Elena was in her room, busily packing her bags, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Mark and their impending reunion. Margaret stood in the doorway, a disapproving look on her face. "Elena, stop being a girl and let go of whatever fantasies you're growing in your head over Mark," Margaret said, her voice firm but laced with concern. Elena's annoyance flared, her eyes flashing with frustration. "He wants me back, Mum," she said, turning to face her mother. Margaret threw her hands up in the air, exasperation etched on her face. "Don't you find that strange? After everything that happened?" Elena stood in her room, contemplating the clothes she would need for her new life at Mark’s house. She thought about the elegant dinner parties and the luxurious lifestyle that came with being a Darius. The idea hadn’t really sat well with her back in Larson’s office, but as she thought about it, she realized it had really been all she could fantasize about in the days when Mark was still a v
Mark drove Karen to a guesthouse in the heart of town, the soft hum of the engine and the gentle rustle of the wind outside a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within him. His father was a co-owner of the business, so it wasn't difficult checking him into a suite, complete with plush carpets and a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Gabriel had advised him to stay low and away from the mansion temporarily, at least, until their enemies got tired of attacking them. As they entered the suite, Karen's hand instinctively reached for Mark's, her touch became a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in this fight. The tension in his body eased slightly, his grip on her hand tightening as he pulled her close. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind like a haunting melody, the memories of death and destruction still fresh and raw. Karen's gentle voice broke the silence, her words a soft caress on his battered soul. "Mark, you need to rest. You've been through so m
Mark stepped aside, allowing the guard to enter without so much as a glance in his direction. He was struggling to keep his anger in check, his frustration with the constant surveillance simmering just below the surface. He had told his father time and time again that he didn't need the guards, but Gabriel was always insistent. Mark muttered under his breath, "There's no privacy with their lot." The guard remained stationary, his eyes fixed on Mark with a neutral expression. Mark moved over to a wine cabinet in the room, pouring himself a drink as a way to calm his nerves. As he turned back to face the guard, he asked, "And what's your name?" The man's response was curt, "Ghost." Mark's eyebrows raised in amusement, and for a moment, he almost forgot about his anger. The name was fitting, given the guard's stealthy presence, and Mark couldn't help but wonder if it was a nickname or a surname. Mark's eyes narrowed, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Why would a mother give
Bennet sat in his car, still shaken from his recent encounter with Number One. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being mere inches from death. He thought about how close he had come to being inside the building when the bomb went off. If he had known he was carrying a bomb inside the box he would have never agreed to do the job. But then he always knew there was something inside it. And that thing nearly cost him his life. The mere thought sent chills down his spine. He cursed under his breath, his anger and frustration boiling over. He was determined to get an explanation from Number One, but every time he tried calling, the line wouldn’t connect. His text messages went unanswered, leaving him feeling helpless and enraged. As he sat in the parking lot, his mind wandered to the potential consequences of being linked to the explosion. If Mark Darius had died, it would have been a twisted victory, but Bennet knew he would be in a world of trouble. He had to get in touch with Numb
Jennet checked her lipstick in the mirror, ensuring everything was perfect, before locking the door behind her. As she walked to the bus stop, her mind wandered to her son, who was still in prison. "My son, oh, Brown," she thought to herself, her heart heavy with worry. She watched as the bus approached the stop ahead and quickened her pace to catch it, not wanting to be left behind. Jennet alighted in town and walked up to Bennet’s office, silently praying he would still be in. The parking lot of his firm’s building looked deserted when she arrived, and her hopes almost sank into her chest. But she smiled at the security guard in front of the door, who recognized her and opened the door with a courteous nod. She concluded that Bennet must definitely be in then. With renewed optimism, she walked up to his office, knocked on the door, and stepped inside. The familiar sight of Bennet’s organized desk and stern expression greeted her, and she felt a sense of relief wash over her. "He
Mark walked back into the room, his eyes scanning the space as if searching for something out of place. He noticed Karen quickly putting down her phone, her movements swift and secretive. She gently set it inside her handbag, her eyes flicking up to meet him as he entered. "Sorry about the interruption earlier," Mark said, his deep voice filling the room. "I had to deal with an issue that came up impromptu." "It's fine," Karen replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Mark's gaze lingered on her, sensing that something was off. "Is everything okay?" He asked, his tone gentle. Karen rose to her feet, her movements graceful. "I want to leave," she said, her voice curt. Mark's face fell, hurt evident in his eyes. "Why so soon?" He asked, his voice laced with disappointment. Karen's expression softened slightly. "I have to go check up on my uncle in the hospital, and then head back home to prepare for work tomorrow." Mark wanted to ask if she was still upset about the inciden
