Chapter 24: Over My Dead Body

Minutes Ago— CYNTHIA'S POV...

The aroma of the bubbling soup filled the air, a comforting mix of herbs and spices that brought Cynthia a sense of nostalgia. The medicinal recipe, taught to her by her late grandmother, was a family secret, its taste reminiscent of quiet afternoons in her grandmother’s warm, rustic kitchen. Cynthia hummed along to House on Fire by Sia, the music streaming from her phone resting on the sleek marble countertop. Barefoot on the cool tiled floor, she swayed to the beat, her oversized T-shirt fluttering slightly as she moved. She twirled with carefree elegance, spoon in hand, sampling her creation every so often.

The rhythmic tapping of her feet was interrupted by a sudden knock on the wooden frame of the kitchen entrance. Cynthia froze mid-spin, the sound jolting her out of her cheerful bubble. She turned, her expression a mix of curiosity and slight annoyance.

Standing in the doorway was one of Carlos’s men, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. His dark suit fit him perfectly, every detail crisp and sharp. Despite his polished appearance, his presence carried an air of impassive authority that instantly set Cynthia on edge.

“You’re summoned by the young lady,” he announced, his tone curt and formal.

Cynthia raised a brow, resting a hand on her hip. “What for?” she asked, her voice casual but with an edge of irritation.

“It’s not in my position to ask,” the man replied bluntly, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Well,” Cynthia said, turning back to stir her soup nonchalantly, “if my dear sister wants to see me, she can come to my wing herself. It’s not like I’m hard to find.” Her voice was sweet, but the sharp undertone was unmistakable.

The man didn’t flinch. “Trust me, you’ll want to hear what she has to say,” he pressed, his voice steady, almost monotonous, as if her resistance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Cynthia shot him a sideways glance, her lips curving into a sarcastic smile. “And like I said,” she replied, emphasizing each word, “if it’s that important, she knows where to find me.”

The man’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Should I tell her you refuse to come?” he asked, his tone laced with subtle challenge.

Cynthia shrugged, waving him away dismissively with a flick of her hand. “Tell her whatever the fuck you want. I’m not moving an inch.”

For a moment, the man stood there, his face an unreadable mask. Then, with a faint sigh, he turned to leave, his shoes clicking sharply against the floor as he moved toward the corridor. As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for her to catch fragments of his words.

“Your days here are numbered,” he grumbled, his tone low but venomous.

Cynthia’s spoon clattered against the counter as she whipped around, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. She strode to the doorway, her bare feet slapping against the tiles. “What?” she called after him, her voice sharp and incredulous. “What did you just say to me?”

The man stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face her. His gaze was unflinching, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “You heard me,” he said, his voice calm yet dripping with disdain. “Your days here are numbered.”

Cynthia’s chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath, trying to temper the fire bubbling inside her. “How dare you?” she hissed, stepping closer to him. Her voice was steady, but her eyes blazed with fury. “I can have you punished for speaking to me like that.”

The man chuckled dryly, his amusement only fueling her anger. “I dare you to try,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “From here on out you’re the only one who’ll be getting punished.”

Cynthia’s jaw clenched, her fists curling tightly at her sides. “Get out of my sight,” she snapped, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.

He didn’t respond, simply turned and resumed his stride down the corridor, his back radiating smug indifference. Cynthia watched him go, her mind reeling. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her body vibrating with a mix of shock and indignation.

She stepped back into the kitchen, the warmth and comfort of the space now overshadowed by the confrontation. For a moment, she stood there, gripping the edge of the counter as she tried to steady her breathing. The song on her phone had switched to another track, the upbeat melody clashing with the tension still lingering in the air.

Cynthia muttered under her breath, her frustration spilling over. “Who the hell does he think he is?” She paced the length of the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the tiles with each step.

Her thoughts spiraled as she replayed the encounter, each word cutting deeper into her pride. She wasn’t just angry— she was humiliated. That man, a mere employee, had dared to speak to her, a member of the family, with such disrespect.

Grabbing her phone, she hit pause on the music, the sudden silence amplifying her anger. She considered storming after him, demanding an apology, or calling Megan to confront him directly. But she stopped herself, her grip tightening on the phone.

“No,” she muttered to herself, her voice firm. “I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

Instead, she returned to the stove, turning off the burner beneath the soup. The aroma that had once brought her comfort now felt cloying, a reminder of the peace that had been disrupted. She ladled the soup into a bowl with precise, deliberate movements, each action a small attempt to regain her composure.

As she sat down at the small kitchen table, spoon in hand, Cynthia’s mind raced. This wasn’t over— not by a long shot. Whatever power play Megan was orchestrating, whatever role that man thought he had in it, Cynthia was determined to hold her ground.

She took a sip of the soup, the familiar flavors washing over her tongue. It was soothing, a small comfort in the midst of the storm brewing inside her.

Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, her thoughts lingering on the man’s parting words. Your days here are numbered.

“Over my dead body,” she whispered to herself, her voice a vow as she set the bowl down with a decisive clink.