Chapter 101: Rekindle of Cylene's Wickedness
Back to the previous day...
Just as it is with every circle of friends, someone always has to leave first. That day, it was Fiona. She rose from her seat, brushing her palms against her dress with an apologetic smile.
"Oh, I'm sorry, friends. I have to catch up with work," she sighed. "You know, our head of department is now on a long leave, so the rest of us have to bear the load." She cast a playful glance at Flora as she spoke.
Flora returned the smile gently. "I understand. Please, send my regards to the others at the office. I'll be joining you all soon."
"Soon?" Beauty raised her brow and smirked. "Do you think your husband will actually let you go to work in your condition?"
Beauty chuckled lightly. "My dear, don't worry. She'll be assisting you all from home," Beauty added in support, patting Flora's hand.
"Yes, yes, you're right," Fiona agreed warmly. "Thank you so much, both of you. I love you girls." She leaned down and pecked them each on the cheek before slipping her bag over her shoulder. With one last wave, she was gone.
The room felt quieter now, just Beauty and Flora left together, their earlier laughter mellowing into softer tones.
But before either of them could settle again, the door eased open. Dr. Jacob stepped back inside, moving with quick, purposeful strides.
"Ah," he muttered, half to himself, "I almost forgot." He crossed toward the chair, searching carefully. There, tucked between the cushions, lay a slim medical tool he had left behind during his earlier check-up. He picked it up with relief-then paused.
His eyes caught on the tray at the stool, two glasses of drink resting untouched.
Beauty and Flora followed his gaze, unaware of the storm that was about to fall.
"Oh, pardon me," he said, a little distracted. "I left one of my instruments behind." He glanced around, moving toward the chair he had used earlier during Flora's routine check-up.
Flora looked up at him with a faint smile. "Doctor, you're back already? We thought you had gone."
"Yes, yes," he replied absentmindedly, reaching for the slender metallic tool resting against the arm of the chair. Just as he turned to leave again, his eyes fell upon the two glasses of mead sitting invitingly on the stool nearby. He froze. Something about the color, the strange tint in the liquid, made his trained instinct stir uneasily.
He moved closer. "Excuse me, madams," he said cautiously, his tone carrying an edge of astonishment. "Who served you these drinks?"
Flora blinked at the question, a little taken aback. "Oh, not long after Fiona came in, I called one of the new maids-Bianca. She brought them. Why? Is anything the matter, doctor?"
Jacob's brows furrowed deeply. He leaned in, staring harder at the liquid. "This doesn't look right," he murmured, half to himself. Then louder, with a calm firmness that unsettled both women, he said: "Drinks laced with poison often appear normal, but sometimes they reveal themselves under close scrutiny. This one seems... unsettled."
Beauty exchanged a nervous glance with Flora. "What do you mean by unsettled?" she asked, her voice dropping, wary.
Jacob set down his case and drew out a small testing pill he always carried with him. Without explaining further, he dropped one into the first cup. The tablet fizzed, then instead of dissolving cleanly, the surface of the mead began to shift into a cloudy swirl, darkening at the edges. He repeated the test with the second cup. The result was the same.
For a moment, silence filled the room-thick and heavy.
Beauty's voice broke first, sharp with disbelief. "Wait-Doctor, are you saying this drink is poisoned?"
Jacob slowly lifted his gaze to her, his expression grave. He gave a single, quiet nod.
Flora's heart stilled. She pressed a trembling hand against her chest, her breath coming unevenly. "No... no, this cannot be..." She shook her head, fighting to steady herself. "How could she? Bianca-she's barely new in this house!"
Her words cracked, torn between shock and betrayal.
Beauty's composure snapped into anger. "That maid!" she spat, rising slightly from her seat. "She dared bring that into this house? Into your presence, Flora?"
Flora gasped heavily, her hand tightening on the armrest as the weight of realization sank in. Someone had meant to end their lives that morning.
Dr. Jacob calmly but firmly set both cups aside, his voice steady. "Madam Flora, Madam Beauty, do not touch anything served to you until I confirm its safety. This was no accident. Someone wanted you silenced."
