Chapter 128: Roses’ Painting on the Wall

Mike’s house was a gallery of masterpieces, each painting more striking than the last. The moment I stepped in, the air seemed to hum with the silent elegance of every brushstroke. Renowned artists filled the walls, their works radiating the unmistakable aura of wealth and exclusivity. But one painting captured me completely.

It was a garden of roses, nestled beneath towering trees, the fiery red of the petals burning against the deep green of the leaves. The colors were so vivid, it was as if the roses themselves had been plucked from reality and pressed into the canvas. The sunlight filtered through the glass wall beside it, casting a shimmering reflection onto the polished surface of the grand piano below. Beyond the glass, the endless ocean stretched, but my gaze was locked on those roses. There was something about them—something they were trying to tell me. It felt important—a whisper hidden within the layers of red and green, waiting for me to understand.

"Are they beautiful?" Mike’s voice broke the silence as he emerged from the doorway, holding two glasses of wine. His presence was quiet but imposing. "I painted that during a time of grief."

"Why roses?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, my gaze still locked on the vivid red blooms in the painting.

"Their colors bring life to my otherwise dull existence." He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine just briefly enough to send a chill down my spine.

I didn’t take a sip. Instead, I straightened and shifted the conversation. "What is your plan for me, Mike?" My voice was firm and cold. "If you’re planning to hurt me, do it quickly. I don’t have the patience for games."

He moved across the room, slow and deliberate, his glass barely rippling as he took a sip. "I just want to talk."

"Talk?" I echoed, suspicion creeping into my tone. "Talk about what, Mike?"

"I want to hear your story," he replied, his voice casual, almost too casual. "Your story from the orphanage."

My breath hitched for just a moment. "It’s the sad tale of an orphan who happened to find her mother," I said, my words sharp, cutting. "But I’m not here to reminisce. I want to know where Lily is keeping our mother, Mike." My eyes bore into him. "Is she safe? I need to know if she’s safe—right now."

Mike stared out the glass wall, his reflection barely visible against the fading daylight. "Don’t worry," he said softly, his voice laced with something unsettling. "You’ll find her."

The way he said it, the strange calm in his voice, sent a shiver crawling up my spine. There was something lurking beneath his words—something dark. His eyes—when they finally met mine—seemed to stare out from an abyss, as if he held secrets that could swallow me whole.

“Is Lily coming here?” I asked, and my curiosity piqued. “I heard she demanded a meeting at a beach house, and yet you brought me to your place. What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t know about this house,” he sighed, his eyes clouded with something I couldn’t quite place. “This is my hideaway.”

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. It was clear he had his own agenda, and I couldn’t shake the fear that his intentions had shifted. He had saved me before, but now I wondered if he might turn against Lily’s plans.

“Lily’s planning to kill you at the beach,” Mike said bluntly.

“And you’re intervening to save me again?” My heart raced, nerves tingling at the gravity of his words. “Why?”

“Because I prefer roses over lilies,” he replied matter-of-factly, and his statement struck a chord deep within me. It was a message my heart understood, yet confusion tightened its grip on my curiosity. I needed to cut through the chaos.

“I know there’s goodness in you, Mike,” I said, rising to meet his gaze head-on. “The evidence is clear; you’ve saved me countless times. Don’t prolong my anxiety. Tell me who you really are and why you’re risking everything for me.”

“Lily is cunning; she won’t stop until she gets what she wants,” he stated, his voice steady.

“I’m already aware of that,” I replied, frustration creeping into my tone.

“She’s put me in a position with no way out,” Mike continued, his expression darkening. “She’s pregnant with my child. That’s why she matters to me.”

“Oh, God,” I whispered, the weight of his words crashing over me. Lily would use every trick in the book to tighten her grip.

“She threatened me to kill my child if I don’t cooperate with her plans,” Mike said, his voice somber.

Mike’s phone buzzed, and he answered it quickly, his voice tense. “Hello, Lily.” A shadow crossed his face as he listened. “No, please don’t do that. We’re just stopping to make sure no one’s tailing us.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Okay, we’ll be there. I’ll bring her to the beach.” He hung up and sighed, the weight of his predicament visible in his expression. “She wants you at the beach.”

“Then take me there,” I said sharply, my resolve hardening. “Your child will be dead if you don’t cooperate, right?”

“But you’ll be killed there,” he said solemnly.

“Not if you give me something to protect myself,” I shot back, a spark of determination igniting within me. I quickly laid out my idea, and as we spoke, a plan began to form—a secret plan that could change everything.

The clock was ticking, and I felt the weight of impending doom pressing down on me. After making a few adjustments to our plan, Mike called Lily, telling her we were on our way to the beach. Just as we reached the main door, he paused and pulled a key from his pocket.

“Take this,” he said, handing it to me. “Keep it hidden under your clothes. It’s the key to this house. You’ll be safe here if things go sideways.”

His sudden decision left me both bewildered and anxious, but I accepted the key, tucking it under my bra where it wouldn’t be noticed. With that, we resumed our journey toward what felt like my inevitable fate.

After a few hours, the van glided along the shoreline, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing nearby. It was six in the evening from my wristwatch. Mike sat in silence next to me, an eerie stillness that set my nerves on edge. Finally, the van stopped beside the beach house, the parking lot empty and ominously quiet.

Mike's driver stepped out first, scanning the house. The lack of lights inside told us we had arrived ahead of schedule.

“Let’s get out,” Mike urged, swiftly opening the van door. He glanced around, his expression tense. “Go over to that coconut tree. There’s a large rock—hide behind it.”

I obeyed instinctively, feeling an unease creeping in. Mike seemed to know something I didn’t. Once I was behind the rock, I watched as he sprinted to the main door of the house. Just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open, and a burst of gunfire erupted. Mike staggered back, collapsing onto the ground.

I clamped my mouth shut, suppressing a scream. It was a fatal shot—he hadn’t seen it coming. Was it Lily? No; as a figure emerged from the shadows, my heart sank.

“Do you think you can hide from me behind that mask, William?” Armand’s voice echoed through the air, sending shivers down my spine.

The mention of the name “**William”** felt like a knife twisting in my gut.