Chapter 61
Chapter 61
Lucia couldn’t sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, Adrian’s words replayed in her head — his tone, the way he had looked at her, that quiet disappointment behind his calm face. It had cut deeper than anger. It had made her question herself in a way she hadn’t before.
Was she really imagining things? Had the trauma twisted her memories? She turned over on her bed for what felt like the hundredth time, her pillow damp from tears she didn’t even notice anymore.
The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of the ceiling fan and the occasional buzz of cars outside.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her face with both hands. Her eyes were puffy, and her throat ached from crying. She had tried so hard to convince Adrian — not just because she needed him to believe her, but because deep down, she still trusted him. She wanted him on her side.
Now, she wasn’t sure she had anyone at all.
The next day at the office, her silence spoke louder than any words could. Normally, she was focused, precise, always attentive when it came to her work. But today, she moved like a shadow — absent, and distracted.
Her colleagues noticed.
“Lucia, are you okay?” one of them asked gently as she dropped a stack of files on her desk.
She nodded without looking up. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” another said, a hint of concern in his voice.
Lucia forced a faint smile. “Just tired.”
They exchanged glances, but didn’t press further. In their line of work — handling the private dealings of men like Adrian — it was better not to ask too many questions.
Still, Lucia could feel their eyes on her throughout the day, and it made her chest tighten. She wished she could tell someone — anyone — what she’d seen. But she couldn’t. No one would believe her.
By evening, most of the staff had left. Lucia stayed behind, pretending to finish documentation. In truth, she just didn’t want to go home yet.
When she finally did, the loneliness hit her the moment she stepped into her room in Adrian's mansion. The silence was heavier there — no noise, no distractions, just her thoughts replaying like a broken record.
She changed into a plain shirt and sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the floor. For a long time, she didn’t move. Then her gaze fell on the brown folder she’d brought home — the shipment documents Rico had presented to Adrian earlier. She had taken them with her to update the digital records, as was her duty.
She hesitated before reaching for them.
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the folder, the papers rustling softly. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for — maybe a mistake, maybe a sign she wasn’t losing her mind.
She went through each page methodically. The paperwork looked flawless: shipping details, customs forms, payment confirmations — everything was where it should be.
She almost gave up, but then something caught her eye.
It was a signature — small, at the bottom corner of one of the clearance pages. Adrian’s clearance officer always used a specific mark when approving shipments, a stylized loop that curved into the tail of his last initial. She’d seen it a hundred times before. It was neat, precise, and and impossible to replicate exactly.
But this one… this one was wrong.
Lucia’s brows furrowed as she leaned closer. The loop was too narrow, the ink slightly heavier. The handwriting looked like it was heavily practiced but not perfect still. Someone had tried to copy it — and failed, just barely.
Her heart began to race.
She flipped through the other documents, scanning for the same signature. It appeared on three more pages — all slightly off.
It was forged.
Lucia’s breath caught.
She sat back slowly, staring at the pages as the realization sank in. Someone — likely Rico — had gone to great lengths to fake the documents. That meant the shipment really was never sent out. She had been right all along.
A wave of relief washed over her — relief mixed with anger, with vindication. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t imagining things.
But her joy didn’t last long.
She remembered Adrian’s face, his voice telling her to stop, to take things easy. The warning that if she kept pushing, he’d close the case.
If she ran to him now with this, he might think she was making things up again. Or worse, he’d accuse her of being obsessed again.
No, she told herself firmly. Not yet. She had to be smart. She’d wait. Watch. Gather more proof. Then, when the time was right, she’d show him everything.
Lucia closed the folder carefully and placed it back on her desk. She wiped her tears and took a shaky breath
Across town, Rico was doing exactly that — laughing.
The nightclub was dimly lit and crowded, the air thick with perfume, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. Music pulsed through the speakers, but Rico barely heard it. He sat at a private table in the VIP section, surrounded by expensive bottles and women with too much makeup and too little interest in anything but his money.
He leaned back in his seat, a glass of red wine swirling lazily in his hand, the liquid catching the light like blood.
