Chapter 3 - The Silence of a Heart**
"What are you doing?" Stella's voice quaked, her wide eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions—fear, disbelief, and desperation. She gasped for breath, straining against Mory's iron grip, her leg trembling not from weakness, but from the weight of the terrifying reality pressing down on her.
"I warned you, but it seems my words carried no weight." Mory's gaze bore into hers, an inscrutable look clouding his features as if he was wrestling with shadows of his own makings.
Stella pressed her palm against the wall behind her, feeling its cold, unyielding surface, a feeble anchor in the storm around her. A gnawing instinct warned her that something unspeakable had transpired in their lives—a storm had swept through their sanctuary.
"Will lola leave you after she learns about our little conversation?" Stella managed a brittle smile, but despair clung to her like a second skin.
Mory's grip tightened around her throat, his visage hardening as a sudden memory pierced through his steely demeanor: "Promise me you will never take a life, no matter what provocation comes your way."
Then, as if shaking off a weighty shackle, he released her, and she crumpled to the floor, gasping, her fingers clawing at her throat as she fought to regain her breath.
"I know you would never harm me," she rasped, but all assurance fled when Mory tossed a picture onto the cold, unforgiving floor.
Her trembling hand reached for the photo, her heart pounding a dreadful rhythm as she saw it. "W...what have you done to my father?" Fear wrapped its icy fingers around her heart, squeezing tightly.
"I did nothing," he replied, his tone devoid of empathy. "Isn't that his hideout, the place he believes is impenetrable?"
A wave of anxiety crashed over stella; how could he have located her father so effortlessly when so few knew of his whereabouts? She searched Mory's face for answers, but its inscrutability left her lost in an ocean of confusion and dread.
Mory smiled, a slow, unsettling twisting of his lips as he brought her chin up, forcing her to look into the abyss of his darkened eyes. "Did you really believe I was unaware of your and your father's scheming? Do you think I am a fool?"
Stella felt a tremor of betrayal. Her father, once an esteemed worker for Rowan Group Corporation, had crossed the treacherous lines of loyalty and trust, trying to orchestrate the corporation's downfall.
"You already knew, so why did you lead me astray?" she cried out, her voice shaking with indignation. "You gave me false information?"
"False information?" Mory erupted in laughter, a chilling sound that ricocheted against the walls. "If I were you, I would urge him to find a new hiding spot quickly, for the day I catch him, he will deeply regret ever being born."
The weight of his words crashed over her. "He will pay the price instead of you, so tread carefully. Do not provoke me, or you may awaken a monster." He brushed her hair aside, a gesture that felt more like a dismissal than a comfort.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice wavered, the emotion swelling within her until she could hardly contain it. "It was my father's plan; I only followed his orders. I never wished to hurt you."
Rising to his full height, Mory fixed her with a serious stare, a look that cut deeper than the earlier threats. "Stay away from me and Lola. I want no connection between you and her." His finger pointed harshly, marking her as someone undeserving.
As he turned to leave, an unexpected impulse surged within her. "Don't walk away! Please, don't leave me! I can't bear the thought of being alone!" she implored, her words spilling over like a torrent.
Impatience surged through him; Mory had never encountered someone quite like her before, someone who played the victim and the survivor so simultaneously. Even Lola, with her unwavering love, never displayed such desperation. Why was stella different?
With a practiced motion, he wrenched his leg from her grasp, thrust open the door, and strode out, her cries trailing after him like ghosts.
His driver was waiting, ready as ever, and he slipped into the car, the door closing behind him—too final, too harsh.
"Mr. Riley, we have a situation. Lola has locked herself in her room and refuses to eat. What should I do?" concern dripped from his driver's voice.
"Is it true? She hasn't eaten anything since this morning?"
"Yes, I'm quite worried about her state."
A sigh escaped Mory's lips, heavy with a mix of irritation and concern. "Then let's move. I'll handle it."
With decisive efficiency, he instructed his driver to clear his day's appointments. Today, there would be no meetings, no business—only management of the volatile emotions swirling between them.
He rifled through his suit pocket, frustration brewing within him when he found no comfort. "Forget sweets. I need to meet her—I need her to eat."
As the driver nodded obediently, Mory's mind drifted momentarily, pulling him back into the whirlpool of painful memories he'd hoped to forget.
[Flashback]
"Give it to me, or she dies."
"Don't listen to them!" a girl cried out. "If you give it to them, you will never see me again."
A gunshot echoed in the air.
[End of Flashback]
Mory jolted back to the present, panting softly, the weight of the past pressing against his chest. His driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, concern knitted on his brow.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he replied, the weight of unspoken burdens heavy in his voice.
They arrived at the mansion, and there was Franca, awaiting their arrival with a worried expression stitched across her features. "Since this morning, Lola hasn't been acting like herself. Did you have a fight?"
Mory offered her a hollow smile before climbing the stairs in haste toward Lola's room. He knocked softly but was met with silence. "Open the door, Lola," he called, his voice a mixture of authority and pleading. "If you don't open it, I will use the spare key."
Still no response.
"Franca, get the spare key," he ordered, urgency coloring his voice, and soon the door creaked open.
Lola lay sprawled on the bed, her body curled inward, shielding herself from the world. The oppressive heat blanketed the room. With quick reflexes, Mory adjusted the temperature and flung the window wide, ushering in a breeze that cut through the stifling air.
"Are you trying to suffocate yourself?" he demanded, his tone half-accusatory, half-concerned as he shed his suit jacket, loosening his tie with deliberate movements. "In this type of weather, you turned the heater up to a hellish number?"
She turned to face him. "If you truly wish to save me, just sign the divorce papers, and I won't bother you any longer."
"So, that's what this is really about." He turned back to Franca, his anger simmering. "Get her some food, and I'll find a way to get her to eat—I'll force it down her throat if I have to."
Minutes felt like hours until Franca returned with a tray of food, and Mory dismissed her with a swift gesture, ensuring their privacy. With the door closed, he approached her, a determined look etched on his face.
"Will you eat of your own accord, or must I feed you?" he asked, his impatience creeping into his voice.
Lola, sitting stiffly on the bed, offered no response, her silence a loss he felt deep within. He sat down beside her, pulling her against his chest. He intended to feed her, but just then, the sharp, sudden need to vomit seized her. Before he could process what was happening, she pushed him away and dashed toward the bathroom.
"Is that so? Are you sick because I'm offering you food?" he called after her incredulously.
A moment later, she emerged from the bathroom, disheveled and pale, yet defiant. "I will eat only if you let me visit my sister alone," she declared, her tone leaving little room for negotiation.
In that moment, an invisible chasm widened between them, bound by silence, regret, and a yearning that neither of them dared to fully articulate.