Chapter 121 A fine line
Timothy
I wake before the alarm.
It’s not unusual. It happens whenever my mind refuses to settle properly, when sleep becomes more of a pause than actual rest. Today is one of those mornings.
For a few seconds, I lie still, staring at the ceiling, trying to gather my thoughts before they start moving too fast. But they’re already there, waiting.
Donald.
My father.
Yvonne.
Hannah.
The order shifts, but the weight doesn’t.
I exhale slowly and sit up, running a hand over my face before swinging my legs off the bed. There’s no point lying here any longer.
I get dressed quickly, pulling on a fitted shirt and running shorts before heading out. The house is quiet, still wrapped in the early morning calm that exists just before everything begins again.
The air outside is cool, crisp enough to clear my head if I let it.
So I run.
At first, it’s just movement. My body falling into rhythm, feet hitting the ground in steady repetition. But gradually, the tension from last night begins to surface again, threading through my thoughts no matter how much I try to outrun it.
Donald doesn’t come back into the picture randomly. Not after everything. Not now.
And the timing…
It’s wrong.
Everything about it is wrong.
By the time I circle back toward the house, my breathing is heavier but controlled, my mind no clearer than when I started.
I slow to a stop, hands resting briefly on my hips as I catch my breath before heading inside.
The quiet greets me again.
I head upstairs, grabbing my phone off the nightstand as I pass through the room.
The screen lights up instantly.
Notifications.
Too many.
My jaw tightens slightly as I scroll.
Missed calls.
Messages.
All from the same person.
Yvonne Blackwood
Of course.
I don’t open them.
I don’t need to.
Whatever she wants, it can wait. Or better yet, it can stay unanswered.
I drop the phone back onto the table and head into the shower.
The water runs hot, washing away the sweat from the run, but not the thoughts lingering underneath. By the time I’m done and dressed for the day, my expression has settled back into something controlled.
Composed.
Untouchable.
Exactly how it needs to be.
When I head downstairs, the smell of breakfast meets me halfway.
Lisa is already in the dining area, directing the staff as plates are set down with quiet efficiency.
She glances at me when I enter.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.”
I take my seat, reaching for the coffee without much thought.
“Hannah?” I ask, my tone neutral.
Lisa pauses briefly before answering.
“Madam is having breakfast in her room. She’s not feeling too well.”
The words are polite. Carefully chosen.
But I hear what she doesn’t say.
I nod once.
“Alright.”
I don’t ask anything else.
Because I already know.
She’s not sick.
She just doesn’t want to see me.
And after last night, I can’t blame her.
I pick up my fork and start eating, but the food tastes like nothing. It’s just something to do with my hands, something to fill the silence that feels heavier than it should.
Lisa moves quietly in the background, the staff following her lead, but the usual rhythm of the house feels slightly off.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Either way, I don’t linger.
Once I’m done, I stand, grabbing my jacket.
“I’ll be out,” I say.
“Yes, sir.”
The driver is already waiting outside.
I slide into the back seat, the door shutting with a muted thud as the car pulls away from the house.
For a few minutes, I watch the city pass by through the window.
Then I reach for my phone.
This can’t wait any longer.
I scroll to my father’s contact and press call.
It rings twice before he picks up.
“Timothy.”
His voice is steady, measured.
“Good morning, sir.”
A brief pause.
“The investigation,” he says, getting straight to the point. “Any progress?”
“I’m on it,” I reply, my tone just as direct. “I’ll relay anything as soon as we find something concrete.”
Another pause.
I can practically hear him thinking.
“Make sure it doesn’t drag,” he says. “We don’t need unnecessary attention on this.”
“It won’t.”
He hums softly, then shifts.
“There are other matters,” he continues, launching into a series of updates about the company. Contracts, meetings, decisions that need to be made. I respond where necessary, keeping pace with him easily.
It’s familiar.
Comfortable, in a way.
Structured.
Controlled.
But it doesn’t take long before I steer the conversation back.
“Donald came by last night.”
There’s a brief silence on the other end.
Then, “I assumed he would.”
My brows draw together slightly.
“He didn’t inform me,” I say.
“He wouldn’t,” my father replies calmly.
I lean back slightly in the seat, my gaze sharpening.
“Why is he back?”
Another pause.
This one is longer.
Then my father exhales.
“Yvonne,” he says.
The name alone explains more than it should.
“She’s been pushing for years,” he continues. “Never wanted him sent away in the first place. She’s been persistent. More than usual lately.”
My grip tightens slightly around the phone.
“So she finally got her way.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
I look out the window again, my jaw setting.
Donald being back now, of all times, feels less like coincidence and more like a problem waiting to happen.
Everything that’s already stirring beneath the surface, everything tied to the investigation…
And now him.
It complicates things.
Unnecessarily.
“He showed up like nothing changed,” I say quietly.
“That’s Donald,” my father replies. “Which is exactly why you’ll need to keep an eye on him.”
I already know where this is going.
“Keep him occupied,” he adds. “Shepherd him, if necessary. The last thing we need is him making careless decisions while this situation is still developing.”
I let out a slow breath.
Of course.
Not only is he back, but now he’s my responsibility.
“Understood,” I say, though there’s a faint edge of reluctance beneath it.
“Good.”
The conversation wraps shortly after that, returning briefly to business before we end the call.
I lower the phone, my mind already working through what this means.
Donald needs to be contained.
Given just enough to feel involved, but not enough to interfere.
It’s a delicate balance.
But it’s one I’ll have to manage.
The car slows as we approach the office building.
I straighten slightly, pushing everything else aside as we pull to a stop.
By the time I step out, my expression is back to its usual calm neutrality.
Focused.
Unyielding.
Inside, everything moves as it should.
Staff greet me as I pass, the quiet hum of work already in motion. I head straight for the elevator, riding it up to my floor without interruption.
When the doors open, my secretary is already waiting.
She falls into step beside me as I walk toward my office.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.”
“There’s someone waiting for you inside.”
I don’t break stride.
“Who?”
She hesitates just slightly.
“Mr. Donald.”
Of course.
I nod once.
“Thank you.”
She steps back as I reach the door.
For a second, I pause with my hand on the handle, my mind already settling into place.
Control.
That’s the key.
I push the door open.
He’s there.
Seated comfortably, like he owns the space, one leg crossed over the other. He looks up the moment I enter, a wide, easy smile spreading across his face.
“Timothy,” he says, standing as if this is a pleasant reunion. “Right on time.”
I close the door behind me, my expression unreadable.
He studies me briefly, then chuckles.
“I figured I’d get an early start,” he continues. “No point wasting time, right? I’m ready to handle company matters.”
Ready.
The word sits wrong.
But I don’t show it.
Instead, I walk around the desk and take my seat, setting my phone down carefully as I meet his gaze.
Behind the calm exterior, my thoughts are already moving.
Keep him close.
Keep him busy.
Keep him out of the way.
I lean back slightly, a tight smile forming on my lips.
“Well,” I say evenly, “I have the perfect work for you.”
And just like that, the game begins.