A gentle rap against Mr. Brown's door. A muffled -come in- followed. Pamela pushed the handle down and peeked inside, her long blonde hair spilling to the side.
The man behind the desk looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. His usually sharp eyes were dull, and his hand persistently massaged the space between his brows.
"Good morning, Mr. Brown," Pamela greeted softly. "Everything alright?"
He glanced up, a weak smile flickering across his face. "Just a touch of travel fatigue, that's all. Is that the report?" He gestured at the file she held.
"Yes, sir. Everything I could find."
Pamela couldn't help but notice the toll the news of Elizabeth's surprise engagement had taken on him. The rushed trip back from abroad must have been a nightmare, and it was clear it wasn't just jet lag bothering him.
He flipped open the file, and as he delved into the file, the colour seemed to drain from his face. He cleared his throat finally, his eyes meeting Pamela's. "Elizabeth's on her way," he said, his voice tight. "She texted about the media frenzy. They're hounding her, paparazzi flashing cameras." He sighed, leaning back in his chair, weariness etched deep. "She seemed happy in the photos, but the thought of her marrying... well, this," he gestured at the file, "a heartless scoundrel, it's unbearable."
Pamela knew this conversation wouldn't be easy. Elizabeth, bless her optimistic soul, was determined to make this marriage work.
Their tense silence was broken by a sharp rap on the door, followed by the knob turning. Elizabeth, a black wig perched on her head, her handbag tucked under her arm, burst into the room. A bright, excited smile plastered on her face, she made a beeline for her father, ready for an embrace.
"Daddy, you won't believe it!" she exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. Her smile faltered slightly at the sight of their grim expressions. "What's wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
Mr. Brown indicated the file with a nod. Elizabeth picked it up, exchanging a worried glance between Pamela and her father. Each page she turned seemed to reveal a new shock, culminating in a frustrated groan as she slammed the papers back down.
"You had someone investigate Cyprian?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. Her gaze darted towards Pamela, who remained silent.
"We just wanted to be sure, Elizabeth," Mr. Brown offered apologetically.
"And how can you be so certain this is all true?" Elizabeth interrupted, firing a pointed look at Pamela, who remained silent, caught between the father and daughter. "Women would do anything to snag a billionaire! They wouldn't hesitate to fabricate stories to bring him down." Her voice trembled with a mixture of anger and desperation as she tried to convince her father that the man in the file wasn't Lord Cyprian.
"Elizabeth," Mr. Brown said softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This company thrives on trust. We wouldn't publish fabricated news. But calm down, the information isn't public. We wouldn't risk being exposed. However," his voice hardened, "I suggest you call off the engagement." He paused, darting a glance at Pamela. "Believe it or not, some women don't chase after money. Some fight real battles."
Elizabeth stood there, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes. The excitement had vanished. Tears welled up in her eyes, brimming and threatening to spill. "Dad, please," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "Can't we make these disappear? Maybe those girls' stories are just… coincidences? He has powerful enemies, people who'd love to drag his name through the mud. If he were truly this bad, wouldn't the world know already?"
Mr. Brown studied her, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment. "That's the point, Elizabeth. None of those girls had someone to warn them. The internet held no such news."
His words hit Elizabeth like a physical blow. A sob escaped her lips, and she crumpled to the floor, her handbag clattering beside her. Years seemed to add themselves to her face as she wiped at her streaming nose. "This can't be true," she whispered, her voice cracking. "This can't be happening to me."
Mr. Brown's heart ached for his daughter. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked towards her, concern etched on his face. "Hey, it's alright, sweetheart," he murmured, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. With a soft touch, he helped her to her feet.
"But I love him," she cried, wiping her nose with the back of her hand in a way that betrayed her usual grace. "I really do."
"No, you don't," her father countered, his voice firm yet laced with kindness. He led her back to the chair. "You're enamoured with the idea of him, Elizabeth, the wealth, the status." He guided her down onto the seat.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but just then, her phone blared to life, the ringtone cutting through the tense atmosphere. It was her handbag, lying forgotten on the floor. Pamela retrieved it and handed it to her.
Elizabeth took a shaky breath, wiping her nose once more before answering the call. "Hello?" she mumbled, glancing at the screen and seeing "Unknown Number."
"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth Brown," a smooth, polished voice greeted her. "This is Maxwell, Mr. O'Girri's assistant."
Elizabeth's eyes darted between Pamela and her father, a silent conversation passing between them. "Oh," she stammered, a small O forming on her lips. "Uh, how can I help you?" she asked, her voice small.
"Mr. O'Girri would like to know your preferred date to sign the pre-nuptial agreement, prior to the ceremony, of course."
Mr. Brown and Pamela exchanged a worried glance. Elizabeth, oblivious to their silent communication, had left the phone on speaker. A frown creased Mr. Brown's face as he shook his head slightly at his daughter, his silent plea for her to reconsider lost on her tear-filled eyes.
With a voice thick with emotion, Elizabeth spoke into the phone. "I'm so sorry, but I can't go through with the engagement." Her words hung in the air, and she looked to her father for support, receiving a small, encouraging nod in return.
A beat of stunned silence followed on the other end of the line. "Sorry?" the voice finally replied, disbelief laced with a hint of something more sinister.
Elizabeth, her voice gaining strength with each word, repeated herself, this time with unwavering clarity. "I said, I'm not going through with the engagement."
The silence on the other end stretched for a few seconds, broken only by Elizabeth's ragged breaths. When the voice finally spoke again, it had taken on a deeper, more menacing tone. "Refusing Mr. O'Girri's proposal wouldn't be a wise decision, Miss Brown," it began, dripping with veiled threats. "Especially considering your family's… immigration status. You wouldn't want to jeopardise your father's company, would you?"
Elizabeth gasped, her eyes widening in horror. "Is that a threat?" she stammered, the colour draining from her face.
"No, Miss Brown," the voice replied smoothly, a sickeningly sweet undertone present. "Think of it as a notification. We expect your decision by the end of the day. Additionally, the wedding arrangements have been finalised – one month from today. I suggest you choose a date for the signing promptly. Have a pleasant day."
The line went dead, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Elizabeth stared at the phone, its weight suddenly a burden in her hand. The threat hung heavy in the air like a dark cloud threatening to engulf them all.