Brown sat in his prison cell, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anxiety, staring into the darkness. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not since the incident with the box. The memory of it made his skin crawl, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, even in the solitude of his cell. The officers had tried to trace the source of the box, but it seemed to have appeared out of thin air, with no leads or clues to follow. The thought sent a shiver down Brown's spine. Who could be so calculated, so ruthless, as to want him dead? He racked his brain, trying to recall anyone he might have offended, anyone who might hold a grudge against him, so deep that it would drive them to such an extreme. But his mind was a blank slate, unable to conjure up a single face or name. The more he thought about it, the more his anxiety grew, until he felt like he was drowning in a sea of uncertainty. Even the thought of being dead sent a wave of electricity pulsing up and down his spin
Mark's gaze remained fixed on Elena, his eyes piercing and unyielding. He could sense her discomfort, her unease palpable as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes darted between the lavish spread before her and Mark's unwavering stare, as if searching for an escape from the tension. The silence was oppressive, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Mark's presence seemed to fill the room, his dominance over the situation evident in his calm, collected demeanor. Elena, on the other hand, appeared small and vulnerable, her usual confidence and poise deserting her in the face of Mark's piercing gaze. The stillness was broken only by the soft clinking of silverware against plates, the sound echoing through the room like a ticking time bomb, waiting to unleash the pent-up emotions that hung in the air. Mark's eyes never wavered, his focus solely on Elena, as if daring her to speak, to break the silence that threatened to consume them both. Catherine led the procession of staff
EPILOGUE : A YEAR LATER The courtroom was filled with apprehension and tension. From a mile away, one could observe and note the seriousness of the faces, how enraptured they seemed to be. The silence in the courtroom could be broken by just a pin drop, and everyone was rapt with attention, staring at the judge, the jury, the hideous criminal with beautiful eyes, slender waist, a beautiful body and the prettiest of faces, but with a heart darker than the devil's. The entire city was out for her, and everybody in the room was dying for justice to take its course. The entire courtroom was filled to the brim, and even from the outside, people were peering through the windows. It was the largest court in the city, but the turn up had been so massive that people had to look from the windows. That was the kind of reception that Karen Shapiro had garnered. A lot of people had heard her story, the murders she had committed, and how she had controlled the underworld of crime. She wa
In the days that followed, Jenett Darius felt as if she was living in a dream. She could barely respond to questions that were thrown her way, and she knew it made the chief of police genuinely worried because of the agreement she had made to testify against Karen Shapiro in the court. How was she going to be able to do that when her purpose of living was no more? When her son was no more, the child that she had birthed hadn't even lived to experience the remorse that she was feeling? The removal of the guilt that had filled her chest by turning herself in? On a sunny Monday morning, she was shocked to find the chief of police opening the door to her cell. She jolted awake, and so did Margaret Woods. She had barely spoken to Margaret since she had heard the news of her son's death, and all she had wanted was for death to snatch her too. But no matter how much she wished for it, it never seemed to come. Death knew that it wasn't time for her to go, and it was playing its part by r
But Karen Shapiro was in no state to do what she had conjured in her mind. She was brought down by a simple Roundhouse kick, and her head was pinned to the floor as the cold metal of the handcuffs clamped on her wrists. Karen Shapiro was bundled back into her room, just like the common criminal she was. ********* When Mark Darius came to consciousness, he instantly found out that his side was hurting and that he was in a hospital. The dream he had been having was the same one that had tormented him during the previous nights, Karen Shapiro pursuing him endlessly with a knife, her screams making him terrified and making him perspire profusely. By the time he managed to sit up in the white, comfortable bed he was in, he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He also acknowledged immediately that the bed he was lying in wasn't his, and that his room didn't have a speck of blue in it. He had always been a green and orange color person from the start. And those were the colors that flound