The air thickened with the unspoken terror of betrayal within their walls. Both women exchanged frightened glances, their hands trembling as they debated calling their husbands. Before they could, Flora's voice rang out, sharp with fury and fear.
"Bianca! Come out here this instant!"
The young maid hurried into the room, her eyes wide and innocent. Flora pointed to the cups on the table, her voice shaking.
"What did you do to this drink?" she demanded.
"Young Madam, I didn't do anything," Bianca stammered, her lips quivering.
Before she could say another word, a sharp sound echoed through the room-the sting of a slap landing across her cheek.
~~~~~~
Flora's voice cut through the silence like a blade splitting stone.
"Now go. Pack your load. Return here immediately."
The finality in her tone left no room for argument.
Bianca's tears spilled in heavy streams, but her hands betrayed her grief, moving with a strange, careful precision. Behind the safety of her thin wooden door, she collapsed against the bed for a moment, chest rising and falling in jagged waves. Then, with trembling fingers, she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a phone so well hidden it seemed like a fragment of her soul. Her thumb hesitated over the screen, her heart hammering like a drum inside her chest.
The recording played back Flora's thunderous words, every syllable sharp and undeniable. With one swift motion, Bianca pressed send-the file vanished into the ether, marked for Presh. Her fingers moved again, this time to record her own voice, low and shaking:
"The secret is out. Tell me where to run."
But silence met her urgency. Presh didn't pick up.
A strangled cry broke from her lips, but even that sound was staged. Bianca knew how to make her tears look convincing, how to rub her cheeks until they burned red like bruised roses, how to wear grief like a mask until it covered the cunning beneath. By the time she dragged her small bag back into the living room, her sobs filled the walls, echoing louder than her footsteps, as if misery itself followed her.
"Babe," Beauty whispered, her voice quivering, her hand clutching the armrest as though she needed to anchor herself. "Should we really just send her away like this? Or shouldn't we inform your husband first?"
Flora's eyes, sharp and unflinching, flared with a fire that even grief could not dim. In that moment, she looked less like a woman and more like a storm contained in human flesh. The weight of her presence forced silence into the room, so much that even Dr. Jacob-brave enough to enter a lion's den-stood stiff, sensing he was already at the limits of his courage.
"Thank you, Doctor," Flora said, her voice cutting clean, steady, dangerous. "If not for you, we would all be dead. Please... go in peace."
The physician lowered his gaze, understanding the unspoken truth: there were names in this city that shaped destinies with a word-the Scotts, the Roys. He could stitch wounds, but he would not stitch himself into a feud that devoured men whole. With a reluctant bow, he withdrew, leaving his warning behind like a shadow clinging to the air.
Moments later, the house spat Bianca out. Her figure trembled against the gate lights, the bag hanging from her shoulder like a sack of shame. But she was not alone.
From the edges of the mansion gates, where lamplight faltered into darkness, a shadow detached itself, sleek and soundless. The spy moved like smoke, invisible yet present, the unseen eyes of the Scott Mafia. Bianca's flight was not her own; every hurried step she took was measured, noted, and marked.
Wherever she thought to run, she had already been followed.
~~~~~~
It was already sunny in the afternoon. Jann had been trying to track down Broe for days, and at last, their paths crossed in a quiet, private restaurant. They sat opposite each other at a polished table, dishes still steaming untouched between them.
Jann barely moved her fork, her thoughts elsewhere, while Broe's sharp eyes followed her every gesture. Just as she reached for her bag to leave, his voice cut through the stillness, lazy yet edged with intent.
"Hey, beautiful lady, where are you going? We're still eating. You haven't even touched your plate. Why the rush?" His smile teased, but his gaze clung to her, slow and deliberate, tracing every line of her form.
Jann tilted her head, lips curving in a polite smile. "Oh, sorry. I have urgent work to attend to, so I'll be leaving now. Let's meet another day."
