Beneath The Surface

Mister Jones sat in his grand but now eerily quiet office, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows. His fingers drummed absently on the armrests of his chair, a habit born from decades of commanding his pack with authority. Yet tonight, there was a rare stillness in him, his mind tangled with the fallout from his recent confrontation with Elizabeth.

The betrayal he had seen in her eyes haunted him. How had things spiraled so far out of control?

"May I come in, Father?" Elizabeth's voice broke the silence, soft but laced with an unusual sweetness. She stood in the doorway, holding a silver tray. On it, a glass of warm water and a small container of pills.

Mister Jones didn't respond. His hand waved dismissively in her direction, gesturing toward the room, his silence heavy with judgment.

Elizabeth stepped inside, the tension palpable. She placed the tray on the nightstand, each movement deliberate and calculated, like a performer executing a practiced routine. Her voice faltered slightly as she spoke.

"I know you were expecting Maxwell," she said, her words light but betraying her unease. "But he's off training with Reynald." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She hoped mentioning Reynald would ease the tension, but it did nothing.

Mister Jones kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his face an impassive mask. Elizabeth knelt beside him, her eyes glistening with what seemed like remorse.

"Father," she began, her voice cracking. "I came here to apologize. I shouldn't have acted the way I did earlier. You're the leader of the Jones Pack, and you've always known what's best for us."

Her words lingered in the air, but Mister Jones remained silent, offering no comfort. Elizabeth's breath caught, the weight of his indifference pressing down on her. She pressed on, though, her voice gaining strength.

"I've been selfish. I wanted Reynald to have everything. I was blinded by my ambition, and I couldn't see how it hurt the family." She reached for his hand, her touch tentative but warm. "Please, forgive me. I did it all for love—love for my children."

For a moment, Mister Jones remained still. Then, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and his eyes met hers, a flicker of something—possibly forgiveness—glimmering in his gaze. Encouraged, Elizabeth continued, her words flowing faster now.

"I don't need anything for myself," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I just want my children to succeed. I just want you to be okay. Please, Father, don't leave me alone in this world. I need you."

Tears streamed down her face as she buried her face in his lap. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Mister Jones hesitated, his hand brushing over her head, but something about her display felt off. Too perfect. Too rehearsed.

Elizabeth lifted her tear-streaked face, a weak smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Father," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She stood and picked up the glass of water and pills from the tray. "Here, take these. You need to rest."

Mister Jones hesitated, suspicion creeping up his spine. He took the pills, his hand shaking slightly as he swallowed them with a sip of water. His throat tightened, his instincts screaming at him, but he ignored them.

Minutes passed in silence. But something felt wrong.

His vision blurred. A wave of heat rushed over him, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His chest tightened painfully, his breathing shallow and ragged. He grasped at his chest, panic rising in his throat.

"Help…" he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. The glass of water slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor.

Elizabeth didn't move. She watched him, the faintest smile playing on her lips. The smile didn't reach her eyes.

"What… what did you do?" Mister Jones rasped, his voice a broken whisper. He reached out, knocking his recorder off the table in a last, desperate attempt. With trembling hands, he slid it under the bed, hoping it would be found.

Elizabeth's smile faltered as a shard of glass from the broken tray cut her foot, drawing a drop of blood. She glanced at it briefly, before looking back at him with a cold, calculating gaze.

"Do you see how it feels?" she hissed, stepping closer to him. "Struggling to breathe, fighting to survive? I've lived like this every day of my life."

Her voice cracked, but her rage was palpable. "You never cared for me, Father. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I fought for your approval, and still, you turned your back on me."

Her fists clenched. "You destroyed me, Father." Her voice lowered to a venomous whisper. "Four years ago, I killed my brother to prove myself. And even that wasn't enough for you."

Mister Jones's eyes widened in horror. His body was failing him, and the truth of her words hit like a blow to the chest.

Elizabeth grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it over his face. His weak struggles were futile, his last breath a ragged gasp before everything went black.

For a moment, she stood still, her eyes lingering on his lifeless body. A sense of calm settled over her, cold and unwavering. She cleaned the room with methodical precision, erasing every trace of her actions. The shattered glass was swept away, the bottle of pills discarded far from the estate.

Satisfied, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. The scalding water washed away the physical traces of her crime, but the cold, calculated satisfaction stayed with her.

Afterward, she dressed in fresh clothes and dialed a number on her phone, her voice calm and serene as ever.

"Reynald," she said, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. "It's time to take care of the second prey."

As she hung up the phone, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. The girl who had once been desperate for approval was gone, replaced by someone far more dangerous. The game was far from over.