Laura was in the courtyard, practicing calligraphy. She had her brush in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling through her messages without really thinking much of it.
But when she realized the woman in Franco’s arms in the video was Petty, her grip on the brush tightened. The brush snapped right in half. The crack echoed in the quiet yard, and the pieces tumbled to the stone at her feet, trailing a thin line of blood.
The housekeeper came running over, worry written all over her face. “How did that happen? Laura, are you alright? Oh, your hand is bleeding.”
Laura didn’t show any emotion. She glanced at her palm, noticing where the jagged edge from the calligraphy brush had pricked her skin. It wasn’t much, just a little bead of blood. She offered a soft smile. “It’s fine. Really.”
She grabbed a couple tissues and wiped the blood away like it was nothing.
Dinner later that evening felt just as hollow. Laura barely touched her food before setting her chopsticks aside. No matter how much the housekeeper tried to convince her, she wouldn’t eat another bite.
The housekeeper hesitated, looking a little nervous. “Franco always worries about your health. Maybe eat a little more for him?”
These days, her words sounded less certain. Franco hadn’t visited in ages. Maybe he hadn’t come often before, but this time felt different.
Laura thought for a moment, then said softly, “Franco worries about me?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Of course he does.”
“Worries… about me…”
A few days passed. The boardroom doors at the White Group slid open and Franco stepped inside. He looked at the managers gathered around the table, his gaze cold and distant.
They’d just started their project presentations when Franco’s phone buzzed from where it sat on the table.
It was a call from one of the security guys at The Glades.
He answered, his voice calm but icy. “Did you take her to the hospital?”
“Yes, she’s already on the way,” the bodyguard replied.
Franco made a quiet sound, hung up and nodded for the executives to keep going.

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