She rose gracefully, but before she could take a full step, Broe's arm slid around her waist, pulling her gently back toward him. The touch wasn't forceful, but the weight of it carried a message-he wasn't ready to let her walk away.
"No, no," he murmured, close to her ear, soft but heavy. "You won't leave like this. Alright then, let me drop you off."
Jann hesitated, then gave him a small, careful smile, masking the flicker of unease in her eyes. "That's good. No problem," she replied.
They walked out together, his hand brushing hers in fleeting contact as they made their way to his sleek car parked just outside. The city noise seemed to fade, narrowing the world down to the two of them.
Jann smoothed her dress as she slid into the passenger seat, while Broe adjusted his tie and started the engine. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of the radio.
"So... where do I drop you, Jann?" Broe asked after a while, his tone smooth, but probing.
"At the cinema up front," she answered, her voice even.
Ten minutes later, the car rolled to a stop near the cinema. Broe tilted his head, unwilling to end the moment. "So... you'll alight here? When are we meeting again?"
Jann's face shifted, her expression hardening for a brief second before she softened it again, slipping back into poise. She leaned toward him, lips curving with a quiet suggestion.
"Oh... meeting? What about a hotel?" she murmured.
Broe parked closer to a corner. Jann's fingers reached for his tie, playful, tugging lightly, letting her perfume wrap around them in the small space. She leaned in and pressed a quick peck to his cheek, pulling back with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
Jann stepped out of the car first, her heels clicking in deliberate rhythm against the pavement. Each step was measured, controlled, as though she knew she carried the weight of every watching eye. Broe followed just a pace behind, adjusting his cufflinks with that air of smug composure he wore like a second skin. His eyes, however, betrayed him-they lingered, tracing the sway of her form as though he couldn't help himself.
The air seemed ordinary until the slow hum of another engine broke it. A car rolled to a crawl at the corner, its tinted windows catching the faintest glint of light. Behind the wheel was Presch. She hadn't meant to stop-she had been merely passing by-but fate has its own cruel timing. Her eyes narrowed the moment they fell on the sight before her: her husband, standing far too comfortably close to another woman.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. Breath caught in her chest, fury filling her veins like a flood threatening to break its dam. Slowly, she pulled into a hidden space a few meters away, every muscle in her body straining as she watched.
Jann noticed almost instantly. She had that kind of instinct, sharp as a blade-always aware of who was watching, who was judging. Without a flicker of surprise crossing her face, she leaned in closer to Broe. It wasn't clumsy or rushed; it was deliberate, a slow unfurling of power. She tilted her face toward him, her lips grazing the corner of his cheek in a delicate peck. The scent of her perfume clung to the air, subtle but impossible to ignore.
Broe's hand-perhaps out of habit, perhaps out of instinct-found its way to her waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of her body. It was a gesture that spoke more than words ever could, a silent claim, reckless and dangerous.
Jann's eyes, sharp as ever, flickered in Presch's direction for the briefest of seconds, though her face remained composed, almost serene. She masked the cruelty in the moment with a smile so soft it looked harmless. But it was far from harmless-it was calculated, meant to strike with precision where it hurt most. She lingered there, just long enough for the sting to sink in.
Then, with that same grace, she slipped out of Broe's touch, heels carrying her forward. Her walk was slow, unhurried, swaying with an elegance that taunted, that demanded attention. Broe's gaze followed helplessly, his breath shallow, as though her departure had stolen something from him.
From the corner, Presch could no longer contain herself. Rage surged through her like fire meeting dry leaves. She yanked her car door open with a force that rattled the metal, stepping out with her fury laid bare on her face.
"You slut! Come back here!" she screamed, her voice splitting the air.
In seconds, she was upon Jann, her hand latching onto her rival's hair with vicious strength. Jann stumbled from the sudden pull, her head jerking back under the weight of the assault.
"Presch, stop this madness!" Broe barked, rushing forward. His voice dripped with a disgust that wasn't directed at Jann-it was at his wife. He tried to pry her off, his hands clamping around her wrists, but Presch was blind with rage. She thrashed, her fury consuming every shred of reason.
