CHAPTER 7

Grace watched nervously as Stella quickly dropped her hand, stepping back like a child caught in the wrong room. Still, she tried to salvage the moment. She thought if she could just get a little closer, maybe lighten the air with a hug, Mark's mood might soften.

After all, just yesterday, they had begged Mark to be lenient, to at least hold back his temper for the sake of today's event. Grace was counting on that plea to buy her a little grace now.

Without wasting anymore time she took a small step forward, lifting her arms slightly, her face stretching into a careful smile.

But then she stopped, her body froze on the spot.

Because she caught it, the flicker in Mark's eyes, the sharp, deadly glare, colder than a graveyard at midnight. It was the kind of look that made someone spine shiver, the kind that warned if she got any closer, she might never walk back out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Mark's voice broke the air cold, low, and commanding.

"Why did you two come into my room?"

The question was simple, but the weight in his tone made the hallway feel colder, narrower.

Grace started shaking right there, her hands trembling by her sides.

She had a lie ready.

They had all agreed on the story to tell Mark. A clean, innocent version of events that would shield them all.

But staring into his eyes now, with that suffocating gaze, her mind went blank.

She stammered, her voice cracking.

"I… I followed Mother inside," she blurted, her eyes darting around, unable to meet his stare.

She swallowed hard, forcing the rehearsed lie out piece by piece.

"Mom… Mom said she just wanted to comfort Cecilia. She wanted to see if Cecilia was in any mess... you know, to help her. She thought settling things would make the event go smoothly."

However Grace's breathing was uneven, her throat dry, She tried to smile, but it looked like a grimace.

"But… but then Cecilia attacked us... and then left angrily…"

Then Grace forced her face to stay straight, swallowing back the dryness in her throat. She made sure her voice didn't shake, her lips didn't twitch. She had to deliver the lie with confidence. If there was even a flicker of guilt or hesitation, Mark would tear through it like paper.

As the words left her mouth, she kept her chin up, her eyes trying to remain steady on Mark's, though every second under his gaze felt like standing before a firing squad.

They had planned it carefully.

If they pretended that they never met with Cecilia when Mark left, Mark wouldn't believe it. So Lady Willow made sure to at least admit she had met Cecilia. That way, the story had some truth to anchor the lie.

But still…There was something off.

Grace's mind spun fast, questioning herself.

How did Mark know Stella was there too? The lie didn't include Stella. Only Lady Willow and the family elders were supposed to be in the room that was the safe version of the story.

Yet Mark knew. He was too sharp to mention Stella if he wasn't sure.

And that might be why his eyes had been so deadly, why his face looked carved from stone. Grace's heart sank. She knew Mark wasn't stupid he must've seen something.

She was about to continue talking, thinking she could somehow cover more ground, but Mark cut her off sharply.

"Come up with a better lie when I return," he said, his voice flat and unforgiving.

Then he turned around, and walked away, his suit jacket swaying slightly, his back straight, shoulders rigid.

His expression never changed. Deadpan. Cold, and Detached.

However Grace stood there, frozen, her mouth still half-open.

Stella, still shaken, leaned closer to Grace, her voice low and worried.

"Grace… do you think he's mad at me?" she whispered, her hands wringing nervously. "He didn't even shake my hand. He looked at me like I disgusted him…"

Grace blinked rapidly, her mind still catching up. Then she forced a thin smile, patting Stella's hand.

"No, no, he's not mad at you," Grace replied quickly.

"He just… he just needs fresh air. That's all."

Mark stepped out of the hotel, his expression still unreadable, though deep inside, his mind was far from calm.

His car a sleek, black luxury sedan waited at the entrance, the valet already holding the door open for him. Mark got in silently, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud.

As soon as he was alone, his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, his mind replaying the footage from his suite.

The way Cecilia had looked at the camera before leaving... it wasn't random.

She had stared right at it not once, but again and again her gaze deliberate, steady, like she was trying to tell him something without speaking.

Mark smirked faintly to himself.

"Cecilia… you're still smart," he muttered, adjusting his seat.

But even as he smiled, the question scratched at him how did she know exactly where the camera was?

He never told anyone about it. Not even the hotel manager. The camera was so discreet, its presence hidden even from staff. Yet somehow, Cecilia knew.

Could it be that subtle?

Was she watching him closely enough to notice when he glanced at that exact spot, just for a second when they spoke?

At that moment Mark shook his head, a faint chuckle escaping him.

"You still know how to read me, huh?" he whispered under his breath.

He turned the ignition, the engine purring smoothly. His hands gripped the wheel, and without hesitation, he drove off.

He didn't need a map, he already knew where she would go.

His mind played the moment again the look in her eyes, the silent plea behind her defiance. If she was trying to leave a message for him, she was guiding him somewhere.

And there was only one place that came to mind.

Minutes later, Mark's car slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, where the roads grew quieter and the trees thicker. He made a final turn, and there it stood:

The Garden House.

A secluded, beautiful estate surrounded by lush gardens and overflowing with flowers of every color.

This wasn't just any house, this was where Mark had proposed to Cecilia then.

Under the moonlight, amidst roses and lavender, he had gotten on one knee and asked her to be his. And that night… that night, they had made love for the first time.

He parked the car at the entrance, the memories weighing heavier in his chest.

This had to be where she went.

At that moment Mark stood silently beside his car, his eyes fixed on the house ahead, memories dragging him deeper into thoughts he'd tried for years to bury.

It was right here right in this very garden that Cecilia had made him feel like the world was his. The laughter they shared under the moonlight, the warmth of her voice when she whispered yes to his proposal, the way she held him that night as if she'd never let go

and yet, the very next morning… she walked out.

No explanation, no note.

No goodbye, she left like he was nothing.

Mark had tried everything to find her, to understand why. He pulled strings, sent people, traced every possible lead, but she was gone—as if she had never existed in his life to begin with.

Now, after five years, she didn't just show up empty-handed she brought a child with her.

A little girl. A child she claimed or hinted—was his.

It was overwhelming, It was frustrating, It was maddening.

No wonder he couldn't sit still in that meeting. His mind wasn't on billions or contracts it was on her, on that child, on everything he had missed without knowing.

If he hadn't called off the meeting, he would've made a fool of himself, lost his composure in front of people who would take any sign of weakness and turn it into gossip.

He couldn't let that happen.

What he needed… was to hear it from Cecilia herself. He needed the truth, all of it, laid bare between them.

At that moment Mark walked deeper into the garden, his steps slow but purposeful.

Almost immediately, a few sales girls spotted him, their eyes widening. They rushed toward him, all smiles, their notepads ready.

"Good afternoon, sir! Welcome back to The Garden House!" one of them chirped.

"Are you here for flowers? Perhaps for a gift? We have a new collection of rare orchids—"

Hearing what the ladies was saying he didn't respond. He didn't even look at them.

His eyes were elsewhere drawn like a magnet to a single figure further ahead.

There she was, Cecilia Standing on the exact same spot where he had proposed to her.