2025-07-07 03:51:02Hermosa stood outside the glossy doors of the private investor suite on the thirty-second floor of Gordonis Corp, her palms damp against the folder she clutched to her chest. The air around her was colder than usual, like the building itself sensed the tension rising within its steel bones.
Tom’s words echoed in her ears: “You’re assigned to our new investor. Don’t screw this up.”
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, all chrome and glass, with city lights bleeding in through floor-to-ceiling windows. At the far end, seated in a black leather chair, was the man who had quietly shaken the financial world in recent months — Don Alaric.
He stood when she entered. Tall. Imposing. Masked.
His face was hidden behind a smooth, matte-black mask that covered everything but his sharp mouth and jawline. He wore a dark tailored suit, perfectly fitted, a single silver pin gleaming on his lapel. But it wasn’t his attire that sent a chill through her.
It was something else.
His presence.
“Miss Rodriguez,” he said. His voice was low, polished, but oddly familiar. The way he said her name... slow, almost deliberate.
Hermosa faltered for a second before regaining her composure. “Don Alaric. Thank you for meeting with me.”
He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”
She obeyed, her legs stiff, nerves bristling beneath her skin. As she opened the folder and began presenting the financial projections, she couldn’t help but glance up at him now and then. The way he tilted his head. The way he drummed his fingers on the table. The way he remained silent but fully in control.
Something in her chest twisted painfully.
Andre.
No, it couldn’t be. Andre was dead. Gone. She had attended the sentencing, watched him vanish behind iron doors. Then the crash... the fiery wreck... the funeral.
Still, her voice shook slightly. “We’ve consolidated our overseas assets and streamlined….”
“You look like someone who’s haunted by ghosts,” he interrupted, tone deceptively casual.
Hermosa froze.
Her eyes snapped to his. The mask didn’t move, didn’t shift, but behind it, she swore she felt eyes boring into her soul. And that voice… deeper now, colder, yet... something about it dragged her straight into the past.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, forcing her tone steady.
Don Alaric leaned back in his chair. “I said,” he repeated, slowly, “you look like someone carrying regret. Perhaps too many secrets.”
She inhaled sharply, heart pounding. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think you do.”
He let the silence stretch between them, heavy and suffocating. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on the numbers on the page, but they blurred before her eyes. Flashbacks assaulted her, Andre laughing with her in the garden behind the estate, his hand in hers under the stars, his voice promising her forever.
Then the coldness of the courtroom. The way he’d looked at her when she testified. The betrayal in his eyes.
She swallowed. “I came here to discuss business.”
“Of course,” Don Alaric said smoothly, as if she hadn’t just unraveled before him. “Let’s discuss how you’re going to help rebuild your family’s empire… and in doing so, repay your debts.”
Hermosa bristled. “Debts?”
“To the truth, Miss Rodriguez,” he said. “But don’t worry. I find that truth always has a way of crawling back, even when buried deep.”
She rose suddenly, clutching the folder to her chest. “If there’s nothing more you need from me, I’ll report back to Tom with the agreements we’ve discussed.”
He nodded once. “For now. But I expect your full cooperation.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “Of course.”
As she turned to leave, she didn’t see the flicker of pain that passed through his eyes.
---
The door clicked shut behind her.
Inside, Don Alaric remained still for a long moment. Then, with slow precision, he reached up and removed the mask.
The face underneath was not the one the world had known. Scars now etched across his right temple, a thin one dragging through his brow. His once warm, boyish features were now sharp, sculpted by pain and time.
Andre Gordonis was reborn.
He stood, walking to the window, staring down at the city below, the empire his family had once ruled, now in ruins.
She looked at me like I was a stranger, he thought. She didn’t fight for me. She watched them destroy me. And now…
Now, she would help him ruin every last one of them.
Including Tom.
Especially Tom.
A soft knock at the door broke his reverie.
“Sir?” came a voice from the hall.
