The Contract Ex-Husband of Wealthy Widow

Chapter 13: Echoes of the Past

"You were never really okay, were you?" Raka's voice slid out like a cold accusation, piercing Mrs. Anya's heart through the tense phone line. He heard a held breath on the other end, a silence heavier than anything that could be said. Days had passed since Darma's gaze had lingered on his back at the gallery, leaving Raka with a constant residue of panic, but the gnawing guilt over Anya was far more painful. He remembered Bianca's pale face, the bitter words that poisoned the gala, and how it all started with Anya's case.

"Raka?" Mrs. Anya's voice sounded hoarse, surprised. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" The genuine concern in her tone made Raka's stomach clench. How could I deceive her again?

"No, I'm not alright," Raka answered honestly, though he knew it wasn't what he should be saying. "And I know you aren't either. I want to see you. I have to." This wasn't just about Elena and the Architects. This was about atoning for his own mistakes, even if it meant dragging Anya deeper into the mud. I need to know what happened to you, Mrs. Anya. How deep they pulled you in.

Anya hesitated. "See me? But... for what? It's all in the past, isn't it?" Her voice trembled, as if warding off the terrifying shadow Raka himself had just experienced.

"Nothing is in the past," Raka insisted, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "There's something I need to talk to you about, something... important. About your case. About what really happened." He forced a thin smile, though only for himself, This is the best excuse I have. The most acceptable reason. "I just want to make sure you're alright. As... my first client."

Silence enveloped them again, feeling longer this time. Raka imagined Anya, the widow in her fifties, sitting alone in her overly large house, where the memories of her husband might still linger like ghosts. She had been the first victim of the Architects Raka had handled, a transaction he now knew was part of a much larger and more sinister scheme. Raka felt disgusted with himself for being a pawn in that deception.

"Alright," Anya finally said, her voice weak but with a trace of unexpected resolve. "Come tomorrow afternoon. I'll prepare tea."

The next few days felt like an eternity. Raka spent the time restlessly in his unfamiliar new apartment, staring blankly out the window. Every car that passed, every shadow dancing on the walls, felt like Darma. The cold-faced man, with his thin smile at the art gallery, haunted Raka. Elena was right, Darma wasn't playing around. He had seen Raka, and Raka knew it.

He tried to hide behind his new identity, immersing himself in the "consultant" work Elena had arranged. Yet, every time he opened his laptop, he felt his eyes constantly scanning the door, his shoulders tense, as if awaiting an attack. That fear had become a part of him, an unwelcome companion. Only the thought of Bianca and Anya gave him the strength to keep moving, a promise he had made to himself.

This morning, as he drove towards the outskirts of the city, to Mrs. Anya's house, he felt a strange mix of anxiety and purpose. Anya was a living witness, a piece of the puzzle he had ignored for too long. I owe her the truth, he thought, and maybe she can give me the answers I need. The streets were quiet, lush trees framed the scenery. Too peaceful for the world he now inhabited.

Anya's house stood grandly behind wrought-iron gates, an old fortress full of memories. In the past, Raka had often gone there as an ambitious young executive, managing her assets, offering her investments. Now, he was a spy in disguise, a truth-seeker unsure of what he would find. He pressed the doorbell, his heart pounding. What if Darma was watching him too? A chill ran down his spine.

The door opened. Anya stood in the doorway, her graying hair neatly styled, wearing a cream-colored house dress. Her brown eyes looked at Raka with a warmth that, strangely, made Raka feel even more guilty. There were faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, scars from unspoken sorrow, a sorrow the Architects had caused.

"Raka, dear. Come in," Anya smiled faintly, opening the door wider. The house was silent, the air inside felt heavy, as if holding secrets.

Raka stepped inside, observing his surroundings with a new instinct. Every corner, every crevice, seemed capable of hiding a threat. Anya's soft perfume, a mix of rose and lavender, slightly calmed his tense nerves. He looked towards the old, comfortable sofa, where he used to sit with Anya's husband, discussing financial plans. Now, the sofa felt empty, highlighting the emptiness of Anya's life.

"Thank you, Mrs. Anya," Raka said, trying to make his voice sound normal. He sat on the sofa, his back pressing against the cushions.

Anya served warm jasmine tea and cookies on the coffee table. Her movements were slow, yet graceful. "It's been a long time since you were last here," she said, looking at her teacup, avoiding eye contact.

"Indeed," Raka nodded. "I... I apologize if this is sudden. But there's something that's been bothering me, Mrs. Anya." He looked at the woman. "About everything that happened with your case. I feel... something is wrong."

Anya raised her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean, Raka? Everything is settled. The lawyers you recommended, Artemis & Associates, they handled it well." There was a faint, almost imperceptible, bitter undertone in her voice, enough to make Raka even more suspicious.

Artemis & Associates. The name felt like spit on Raka's tongue. The Architects' facade. He was the one who had recommended them to Anya, the one who had unknowingly delivered his client into a snake pit. The nausea returned.

