CHAPTER 6

At that moment Mark entered his chamber, his steps heavy, the door shutting behind him with a deep thud that echoed in the quiet space.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains pulled halfway, but in the center of the wall, a giant screen flickered silently. On it played live feeds from the hidden cameras scattered around the presidential suite's living room. Every angle of the earlier commotion was captured Lady Willow's face, the family's sneers, the child standing brave in front of her mother protecting her, and most of all Cecilia.

Mark stood in front of the screen, his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenching harder with every passing second.

On the floor, broken glass from an earlier wine bottle lay scattered, the red wine staining the polished wood like blood. He had thrown it the moment he came back and realized the suite was empty Cecilia gone.

His heart felt heavy, a strange tightness pulling inside his chest that he couldn't shake off.

Then he dragged a hand through his hair, staring hard at the frozen frame of the video, Cecilia's face, cold and distant, her eyes filled with walls he couldn't climb. And that child… Everly.

However Mark's mind wouldn't stop replaying her small voice.

The way she had stood her ground against him, and the way she spoke.

It echoed inside him like a whisper he couldn't outrun.

Could that child really be his?

That one question screamed inside him, louder than anything else.

Because if she was…If Everly was truly his daughter, then he had messed up not for days, not for months, for five whole years.

Five years of nothing.

no birthdays, no first steps.

no first words, no hugs, no presence.

He couldn't believe he had missed it all.

He clenched his fists, his breathing uneven, his head pounding.

"Why, Cecilia…" he muttered under his breath, his eyes still on her image on the screen.

"Why would you hide that from me?"

His voice cracked a little, though his face stayed hard.

"For five years… how could you keep this from me?"

At that moment Mark paced restlessly, his mind clouded, his gut screaming that something wasn't right. No matter how much he thought about it, none of it added up.

He knew Cecilia wouldn't just leave. Not after everything, not with the kind of expression she had when he first saw her again.

There was something deeper something he wasn't seeing yet.

Unable to shake the feeling, Mark stepped closer to the command console in his chamber, the system that controlled all the hidden cameras scattered throughout his suite. His fingers hovered briefly, then he swiftly rolled the footage back, scrolling to the exact moment he had left Cecilia in the living room.

Then he pressed play, eyes narrowing, studying every frame.

There she was, Cecilia, standing quietly in the room with her daughter. Then, minutes later, the door opened and his mother walked in, followed by two of the family elders.

Mark's eyes stayed sharp as he watched Lady Willow's mouth move, her face dark and full of disdain. The elders stood on either side, their expressions no better.

But then, he noticed something that made him frown deeper the audio.

It was on, but all he could hear was static, crackling, breaking apart like a bad radio signal. The voices were scrambled beyond recognition.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath.

The equipment was top grade, designed to capture everything—sight and sound. So why now, why here, was the sound failing him?

He adjusted the controls, replayed it again, turned the volume up, but it was still same, the crackles, fuzz.

His jaw tightened as his eyes remained fixed on the screen. Even without sound, the way his mother's face twisted, the way Grace sneered, the way Lillian stood with visible irritation it was clear.

They weren't exchanging pleasantries.

At that moment Mark's expression darkened deeper as the footage continued. His eyes didn't miss a thing the security men stepping forward, their hands grabbing at Cecilia and Everly like they were criminals. Then came the moment that pushed him over the edge Everly being shoved to the ground.

It wasn't just a push it was brutal, careless.

He watched her small frame hit the cold floor, watched her cry, and watched Cecilia fall to her knees to shield her.

Mark's fists curled so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His breathing got heavier, rougher, his chest rising and falling like a man holding back a storm. His eyes burned into the screen.

His body moved before his mind caught up.

He took one step forward, his arm pulling back, his fist cocked, ready to drive straight through the giant screen—but he stopped himself at the last second, his muscles trembling.

The rage inside was too much to contain, but he knew breaking glass wouldn't give him the answers he needed.

"Why, Mother… why would you do this?"

His voice was low, bitter.

Mark rewound the footage again, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. That was when he noticed something Cecilia's eyes.

She kept glancing up toward the camera.

Not once, not twice multiple times.

It was subtle, but intentional.

She knew the cameras were there.

