She had been en route to meet a renowned interior decorator when her father's secretary interrupted with a call summoning her to his office. While Felicia harbored deep affection for her father, she couldn't shake the feeling that he regarded her more as a stranger than a daughter. Reluctant to decline his summons, she understood that defying his request would likely lead to consequences she wasn't prepared to face, he may cut off her credit card. Felicia's mother disappeared when she was only five years old, leaving behind a void filled with unanswered questions. Her father offered little explanation, simply stating that her mother had run away with another man. Following his remarriage, Felicia noticed a stark shift in her father's demeanor towards her. His new wife, neither overtly cruel nor kind, possessed a mischievous streak, often veiling her true nature behind a facade of saintliness in her husband's presence while showing disdain towards Felicia in private. At the slightest hint of provocation, she would cruelly instruct the chef to deny Felicia meals, further fueling Felicia's resolve to embrace her own mischievous side in the face of adversity.
Stepping out of her car, Felicia's red Louis Vuitton bag swinging by her side, she slammed the car door with a resounding thud. With each deliberate step in her pointed heels, she made her way into her father's company, paying little heed to the receptionists who were already familiar with her routine. Bypassing the reception area, she headed straight for the Chairman's office, stopping briefly at the secretary's desk to formally announce her arrival. While she could easily bypass the receptionist, protocol dictated that she must first inform the secretary before entering her father's office. "I am here",
Mr. Oman, engrossed in the proposal he was drafting, didn't notice when his office door creaked open and Felicia strolled in. Her voice broke his concentration, prompting him to lift his head and find Felicia standing there, radiant with her trademark smile.
"Miss Switze, how have you been?" he greeted warmly.
"Good, and you?" Felicia replied, making her way to the visitor's chair in Mr. Oman's office and gracefully taking a seat.
"I'm good. You look beautiful as always. It's been a while," Mr. Oman remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, here and there, sorting myself out," Felicia replied casually.
Mr. Oman couldn't help but smile like a besotted admirer. He had harbored a crush on Felicia for the past six years, long before she was arranged to marry Mr. Northman—ironically, it was his suggestion. Despite his feelings, he remained professional, prioritizing his work and mindful of his relationship with Mr. Switze.
"Let me inform the chairman that you're here," he said, rising from his seat.
"Okay," Felicia nodded, her smile unwavering.
He walked to the chairman's office, leaving Felicia quietly seated, idly scrolling through her black iPhone 15 Pro Max. Though unsure of the exact reason her father wanted to see her, she had a strong inkling it pertained to work—something related to the company's growth. Otherwise, there would be little reason for her father to summon her; she often felt like an outcast in his eyes.
The door opened quietly. "You can come in now," a voice announced.
"okay," Felicia rose from her seat, entering the Chairman's office. Nothing had changed since her last visit, when her father had persuaded her to marry Luke. Her father sat there, his gaze piercing, his face stern as ever—she couldn't recall ever seeing him smile.
"Hello, Dad," she greeted, making her way to the black sofa and taking a seat. The secretary exited the office, leaving them alone to discuss whatever matter her father deemed important.
"I want you to get close to Luke, be his very close friend, and report to me his movements," Mr. Switze instructed, his tone characteristically direct, regardless of the recipient.
"Dad, are you not happy to see me?" Felicia interjected.
"If I say I am happy, what will it change? Will it increase the company's revenue?" Her father's response was blunt, focusing solely on business.
"Dad, everything is about money, money, and more money," Felicia sighed, her expression reflecting a sense of resignation.
"The lavish lifestyle you are living now, is it not from the money we make?" Mr. Switze pointed out matter-of-factly.
Felicia relaxed her face. "So, how do I get close to him?"
"I don't know, figure it out. You are a smart girl," her father replied dismissively, turning his attention back to his reading. When he turned away, it signified the end of the conversation.
"Okay, Dad, I will do as you say," Felicia acquiesced.
"Okay, you can leave now. If you need anything, let me know," her father concluded.
Felicia exited the office, her mind already preoccupied with strategies to become close to Luke without his wife's interference. One thing was certain—she would need to visit Luke.