"No, Mrs. Anya. It's not settled," Raka leaned forward, his voice lower. "There's... there's a bigger game behind all of it. I've only just realized it." He had to be careful. Too much information could make her panic, too little would make her disbelieve him. "Many people are involved in a larger scheme, and you... you are one of them."

Anya looked at Raka, her calm gaze now turning into a blank expression. Fear, Raka suspected, but also something else. Weariness? Resignation? She gripped her teacup.

"You're thinking too much, Raka," Anya exhaled, trying to smile, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Sometimes, bad things just happen. There's no need to look for a conspiracy behind every sorrow."

"This isn't just sorrow, Mrs. Anya," Raka countered. "This is organized crime. Those behind Artemis & Associates, they are... the Architects. They destroy people's lives for money, for power. You're not alone."

Anya turned her face away, looking out the window at the well-maintained backyard. "I just want peace, Raka. I'm too old for all of this."

Raka looked at her; something wasn't right. Anya didn't seem as surprised as he had expected. More like... she already knew. Or at least, had suspected. Had Elena told her something? Or had she investigated on her own?

"Mrs. Anya," Raka called, his voice softer, containing genuine empathy. "If there's anything you know, anything at all, please tell me. I want to help. I want to atone for my mistake of getting you involved with them."

Anya was silent. She picked up a cookie but didn't eat it. She fiddled with the pendant around her neck. An old silver heart-shaped locket, which she always wore. Raka remembered seeing it in her wedding photos.

"You know, Raka," Anya said softly, her voice barely a whisper, "my husband... he was a very cautious man. He always said, 'Anya, never fully trust anyone. There are always secrets, even in the most obvious places.'"

Raka frowned. What did she mean?

Anya looked at the pendant, her wrinkled fingers stroking its surface. "He gave me this," she said, her voice a little clearer. "And he said, 'If one day you feel yourself being pulled into an unseen darkness, look for light in unexpected places.'"

Raka held his breath. Light in unexpected places?

Anya opened the locket. Inside were two small photos, one of her smiling husband, the other of her younger self. However, behind one of those photos, Anya used her fingernail to pry open a small section. A hidden slot. And from there, she pulled out a tiny black object, almost imperceptible. An SD card.

Raka's heart pounded. He looked at the SD card, then at Anya's face. He could no longer hide his surprise. This was a real plot twist. Anya, his innocent client, the frail widow, had been keeping such a small secret inside her husband's heirloom locket?

"This..." Raka gasped. "What is this?"

Anya handed the SD card to Raka, her expression calm, as if she had long known this moment would come. "I don't know exactly," she replied, her voice low. "My husband... he gave it to me before he died. He said, 'if there were problems with my company or my assets, especially if it involved certain parties that felt 'too powerful,' I should look for someone trustworthy. Someone who... had a conscience.'"

Raka felt his eyes well up. Conscience. Those were the same words Elena had used to describe him. Was this a coincidence? Or had the Architects been targeting Anya and her husband for a long time? Had her husband known something?

"He said, 'if someone came asking, who seemed genuinely willing to help, who had been connected to this case, I should hand it over. But only if I truly felt they could be trusted. And you, Raka," Anya looked at him deeply, a faint smile, "you always had something different about you. You look... tired, but you still care.'"

Anya didn't know who Elena was. She didn't know about Darma. She was just a widow trying to survive amidst a storm she didn't understand. Yet, she had become an important part of Elena's web, whether consciously or not. She had become the key.

"I... thank you, Mrs. Anya," Raka mumbled, clutching the SD card. The small object felt like a universe of secrets in his hand.

"Don't thank me, Raka," Anya shook her head. "If this can stop those bad people from destroying other lives like they destroyed mine... and my husband's... then that's enough for me." Tears welled in her eyes, but the resolve on her face didn't waver.

Raka looked at the SD card again, his mind racing. What was inside? Was this what her husband wanted him to find? Was this another clue from the Architects, or perhaps... from Elena's own network? A piercing chill ran through him again, no longer fear, but a premonition. What was Anya not telling him? Or, what didn't she know?

He stood up, feeling the weight in his hand heavier than he had imagined. "I have to go, Mrs. Anya. I'll... find out what this is."

Anya nodded, her wise gaze following him to the door. "Be careful, Raka. This world... is full of shadows."

Raka walked out, his breath heavy. The SD card burned in his palm. He didn't know if Anya was a victim who had now become an unwitting ally, or if this woman was another player in Elena's complex game, hidden behind the facade of a fragile widow. The question kept swirling in his mind, gnawing at his every thought. One thing was clear: the Architects were starting to reveal themselves. And Darma, the shadow lurking in every corner, might now be closing in, step by step. Raka had to find out what was on this card, and he had to do it now, before the Architects discovered that their small pawn, Anya, had handed over the key.