Chapter 95
Top floor of the Neville Group Building
The assistant placed a report on the desk.
"Mr. Neville, six of the Lopez Group's European projects have stalled. Two have already been acquired at bargain prices by our third-party companies due to funding failures. At this rate, their entire investment portfolio will collapse within two weeks."
Richard leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
One month had passed since he'd cast his net, drawing it tighter by the day.
He'd expected Fiona to break quickly—to contact him voluntarily and use Margaret's whereabouts as a bargaining chip. But nothing. This Fiona was more resilient than he'd anticipated.
"Any movement from her personally?" he asked.
"She spends most of her time at a private clinic, but the security level is extremely high. Our people can't get inside to confirm if the target is actually there."
"Lakehaven..." Richard's gaze darkened. "Continue applying pressure."
His command carried no trace of emotion. He simply wanted to send Margaret a message: if she was still alive, she belonged by his side.
Even if she were just a corpse, he needed to close her eyes with his own hands.
The assistant acknowledged the order and left. Silence reclaimed the office. Richard's lips curved into a cold, empty smile.
A moment later, Camila entered the executive office with two Neville family elders—Richard's great-uncle and second grand-uncle—both influential figures on the board of directors.
"How long will this charade continue?" Camila spoke first, her well-preserved face lined with frost. "One month. You've burned through enough money to buy a small castle in Europe. And what do you have to show for it? Have you found so much as a strand of her hair?"
Richard didn't even bother to look up. His stubborn indifference pushed Camila over the edge.
She slammed her palm on the desk, her voice sharp. "Richard! Don't forget your last name! You're the CEO of the Neville Group, not some lovesick fool chasing after a woman! Do you know what people are saying? That you're so obsessed with your ex-wife you're neglecting the company. Do you have any idea how much our stock has dropped because of these rumors?"
"Camila, please calm down," Richard's great-uncle intervened, then turned to Richard with a gentler but equally unyielding tone.
"Richard, we're not trying to back you into a corner. Everything has its limits. Yes, find her if you must, but life goes on, and the company needs to function. If you continue like this, you'll lose everyone's confidence."
Richard looked up. "I will find her," he said evenly, his voice flat.
"Find her? How? And what then?" Camila let out a cold laugh. "If she's determined to hide from you, you could turn the world upside down and it wouldn't matter! Even if you found her, what would you do with a woman who doesn't love you or even bear children? What would you bring her back for? To continue embarrassing the Neville family?"
"Mother." Richard's voice cooled, carrying a warning.
"Don't 'mother' me! I don't have a son who's lost his mind!" Camila stood, looking down at him. "I'm here to deliver an ultimatum. Two options. Choose."
She held up one finger. "First, stop this pointless search immediately and refocus on the company. Publicly announce that you and Margaret have severed all ties permanently."
She raised a second finger, glancing toward the doorway where a slender figure was faintly visible.
"Second, if you must continue searching, fine. But you need to stabilize things first. Jennifer is well-educated, from a respectable family, and genuinely cares for you. You can't keep stringing her along. Your uncles and I have discussed it—next month, on the sixteenth, it's an auspicious date. You'll announce your engagement."
A deathly silence fell over the office. Even the two respected family elders felt Camila was being too hasty, but they offered no objection.
From their perspective, this was the quickest way to cut through the chaos. A stable matriarch was far more valuable than chasing a ghost.
Richard's lips twisted into a mocking smile. "You're forcing my hand?"
"We're doing what's best for you!" Camila refused to back down. "Richard, you can't keep acting like a child. You need a wife, the Neville family needs a mistress, and the company needs a stable future. Jennifer is the perfect choice. She's not like certain people—full of schemes, taking what's ours and running."
"Taking what's ours?" Richard echoed softly.
That Margaret—who faked her death to escape him for another man. She'd rather live as a dead woman than stay by his side.
He couldn't find her. The entire world couldn't find her.
Perhaps his mother was right—the thought surfaced unexpectedly.
Perhaps he should stop. Perhaps he should use a different approach to show her that her so-called "new life" was merely a dream he had allowed. If he wanted, he could turn that dream into a nightmare at any moment.
If marriage to another woman would cause her pain, would force her to reveal herself...
A gentle knock sounded at the office door, and Jennifer entered carrying a bowl of soup.
She had clearly overheard the argument, her face showing just the right balance of concern and trepidation, though she maintained her composure.
"Mrs. Neville, Mr. Neville, please don't pressure Richard. I know he's suffering." She turned to him. "Richard, have something to drink first. Whatever it is, we can discuss it calmly."
Her understanding demeanor, which Camila found admirable, only irritated Richard.
Seeing her son's silence, Camila assumed her words had made an impact.
She gave Jennifer an approving look, her tone softening. "Richard, we're not forcing you—we want you to face reality. Think about it carefully. Next month, on the sixteenth, we'll make the announcement."
With that, she left with the two family elders.
Jennifer remained standing before the desk, watching Richard's hardened profile, her heart pounding.
She had heard everything she had ever dreamed of.
"Richard, don't be angry with your mother. She only wants what's best. I—"
"Get out," Richard cut her off.
Jennifer paled, but persisted, "The soup—"
"I said get out." Richard's eyes held not a trace of warmth.
Jennifer felt a chill run through her at his gaze. She dared not say another word and retreated hastily.
Once again, the massive office held only Richard. For the first time, his imposing figure showed signs of defeat.
He had lost—not to Fiona's resistance or Margaret's hiding. He had lost to time itself, and to the barren wasteland within his own heart that had no exit.