Nina sat in front of her incomplete artwork, her mind filled with concern for her husband. She had been trying to reach him, but he hadn't been picking up. Frowning slightly, she decided to focus on her painting for the time being. She had promised herself that she would complete it that day, and she was determined to do just that.
The accountant had left, leaving Nina alone with her thoughts. She glanced over the sales figures from her recent exhibition and couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. The response had been overwhelming, and she knew she needed to capitalize on it. Planning her next exhibition and arranging some free art donations to the YouCare Foundation were at the top of her to-do list.
But first, she needed to finish this painting. With a determined nod, she picked up her brush and dipped it into the vibrant colors on her palette. The strokes came easily to her, each one adding depth and emotion to the canvas.
As she worked, her thoughts kept drifting back to her husband. She wondered where he was and why he hadn't been answering his phone. A pang of worry gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Just then, her phone rang, breaking the silence of the room. She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was an unknown number. Curiosity piqued, she hesitated for a moment before answering, holding the phone to her ear with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. "Hello, this is the police",
"Okay" she stutters "what is the problem?"
"A woman is claiming that her husband disappeared in your premises. Please, can you come down to the station?"
"Okay. Give me few minutes to round up".
"Alright".
Nina's hand trembled as she ended the call with the police station. A woman claiming her husband disappeared on her premises? Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she quickly pushed the fear aside. They had no evidence, nothing to link her to any wrongdoing.
Taking a deep breath, Nina set aside her brush, deciding to finish her painting tomorrow. She gathered her things, her mind racing with thoughts of how to handle the situation. Exiting her office, she paused to speak to her secretary, who was busy organizing documents.
"I'm leaving for the day. If I'm not back by closing time, make sure to lock up," Nina instructed, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. With that, she strode out to the car park, her yellow Porsche standing out among the sea of vehicles.
Yellow was her signature color, a bright and cheerful hue that seemed to reflect her vibrant personality. From her clothing to her accessories, yellow accents or markings adorned much of what she wore. As she approached her car, the click of her yellow stiletto heels against the pavement echoed softly in the quiet of the evening, a subtle but distinct sound that marked her presence. Unlocking the car door, she sank into the plush leather seat with a sense of relief, the familiar comfort of her vehicle offering solace in the midst of uncertainty.
Driving down to the police station, just a short five-minute journey from her office, Nina navigated the streets with practiced ease. Pulling up in front of the imposing three-story building, adorned with the bold proclamation, "Police is your friend," she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension as she stepped out of her car.
Entering the bustling station, Nina found herself surrounded by a throng of people, the noise and activity making it difficult to discern her surroundings. Determined to find the person she was directed to meet, she approached the nearest desk and inquired about Detective Bennett. With a nod from the officer, she was directed to Bennett's table and made her way through the crowd.
Detective Bennett sat at his desk, a figure of authority amidst the chaos of the station. Neither tall nor short, with a clean-shaven face and a youthful appearance that belied his true age, Bennett exuded an air of professionalism. Seated across from him was a woman, her tear-streaked face betraying her distress. It was clear to Nina that this woman was the one who had called her, her demeanor suggesting a sense of inner turmoil and apprehension. Perhaps she was afraid of what the police might uncover, fearing repercussions for actions she may have taken. "Detective Bennett?" she ask as she drags the seat beside the woman and sit beside her.
"Yes, Mrs. Northman?" Bennett inquired, his tone professional yet tinged with a hint of curiosity.
Nina glanced sideways, catching Ms. Sandra's assessing gaze from head to toe. The woman's presence exuded an air of affluence, her perfume alone seeming more costly than everything Nina wore, including the very house she lived in.
Straightening herself, Nina addressed the detective. "Why am I here, Detective?" she asked, her voice poised yet laced with a touch of concern.
"Ms. Sandra claims that her husband disappeared in your residence," Bennett replied, his expression serious.
Nina's brow furrowed in confusion. "My residence? What was he doing there?" she questioned, turning her attention to Ms. Sandra. "What do you mean he disappeared in my residence? What was the purpose of his visit?"