The Mystery Woman

The Mystery Woman


Asher’s POV

I pushed open the door without knocking.

Frederick looked up from his system, that smug half-smile already waiting for me. “Well, well, well… Look who finally graced me with his presence.”

I rolled my eyes inwardly and shut the door behind me, not bothering to smile back. Why would I? “Morning to you too, Fred.”

His office still looks the same as always. Walls lined with awards, photos of him shaking hands with men who’d sell their souls for a seat at our table, and a portrait of our late uncle watching us both like he knew this day would come.

“I assume this isn’t a courtesy visit.” Frederick leaned back in his chair. “You only come here when you need something… or when you want to prove you’re still breathing.”

I ignored the jab and took the seat opposite him. “Dad called me last night.”

His brow arched. “And what did the old man want this time?”

“Don't act like you don't know what.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “He wants the mess you created cleaned up… immediately. Every post, every headline about Camila…”

Frederick chuckled, low and sharp. “Oh... I see… The dutiful husband, trying to save his damsel. Tell me, Asher—how many PR fires have you started since you married her?”

“The question should be… how many of your childish games will you keep creating?” I was angry now, my eyes burning into his.

His smirk faltered. “Careful.”

And there it was… that flicker of irritation. The same one that used to flare whenever I beat him at anything that required brains instead of brawn.

Growing up, Frederick had always been the golden boy—the strong one, the heir, the one who didn’t spend half his childhood in hospital rooms. And me? I was the fragile one, the soft baby who wasn’t supposed to survive long enough to challenge him.

But I did. And I learnt fast that strength isn’t in the body… it’s in control.

I sat back graciously. “I didn’t come here to argue or banter words with you… I came to warn you.”

“Warn me?” he scoffed. “That’s cute. I'm listening… You can rant all you want.”

“This should be the very last time you meddle with my affairs. Especially one that has to do with Camila, stay clear of my shore… or you won't like my revolts. I promise you.”

His jaw tightened. “You think you can barge into my office and throw at me words like you please?”

“I don’t think so, Fred,” I said, rising to my feet. “I know so.”

For a second, silence burnt between us… thick, electric. His eyes met mine, that same sibling fire sparking to life.

“You’re still the same, Asher,” he said finally, voice soft but venomous. “Always desperate to prove you’re something you’re not. Still the sickly boy trying to play with wolves.”

I stepped closer, close enough to see the twitch in his jaw. “And yet somehow, the wolves still answer to me.”

He didn’t respond. Just gripped his glass tighter.

I turned for the door, pausing only once. “You don't think I'm still the little Asher you treated like a leash? Do you?”

He didn't respond, and I wasn't expecting a reply either.

The door clicked shut behind me as I stormed out of his office.

And for the first time in years, I swear I heard him exhale like he wasn’t sure if he’d just lost control… or his crown.

\--------

Camila’s POV

The street was quieter than usual that night; the neon sign glowed over the entrance of Ravenshade Diner, its red light bleeding into the puddles that dotted the pavement. I pulled my hood tighter, feeling the bite of the evening chill crawl against my neck.

My heart thudded beneath my coat. I shouldn’t be here. Not without informing Samantha at least. But something about the woman’s voice over the phone had pulled me in. If she really had information about my father… about the things Edward covered up… then this was worth the risk.

I stepped inside.

Three customers sat scattered across the booths; none of them looked up when I entered. In the farthest corner, a woman sat with her back to the wall, face hidden beneath a wide black hood. A faint silver ring glinted on her finger as she lifted her cup.

That had to be her.

“You came,” she said as soon as I walked over.

“You’re the one who called me?” I asked, keeping my tone steady, though my palms were damp inside my pockets.

She nodded. “Sit, Camila.”

The sound of my name in her mouth made my chest tighten, but I sat opposite her anyway.

For a moment, we said nothing. Just the soft clink of her spoon as she stirred her coffee.

Then she looked up—just enough for me to see her lips curve into a small, tired smile. “You remind me of my old self,” she said. “Those fires in your eyes… exactly like mine a few years ago.”

What does that even mean?

I knitted my brows. “You said you had information about my father?” I struck to the point.

She exhaled slowly. “Yes. But I need you to understand something first.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed the spoon down. “When I started digging into Edward’s past, I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I only wanted to know why my mother—who worked for him for years—never came home one night… I thought knowing the truth would set me free.”

Her voice cracked. “It didn’t. It caged me.”

I felt my throat tighten. “What happened to her?”

“They said she died in an accident,” the woman whispered. “But her case file disappeared, and the only witness vanished. The case was closed within a week. Just like that… no further investigation, just nothing. That’s when I realised—Edward doesn’t just erase people’s names. He erases their existence.”

She looked up then, and beneath the hood, I saw the exhaustion in her weary eyes painted with dark circles as a result of sleepless nights. Maybe.

“You’re walking the same path I did, Camila. Brave… but blind to how deep this goes.”

“Why tell me this now?”

“Because they’ll come for you soon,” she said. “Edward’s men. They’ve probably been watching you since, but you just haven't seen them yet.”

“I'm always being careful, and…”

“How careful?” She cut in.

I stiffened, glancing toward the window. The streetlight outside flickered again, and for the first time, I noticed a dark sedan parked across the road… engine still running, two silhouettes inside.

She slipped a wrapped package into my palm. “Take this… it will help you find…”

The sound split the air before she could finish.

Glass shattered as a shot rang out.

My heart hammered like I'd run a marathon.

The woman jerked forward. “Get down!” she hissed.

I ducked beneath the table as chaos erupted around us—the sharp crack of more bullets, screams slicing through the stale diner air. Oh my goodness, what's happening right now?

“Run...” she screamed. “Run, Camila.”