“You should’ve seen her face,” he said with a grin, his voice smooth and mocking. “That little bitch actually thought Adrian would believe her.”
The old man across from him chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. He was dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salary. His hair was white, slicked back, and his eyes carried the cold calmness of someone who had seen everything — and survived it all.
“Lucia, right?” the old man asked, amusement flickering in his gaze.
Rico smirked. “Yeah. The new forensic accountant. The one who won’t stop poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The old man poured himself a drink. “You should be careful with that one. She’s got fire.”
Rico laughed. “She’s got stupidity. There’s a difference.”
He took a long sip of wine, the corner of his mouth curling in satisfaction. “She actually dragged Adrian all the way to that warehouse tonight. Can you imagine? The poor girl was so sure she’d caught me.”
The old man grinned, shaking his head. “And?”
Rico chuckled. “Empty. Clean as a slate. I had the place cleared hours before she got there.” He tapped the side of his temple. “I told you — I’m always two steps ahead.”
The old man laughed, a slow, raspy sound. “You really think you can keep this up? Adrian’s sharp.”
Rico’s eyes glinted darkly. “Sharp, yes. But predictable. He wants to believe people are loyal. That’s what makes him easy to fool.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped lower, edged with venom. “And that girl — Lucia — she really doesn’t learn, does she?”
The old man raised a brow.
“Maybe that car accident didn’t teach her enough,” Rico said, his tone chillingly casual. “Maybe I didn’t hit her hard enough.”
The man froze for a second, then let out a slow, knowing laugh. “You mean—”
Rico smiled thinly. “Yeah. That was me.”
For a moment, silence fell between them, broken only by the thumping bass from the dance floor.
The old man chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re reckless, Rico.”
“Reckless?” Rico scoffed. “No. Efficient. She was getting too close back then — sniffing around Miguel’s case, asking questions she shouldn’t. I had to handle it. Pity she survived.”
The old man raised his glass. “You’d better hope she doesn’t find out.”
Rico’s expression hardened. His smile was gone now, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. “If she does, she won’t live long enough to tell anyone.”
The old man took a slow sip of his drink, studying him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, my boy. Adrian’s no fool. And that girl — she’s persistent. People like her don’t stop until they’re buried or victorious.”
Rico tilted his head, his grin returning — cruel and certain. “Then I’ll make sure it’s the first one.”
He set his glass down with a soft clink, the red wine staining the rim.
“She’s already on borrowed time,” he said calmly. “I just need to decide how and when.”
The old man sighed, though his eyes still held amusement. “You always were a cold one.”
Rico shrugged. “It’s business. Besides, she asked for it. She doesn’t know when to quit.”
The old man leaned back, lighting a cigar. “You think Adrian suspects anything?”
Rico laughed quietly. “Adrian? Please. He’s too busy playing savior to those street girls he rescues every week. He’s blind when it comes to people close to him. Always has been.”
He took another drink, smirking as he watched the dancers move below. “He was easy to manipulate. All it took was a few clean papers, a few fake signatures, and a loyal face. He trusts me more than anyone — and that trust will bury him one day.”
The old man smiled faintly. “And Lucia?”
Rico’s grin widened, though his eyes remained cold. “Lucia’s finished. She doesn’t know it yet, but she will. Soon.”
He turned his glass slowly, watching the deep red swirl. “Adrian might pity her, but that won’t save her. He’ll eventually see her as unstable, unfit to work. And when that happens, she’ll be gone — quietly.”
The old man chuckled. “And if she doesn’t go quietly?”
Rico leaned back, his smirk darkening. “Watch me make it happen.”
Their laughter blended with the music, low and cruel.
Rico raised his glass one more time, toasting to no one in particular. “Adrian’s such a fool,” he said. “So easy to fool. It all started when he brought that woman into his circle — that bleeding heart of his who keeps clouding his judgment.”
He shook his head, his grin stretching wider, “I’ll definitely finish what I started,” he said softly, the words more a promise than a threat.
He took one last sip of his wine, eyes gleaming under the dim lights. “And Lucia…”
He paused, his voice turning to a whisper, almost a growl.
“Lucia will definitely go down.”