said, bowing his head slightly before turning to leave.
He walked out with controlled steps, but his mind wasn’t entirely on the race anymore.
After Alex left, Mister Thomas sighed and opened his desk drawer.
The room, once filled with quiet authority, now felt more personal—almost fragile.
He pulled out the worn photograph of Sarah.
“Sarah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge.
“Your son is now a man.
And I’m happy…
I’m fulfilling your wish.
I’m fulfilling your promise.
Rest in peace, wherever you are.”
His voice was softer now, stripped of command, filled with something deeper.
He slid the picture back into the drawer, closing it gently, as though sealing that moment away.
Alex had no idea what Mister Thomas was doing in his office.
He just headed out, determined to make sure he didn’t slack off.
The earlier conversation echoed faintly in his mind, but he pushed it aside.
Focus.
That’s what mattered.
He put in his earbuds, blasting his playlist, letting the music drown out everything else.
The rhythm steadied him, anchored him.
He packed his bag carefully, checking each item twice.
Then again.
He checked his car, his gear rack—everything was set.
Every detail in place, just the way he liked it.
Control.
Precision.
Then his phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the music like a crack.
He glanced at the caller ID, and his stomach dropped.
He knew from the name alone that it was bad.
He pulled out one earbud slowly before answering.
“Hello?”
“Alex.
Come to the mansion now.
We need to talk.”
The line went dead.
Alex stood there for a moment, phone still in his hand.
The music kept playing in his other ear, but he barely heard it.
Something wasn’t right.
The building loomed as it always did—imposing, silent, filled with history and things left unsaid.
The staff waved him through.
Their politeness felt routine, but there was something else underneath it today.
Something watchful.
They told him his father was in his room.
Alex didn’t respond, just nodded and kept moving.
He took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hall.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the house itself was pressing down on him.
He reached the door and pushed it open without knocking.
His father was there, back turned to him, sitting in the armchair by the window.
The light from outside cast long shadows across the room, leaving his face unreadable.
He didn’t look over.
“Sit,” his father said.
Alex walked in and sat next to him.
The air between them felt thick, filled with things neither of them had said for years.
The silence stretched.
It wasn’t empty.
It was heavy.
Until his father finally spoke.
“The reason I called you,” he said, turning around to face him, “is that I’ve been thinking.
Ever since your mother died…
I haven’t been fair to you.
I don’t care for you the way I should, and I always force you to follow family rules.”
Alex stayed quiet.
He didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t react.
He just listened.
“I’m only doing that for your protection,” his father went on.
“You know I have many enemies.
And when I’m gone, you can’t fight them alone.
That’s why I want you to marry into a powerful family.
They can defend you when I’m gone.”
Alex frowned slightly.
That again.
“Why do you speak like someone that is about to die?”
“I’m not saying I’m about to die,” his father said sharply, then softer: “But I feel like something big is going to happen.
That’s why I called you to marry a wealthy family.
Secure your position.”
A brief silence followed.
“No dad—” Alex started.
“No,” his father cut him off before he could finish.
“Alex, I won’t force you.
Do anything you want to do.
But for your safety…
you won’t inherit the family fortune.”
Alex’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“You won’t inherit the family fortune,” his father repeated.
“It’s too big a responsibility.
And many target will be on your back.”
The room went cold.
It wasn’t just the words—it was the finality in them.
“I just want you to know that everything I’m doing is for your safety,” his father said.
“I know you feel…
dislike toward me.
Because of your mom’s death.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have the capability to save her.
I failed to save her.
I’m not blaming you for that.
I blame myself.”
Alex’s hands clenched on his knees.
There it was.
The thing they never talked about.
“.
I am investigating.
In secret.” His father finally turned to look at him, eyes hard.
“And I found that your mom’s death…
it was someone in this family.”
“What are you saying?” Alex whispered.
“From the Richardson family,” his father said.
“Yes.
Someone who wants power in this family.
But the evidence is not yet clear.”
Alex felt the blood drain from his face.
“Oh my God.”
“Something might happen soon,” his father said, looking away again.
“I hope you’re ready for it.”