Maria's frustration flared as she heared them call the police. She snatched her termination letter, tearing it to pieces, and shouted at the top of her voice.
"I am the top designer of this country! You can't treat me like this! I've dedicated four years to this company. I demand to speak with Wu Ji!" Her voice was thick with fury, but the CEO of The Silver Lining had already made his decision, advising his staff to handle her swiftly and hand her over to the authorities.
When security approached, Maria's defiance escalated. Her eyes burned with desperation and rage as she knocked over desks, flung files, and shattered a glass display case with a vicious swipe. "Don't come any closer, or I swear I'll kill you!" she screamed, her voice nearly cracking under the strain.
In the chaos, her gaze landed on a woman in the corner, phone raised, recording every second of the outburst. Maria's expression twisted with panic. "You think you're going to ruin me with that recording? Stop filming me, you little—" With a snarl, she hurled a vase at the woman. The target barely ducked in time as the vase shattered against the wall behind her. Just then the police stormed in, subduing Maria and leading her away as she screamed and kicked, her voice echoing down the hall.
The charges piled up quickly—trespassing, property damage, threatening violence, and attempting to harm a coworker. Within the hour, The Silver Lining held a press release. The spokesperson, a calm but steely figure, addressed the media.
"We regret to inform you that Maria has been terminated from her position, effective immediately. Her actions today were completely unacceptable. We will not tolerate such behavior from any employee." The statement, concise but condemning, sent shockwaves through the industry. And behind the scenes, the manager, initially complicit, shifted blame in a desperate attempt to save himself, claiming he'd merely tried to dissuade Maria, only for her to lash out.
As the news spread, reporters scrambled to catch every detail, but the one voice missing was Maria's. Determined to get the story from her perspective, a group of journalists managed to corner her in the holding cell, their cameras and questions relentless. Her cheeks stained with tears, Maria sobbed.
"You don't understand. I was with Cain! He'll vouch for me!"
A young reporter scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, really? So Cain was there, witnessing this?" He referenced a post by Cain's assistant, who had insinuated that Maria was delusional and in dire need of help. "Maybe it's the alcohol talking," the reporter sneered. "Or maybe she's simply mentally unwell."
With each word, Maria's composure slipped further. Her face twisted into a mask of rage and hurt, and when another reporter handed her a mic, she threw it violently back at him, cutting his cheek. Chaos erupted as officers restrained her, marking her as a further threat. Later that night, in a cold, clinical report, her confinement to a mental rehabilitation center was announced, her actions deemed the result of an unstable mind.
---
Meanwhile, back at her villa, Maria's assistant returned, eager to share a possible solution. "Maria! I think I found someone who can fix all of this for us. They want to meet you." She paused, her eyes scanning the empty room. Puzzled, she searched the entire villa, but there was no sign of Maria. Irritation simmered as her phone began lighting up with alerts.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
The assistant's eyes widened as she took in the dozens of news articles, each worse than the last. The recent videos and pictures of Maria emerged in the internet. She dropped her phone to the ground, not wanting to see more. Maria and her had been close, people around used to look up at them with admiration.
Maria is lucky to have Lucy with her. She is such a hardworking assistant who can turn any stone into diamond. But now was she bound to go down with Maria? No. No!
"What a fool!" she muttered, frustration edging her tone. "I told her to stay put! She is a patientless idiot!" She kicked the leg of a nearby chair and sank into it, rubbing her temples as she absorbed the mess Maria had made of things.
---
The hour grew late and in a dimly lit room across town, Cain sat scrolling through his phone, a cold, vengeful smile playing on his lips as he watched the footage of Maria's outburst. He replayed the video, catching every furious word, every wild gesture. The girl he once thought delicate and meek was lashing out with a viciousness that startled even him.
"So this is your true self," he murmured, a spark of satisfaction igniting in his gaze. "I was fooled by the mask you wore. But no more."
A call interrupted his musings. He answered without glancing at the caller ID. "Yes, Mark. What is it?"
On the other end, his assistant spoke confidently. "Sir, the reporter we hired did his job well. He emphasized Maria's deteriorating mental health which swayed the authorities. She's being sent to a rehab facility we arranged. I've ensured the staff there will treat her as she deserves to be treated."
Cain's smirk widened. "Excellent work, Mark. You've earned yourself a bonus." Hanging up, he clenched his phone, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Maria, you wanted a game? Fine. The playing field is set, and I've given you the ground. Now, let's see how you perform."
Setting his phone aside, he found himself thinking of Claire. His chest tightened with a pang of regret as her silence lingered in his mind, a bitter reminder of his mistakes. Her face, as he last saw it—calm, collected, and unreadable—flashed before him. He unlocked his phone and stared at a picture of her, his thumb grazing the image.
"Claire, will you ever forgive me?" His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "I know I'm unworthy of you after what I did. But don't overlook the love I have for you. Don't let the evil inside me overshadow my feelings for you."
Guilt weighed heavily on him as he pulled a cigarette from a nearby pack and lit it. The smoke curled around him as he took a long drag, the bitter taste on his tongue mingling with the ache in his chest. He left his room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he made his way toward the quiet seaside.
On his way out, he thought to drop by her room, but restrained himself and walked away. When he reached the outer area of the penthouse, he glanced up at the window to Claire's room. The light was off, a sign she was likely asleep. He stood there for a moment longer, his gaze lingering before he turned and headed to the shoreline.
The sky was a deep blue, just on the edge of dawn. Cain lost himself in thought, staring out over the dark waves as they lapped at the shore. Soon, the captain approached, offering him a fresh cup of coffee, a simple gesture that brought Cain back to the present. He glanced at his watch—it was nearly 6 a.m. He looked at the coffee, then at the cigarette smoldering between his fingers and scoffed, shaking his head slightly.
"Long night?" the captain asked, handing him the cup.
Cain took it, nodding slightly, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze drifted back to Claire's window again, hoping for any sign of life, a glimpse of movement—anything. The captain followed his gaze, raising a brow, but said nothing.