The scuffle turned ugly fast. Nails scratched skin, hair tangled in violent fists, and gasps of pain filled the night. But Jann was no fragile victim. With a fierce twist of her body, she freed herself, her hand striking out in a sharp, echoing slap across Presch's cheek.
The sound cracked louder than any insult.
Presch staggered back, stunned, her face burning red from both pain and humiliation. But Jann didn't stop there. Precision and strength carried her movements; she turned the fight into her stage. Within moments, Presch was the one on the ground, her pride shattered, her body bruised, her fury reduced to gasps.
Jann stood over her, breath quick and heavy, but victorious. Her eyes were cold, unyielding, staring down at the broken woman beneath her.
Broe didn't speak. He didn't need to. The look on his face said more than words-pure disgust at his wife, an almost silent condemnation that cut deeper than any blade.
~~~~~
When they got home, Broe's voice thundered through the walls.
"You stupid woman! I thought you were worth my love. Is that not why I allowed you to marry me? Is that not why I stood by you? And yet, after everything, you dare bring me shame!"
Presch-her hair still carrying the rough scars of the fight with Jann-shouted back, her voice trembling with fury. "Shame? You fool! Do you even know the shame you drag into this house? Do you know how much I've endured for you?"
Broe's face hardened, veins rising on his temple. "Will you shut up? Or I will beat the hell out of you." His voice lowered, sharp and dangerous. "Don't think I don't know your filthy secrets. I've been watching. I know everything."
Presch froze. Her throat tightened, fear slicing down her spine. "W-what... what do you know?" she whispered, eyes wide.
His lips curled in disgust. "You think I don't know how you and your mother conspired to give me a bastard? You think I don't know about the drugs you used? You killed our child. You murdered our baby!"
Her knees buckled, her chest heaving. "No!" she screamed, tears bursting forth. "No, baby, don't say that! I never gave you a bastard. I never killed our child. Please, don't twist this-don't-"
Broe shoved her so hard she staggered and fell against the couch. His voice broke, half in pain, half in rage. "Get out of my sight! You killed that child, and now you dare to ruin everything else. You want to ruin my life, my peace, my love-" His voice cracked, and he whispered, almost reverently, "-that woman, that gentle soul, that angel... Jann. She is everything you're not. She is what Flora once was to me, before you destroyed it all."
"You and that bastard mother of yours should get out!"
Presch's tears dried instantly. His last words pierced her like a blade. Her breathing changed, her voice rising like a storm. "You cursed me... but how dare you curse my mother?"
Her rage exploded as she charged at him, hand raised for a slap.
But Broe moved faster. His boot landed squarely at her side-right where the stitches of her old surgery had never fully healed.
"Aaahhh!" Presch screamed, crumpling to the ground, clutching her stomach. Pain radiated through her body as she moaned and cried for help, her pride shattered, her secrets spilling open, her life teetering on a knife's edge.
~~~~~~~
Just as the shouting echoed through the mansion, one of the maids slipped quietly into her quarters, her hands trembling. She locked the door, pulled out her small phone, and dialed quickly.
"Hello? Madam Cylene..." she whispered. "It's bad. Very bad. They fought. He cursed her... he even kicked her. I thought Presch would die. Your daughter is not safe in that house."
On the other end, Cylene shot to her feet, her golden-brown chair scraping the marble floor. Her breath hissed between her teeth.
"Thank you," she said in a voice edged with steel. "Keep your eyes on her. If anything happens to my daughter, you'll pay with your life. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Madam," the maid stammered.
Cylene ended the call with a violent slam of the phone. Her chest rose and fell, fury burning her eyes.
"That shameless woman dares to destroy my daughter's marriage?" she spat. "Who is she to think she can steal her place? And that foolish mother-in-law-" Cylene's lips curled into a dark smile. "If I crush her, Broe will crawl at my feet."
Her voice dripped with venom as she whispered to the empty room:
"You go nowhere."