Andre quickly pulled the mask back on. “Enter.”
Valerie stepped in; a file tucked beneath her arm. Sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, she was the last woman he expected to trust, she's the daughter of one of the police officers in jail and yet the only one smart enough to keep up.
She offered no smile. “Hermosa Rodriguez,” she said.
“What about her?”
Valerie walked to the desk and placed the folder down. “I pulled her company records. Timeline of all her movements since your... disappearance. Nothing too suspicious. But….” she pulled a remote from her pocket and turned on the nearby monitor. A grainy video played: security footage from the hallway earlier that day.
It showed Hermosa entering the investor suite. A moment later, the camera zoomed in on Don Alaric’s profile as he turned slightly to the side.
Angela hit pause. “This angle.”
Andre remained silent.
Valerie narrowed her eyes. “You sure the mask is enough?”
He didn’t respond.
She continued, “I ran facial recognition through some private databases. One hit, eighty-seven percent match to a younger photo of you.”
Andre exhaled sharply. “Then delete the search and burn the device you used.”
She nodded but kept staring at the screen. “She suspects something. You know that, right?”
“Let her.”
She raised a brow. “And when she finally figures it out?”
He turned to her. “She already made her choice. Six years ago. I’m not here for forgiveness.”
“Then what are you here for?”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Revenge.”
---
Downstairs, Hermosa leaned against the cold marble wall in the women’s restroom, trying to catch her breath. Her mind was a storm. That voice. That comment.
You look like someone haunted by ghosts.
She was. She always had been.
Andre haunted her dreams, her mornings, her every decision. What she’d done… what she hadn’t done… it all lived inside her, rotting like a secret that refused to stay buried.
She hadn’t wanted to betray him. Tom had cornered her. Threatened her ailing father. Forged evidence. Lied to her.
But she still made the choice.
She still stood there in court and lied under oath.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, yanking her from her spiral.
Tom.
She stared at the screen for a second, then silenced the call. She couldn’t talk to him now.
Not after that meeting.
Not after looking into the eyes of a ghost.
---
Back upstairs, Valerie watched as Andre, no, Don Alaric poured himself a drink. The mask was back in place, the voice cold and measured.
She said nothing. Just observed. He was sharp, smarter than he had ever been before the fall. But pain did that, forged steel out of flesh, turned heartache into hunger.
“I hope you’re ready,” she said.
He looked at her.
“For what?”
She gave a small, knowing smile.
“For the war you just reignited.”
And somewhere deep within Don Alaric, Andre smiled too. Not with joy. But with purpose.
Valerie returned to her office that night, sat at her desk, and pulled up the footage again.
Pause.
Zoom.
Enhance.
The tilt of the jawline. The curve of the neck.
“Andre Gordonis,” she whispered to the empty room. “So, it’s true, you still love her.”
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
One press… and the whole world would know.
But instead, she reached for the USB drive, slipped it into her drawer, and locked it tight.
For now, the ghost would remain in the shadows.
But not for long.
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Chapter 10: The First Blow
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Hermosa stood outside the glossy doors of the private investor suite on the thirty-second floor of Gordonis Corp, her palms damp against the folder she clutched to her chest. The air around her was colder than usual, like the building itself sensed the tension rising within its steel bones.Tom’s words echoed in her ears: “You’re assigned to our new investor. Don’t screw this up.”She took a deep breath and opened the door.Inside, the room was dimly lit, all chrome and glass, with city lights bleeding in through floor-to-ceiling windows. At the far end, seated in a black leather chair, was the man who had quietly shaken the financial world in recent months — Don Alaric.He stood when she entered. Tall. Imposing. Masked.His face was hidden behind a smooth, matte-black mask that covered everything but his sharp mouth and jawline. He wore a dark tailored suit, perfectly fitted, a single silver pin gleaming on his lapel. But it wasn’t his attire that sent a chill through her.It was som