When Karen Shapiro came to consciousness, the first thing she recognized was the continuous beeping of the heart monitor machine next to her and the needle that was in her skin. Her head felt as if it had been pounded upon severally and her eyes wanted to close of their own accord. Where was she? What had happened to her? For all she knew about her being in a blue and white room that stank of drugs and antiseptic, she knew within her that she was missing something. Something was wrong. She wasn't supposed to be in the room that she was, and she knew it. But she couldn't place it. At that same moment, the door opened, revealing a nurse in a white uniform that bore kind, brown eyes. Her hair was covered with a nursing cap, and when she smiled, it was cheerful and broad, seeming to light up the whole room. It made Karen Shapiro smile slightly even though she clearly didn't want to, even though her head felt as if a thousand nails had been drilled into it. The nurse proceeded
Swallowing, he spoke those dreaded words that Jenett Darius heard in her nightmares for days, those words that seemed to stick in her mind, that had left a firm imprint in her soul. “I'm afraid your son has been found dead amongst the bodies of the dead in the aftermath of the Splendid bar shooting. He was alive when the ambulance left the bar, but he was confirmed dead on arrival at the hospital. He died from several gunshot wounds.” He paused, and Jenett Darius could only hear the blood pounding in her ears and the hammering of her chest. She couldn't believe it, she was hoping it wasn't true. But it was reality, the cuffs on her hands were real and the chief was still standing in front of her. “I'm sorry that I'm the one that has come to you bearing this sad news, Miss Jenett. I wish I could take it back, but it has already happened.” When she didn't speak, he ventured further, touching her lightly on the shoulder. It was clear that he wanted her to say something, to at least
As soon as he struck Karen Shapiro on the head with the heavy box, he knew that he had only a few seconds before he would totally black out. And that was why without wasting a precious second, Mark Darius made his way to the phone in Derek Campton's hand. Without skipping a beat, he dialed the popular emergency line, his hands trembling. The amount of blood he had lost was going to determine if he got to live or not, and Mark Darius knew that he had lost quite a lot of blood. “911, what's your emergency?” Smiling, Mark Darius was slowly embracing the darkness that was enveloping him. He was fighting to stay alive, he was fighting death, the darkness, and even though it looked bleak, he was sure that he was going to win. He was going to say his location before the darkness enveloped him completely. It had been quite a long day, and Mark Darius wanted nothing more than to lay down and rest. He had been fighting a battle which he didn't know how it was going to turn out, and t
“I can drive you to the station. I believe one of the staff can help to look after Atticus. He's eating, and as far as food is involved, he's good to go.” Sergei stared at her, slightly worried. He was just a little bit different. Even in the urgency of the moment, he was rethinking things, making sure that he wasn't leaving out any detail. He was very observant, and she could see why Mark had maintained his service throughout the years. “Are you sure? You should rest, take a shower. I assure you that Mark will be alright. He knows how to take care of himself, fight his battles if you know what I mean.” She nodded, knowing that she would do anything to know that Mark was safe and sound. He had fought for Atticus, and it was up to her to do the same for him. She would gladly do it without blinking or hesitation. “I'm certain. I need to be sure that Mark is safe and that Karen hasn't killed him yet.” Sergei nodded, finally acknowledging her pleas to follow him. He had carefully c
She didn't know why, she couldn't fathom the reason. It was probably what she had deserved, but the fact that she had been so close to getting away hurt her everyday of her life. After she closed the box successfully, she turned around to see a smiling Mark Darius, the smaller of her boxes with its edges that were made of metal in his hands. And before she could move or raise her hands in defense, the box had been slammed on her head, sending her into a darkness she had never encountered throughout her life. ********** Farida Atticus stared at her son, then smiled. Out of everything that had happened to her in the past few weeks, he seemed to be the only good thing that had emerged from it all. For the fact that he had managed to come out of the devil's lair that was Karen Shapiro's home unshattered and unharmed, there was every reason for her to be happy. Yes, her life had been a mess because of love, but there was one thing Farida found herself acknowledging. She st
But it was clear that Mark Darius was having none of it. His mind was made up, and he stared at her, his gun very much active in his hand. He was going to use it, no matter what she said. “I can give you the contract right now.” Mark Darius smiled instead, as if he knew of her plans to bolt and do something unpredictable like she had done a few minutes ago. He looked purely ready for her, her antics and whatever she was going to try next. “You should've thought about that before trying to shoot me, Karen Shapiro.” And with those words, he fired. It was a single shot, and the bullet pierced her upper arm in a jolt that sent her to the floor, holding her now bleeding hand. At that moment, Mark Darius let out a cry. He had fallen to the floor, and the gun was out of his hand. Staring at him in pain, Karen Shapiro could see that he was in pain. He was clutching his side, his knuckles completely white. Despite her bleeding arm, the sight of Mark Darius in pain seemed to give her st