Chapter 2 - The Voice from the Grave
The cinematic tension in the grand office spiked to an absolutely paralyzing level.
Isabella aggressively stepped forward, her blue floral dress swishing as she reached out to swat the child's hand away from the phone.
"Leave us alone, child," Isabella snapped, her voice dripping with sudden, venomous cruelty. "Your father is handling important adult business. Go back to your room immediately."
Standing silently in the shadows near the doorway was Grace, the thirty-something maid wearing a classic black and white uniform. Grace nervously wrung her hands, her eyes darting between the desk and the door.
Vincent didn't yell at his daughter. He noticed the absolute, unadulterated terror in Emily's blue eyes.
"Emily, what is it?" Vincent asked, his deep, gravelly voice softening completely for his child.
Emily didn't answer him. She slammed her small hand down, firmly pressing the speakerphone play button on the black desk phone.
A loud, electronic beep echoed off the walls. For three seconds, there was nothing but the sound of heavy static and ragged, terrified breathing.
And then, a voice broke through the speaker.
"Vince... don't say a word."
It was a broken, desperate whisper. But it was absolutely, undeniably Clara’s voice.
A tight close-up captured Vincent’s face. The terrifying, untouchable billionaire completely froze. All the color violently drained from his face. The gold pen slipped from his heavily tattooed fingers, clattering loudly against the mahogany desk. He raised his hand, covering his mouth in pure, apocalyptic shock.
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Isabella physically staggered backward. Beside the door, Grace let out a horrific, high-pitched gasp. Both women slapped their hands over their mouths in sheer, unadulterated terror.
👉 Vincent looked at his panicking fiancée, and the devastating, horrifying truth instantly began to click into place.
