Hidden Truths

"Mr. West, I've found the information you requested."

Private investigator Matt Dawson placed a manila envelope on Adrian's desk. A week earlier, Adrian had hired him to locate Sofia Morrison and her daughter, and his efficiency was certainly commendable.

Adrian took the folder, his expression focused. "Give me the highlights."

"Sofia Morrison stopped receiving all treatment payments the day your father died. Her mental condition is extremely unstable," Matt reported, his tone professional and detached. "Her daughter, Ella Morrison, is 19, studying Business Management at Northern University on a full scholarship with excellent grades."

"Does she know about her mother's situation?"

"From what I understand, she visits regularly, but the psychiatric hospital says Sofia hasn't had a lucid moment in years."

Adrian flipped through the documents, pausing at a photograph. Ella stood on campus with a backpack, her dark hair caught in the wind. Unlike the bright smile in Richard's photo, her expression carried a certain wariness and coldness.

"What's her financial situation?"

"Quite difficult," Matt answered. "She works at a coffee shop to make ends meet while paying for her mother's medical expenses. Since your father's transfers stopped, she's had to move her mother to a more economical ward."

Adrian's lips curled slightly. "A coffee shop? Which one?"

"Coincidentally," Matt cleared his throat, "it's 'BlueBird Coffee,' owned by the West Group."

Adrian raised an eyebrow, seemingly satisfied with this information. "Continue monitoring her. I want to know everything—friends, habits, weaknesses."

"One more thing, sir." Matt hesitated. "She seems to have an instinctive aversion to men, particularly those who try to approach her. According to classmates, she never attends parties and has no dating history."

Adrian nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. You may go."

After Matt left, Adrian rose and walked to the window, gazing down at the city's nightscape. He gently traced Ella's face in the photograph, his eyes cold.

"You will pay for your mother's sins, Ella Morrison."

—

The corridors of St. George Psychiatric Hospital glowed with a sickly green light. Adrian, dressed in a dark suit, looked completely out of place in this environment that reeked of disinfectant.

"This way, Mr. West," the hospital director respectfully led the way. "We're extremely grateful that you're taking over Ms. Morrison's medical expenses."

"I'm merely fulfilling my father's wishes," Adrian replied calmly. "I'd like to understand her condition first."

The director nodded. "Ms. Morrison has been diagnosed with severe dissociative disorder and PTSD, dependent on medication to maintain basic stability. She hasn't had a fully lucid day in ten years."

"What caused this condition?" Adrian asked, deliberately masking his curiosity.

The director looked uncomfortable. "The records only mention 'severe psychological trauma.' Your father specifically requested no deep treatment or detailed records. But in my observation, these symptoms are common among..." the director lowered his voice, "victims of sexual abuse."

Adrian scoffed. "Absurd. My father couldn't possibly—"

"Oh no, Mr. West, I'm not implying anything," the director hastily explained. "I'm merely making a professional assessment."

They stopped outside a room. Through the small window, Adrian saw a frail woman sitting by the window, staring vacantly outside. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and whatever beauty she once possessed had been eroded by time and suffering.

This was Sofia Morrison—the "other woman," the one who had destroyed his mother's life.

"Does she have any visitors?" Adrian asked.

"Only her daughter comes once or twice a month. Poor child, having to face such a mother since childhood."

Adrian felt a strange discomfort. This emaciated woman was unrecognizable from the beautiful housekeeper in his memory. He had expected to feel satisfaction in his revenge, but instead felt an odd emptiness.

"I'd like to know more about Sofia before her admission."

The director shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't have many records. Your father only arranged the admission procedures, provided basic funding, but refused to disclose more background."

Adrian frowned. "If she regains lucidity, you'll notify me immediately."

"Of course, Mr. West. Also..." the director hesitated, "about the ward fees..."

Adrian gave him a cold glance. "Continue providing the best treatment, send the bills directly to me. However," his voice lowered, "none of this information is to be disclosed to her daughter, understood?"

"Completely understood, sir."

—

"Claire, I've sent the details of the assignment to your email." Adrian leaned back in his luxurious office chair, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

A mature female voice came through the receiver. "Mr. West, I must say, this 'job' differs somewhat from my usual business."

"So does the payment I'm offering you," Adrian replied coldly.

A soft laugh. "Inducing a college girl to sign a contract isn't my typical 'prey.'"

"You're called the city's best 'talent scout' for a reason, Claire. I need your special ability—making people believe they can get what they desperately want."

"So I should make Ella Morrison believe her mother's medical expenses can be saved? By selling herself?"

Adrian's voice was ice. "An initial price of one million dollars would make even the most self-respecting person waver. Especially when they have no other options."

Silence on the other end for a moment. "She's pretty."

"That's irrelevant," Adrian stated flatly.

"Perhaps to you, but it's crucial for my 'pitch,'" Claire's voice turned professional. "I need to understand her daily activities and interests."

"It's all in the file. She works at BlueBird Coffee every day from 3 PM to 9 PM, visits her mother every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. No boyfriend, her only close friend is her roommate, Camila Hall."

"You know her in quite detail," Claire's voice carried a hint of teasing. "Why don't you approach her yourself?"

Adrian's fingers drummed on the desk. "We each have our roles, Claire. Yours is to get her to agree to the proposal, mine is..." he paused, "to make her pay."

Meanwhile, Ella Morrison bustled between tables at BlueBird Coffee. It was an upscale coffee shop downtown, with sophisticated decor, catering mostly to business people and wealthy students.

"Ella, latte for table 12," called her colleague from behind the counter.

Ella efficiently picked up two cups of coffee, heading toward the corner table. On her way, she carefully avoided the outstretched legs of several male customers, keeping her eyes fixed on the coffee cups, avoiding any unnecessary eye contact.

"Your latte, sir," she said softly, placing the coffee in front of a man in a business suit.

"Thank you, darling." The man's fingers deliberately brushed against her wrist, and Ella immediately withdrew her hand, her expression instantly cooling.

"Please ring the bell if you need anything else." She quickly turned away, ignoring the man's disappointed look.

"You just rejected another potential sugar daddy," her colleague Lisa teased when she returned to the counter. "That was the VP of Global Finance."

Ella wiped the tray expressionlessly. "I'm a server, not merchandise for sale."

"In this city, sometimes the lines blur," Lisa shrugged. "Especially for people like us who need money."

Ella didn't respond, just continued working. Whenever someone mentioned money, her thoughts drifted to that cold room at St. George Hospital, and to the woman who no longer recognized her—her mother.

"Ella!" The manager's voice suddenly rang out. "A customer ordered our limited-edition hand-drip coffee and requested you personally deliver it."

Ella frowned. "Why me?"

"Because the customer asked for you," the manager said impatiently. "Don't waste time, that's our most expensive single origin."

Ella sighed, taking the elegant coffee cup and walking in the direction the manager indicated. It was a window seat, with a man sitting with his back to her—black suit, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his hair immaculately styled from what she could see from behind.

"Sir, your hand-drip coffee," Ella maintained her professional tone, placing the coffee on the table.

The man slowly turned around, a pair of deep gray eyes looking directly at her. In that moment, Ella felt an inexplicable chill, as if she'd been targeted by a dangerous predator.

"Thank you, Ella," the man spoke, his voice deep and magnetic. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

Ella blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry, sir, do we know each other?"

The man smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes. "Perhaps." The single word hung in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning.

Ella instinctively stepped back, but was caught by the man's sudden grasp around her wrist.

"I'm Adrian West," he revealed his name slowly, danger flashing in his eyes. "And you, Ella Morrison, owe me a debt."