She was watching them.

She was watching him.

Immediately Mark's heart sank. She wanted him to see. She was sending him a message silent, but loud.

But that wasn't all, his attention shifted to Lady Willow on the screen just as the security men grabbed Cecilia, his mother took out her phone and made a call.

Her face during that call was calm too calm. She wasn't rattled or concerned. She spoke briefly, her eyes steady, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then Mark stared harder, suspicion curling inside him.

He knew his mother. She wasn't heartless. But she was cold where it counted.

She could do anything anything for fame, reputation, and power.

He just didn't know how far she would go.

Would she… would she take a life for it?

His mind rejected it, but his gut wasn't sure.

He wasn't one hundred percent certain.

Without wasting another second, Mark grabbed a dark blazer from his wardrobe, sliding his arms through the sleeves as he paced back to the console. His mind was moving fast faster than his hands.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a direct line to one of his most trusted men in the tech world, a digital forensics expert who had cleaned up messes for him more than once.

The call barely rang twice before the voice picked up.

"Boss?"

"I need you to do something for me," Mark said, his voice low but sharp. "I have a recording from one of my surveillance cameras. The video is clean, but the audio's corrupted. I want it fixed. I need to hear everything that was said during that footage."

The man on the other end hummed thoughtfully.

"Possible, but it's gonna take a bit of time to extract and clean the sound, especially if the file's badly scrambled."

Mark didn't even hesitate.

"I don't care how long it takes, just get it done. I want it flawless. Send your team here or work remotely, whatever works faster."

"You got it, boss."

Mark ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. His eyes drifted to the screen one last time before he turned and stormed out of the room.

The image of Cecilia glancing at the camera wouldn't leave his mind.

She had left him a message, but he couldn't hear it yet.

He reached the main door of his presidential suite, pausing only briefly as his eyes caught the faint signs of repair along the doorframe the place where the taskforce had broken in earlier.

It was already fixed, patched clean, like nothing had ever happened.

Of course. His mother had made sure of that. She didn't want him to know what had gone down here, not even a trace.

But they didn't know he had eyes in the walls.

Not even the hotel manager knew about the cameras. Mark had arranged them privately through his trusted friend, a shadow man in tech who helped him set up discreet surveillance in all of his properties and leisure spaces.

Some might call it illegal, but technically, Mark owned the hotel. Every inch of it. If anyone had a right to watch, it was him.

He smirked faintly at the thought. What was meant to protect him from scandals had just saved him from his own family's scheme.

He pushed the door open fully, stepping out into the grand hallway. He hadn't even gone three steps before he saw them Stella and Grace approaching.

Both of them had smiles spread wide across their faces, like they were coming to greet a king returning from battle.

At that moment Mark's jaw tightened as he watched them coming closer.

As soon as Grace reached him, her voice lifted with excitement, a wide smile stretched across her face. She acted as though the earlier chaos never happened.

"Brother, let me introduce you!" Grace said, her tone sweet but polished. She gently placed her hand on Stella's back, nudging her forward.

"This is Stella. Stella Brown. She's a top-class financial guru from Cornvilla, you know, that exclusive district where only the wealthiest live."

She chuckled softly, like she was sharing an inside joke with him.

"It's a place mostly dominated by men, but Stella here—she broke that wall. To reach where she is, you'd have to be more than just talented. She's extraordinary."

Grace smiled proudly, as if Stella's presence beside her elevated them both.

Stella stepped forward, her confidence glowing on her face. She extended her hand gracefully, her voice smooth and refined.

"Stella Brown," she said with a proud smile.

"I recently crossed the one billion dollar mark in net worth, and… I was hoping I could learn a couple of things from you, Mr. Giovanni."

Her words dripped with charm, her eyes twinkling with admiration.

But then, her smile slowly faltered.

Because Mark wasn't smiling back.

His eyes were cold, sharp as glass, his jaw set tightly. The deadly look on his face made the air feel heavier between them. There was no warmth, no curiosity, just piercing silence.

Stella's heart skipped.

She held her hand out for a moment longer, but when Mark didn't move he didn't even flinch either, she felt the sting of rejection.

Her smile cracked, and she instinctively stepped back, lowering her hand.