Chapter 74

Evelyn descended the stairs slowly, her breathing shallow, the weight of the building files dragging against her palms. She had slept barely three hours. Every task Williams gave her seemed calibrated not for efficiency but for exhaustion.

At the door of the office, she paused, straightened her back, and walked in.

Williams lay stretched on the long sofa; one leg elegantly crossed over the other. The floral dress she wore looked almost ceremonial, soft silk hugging sharp bones, a contrast that made her appear both fragile and dangerous. Sunlight framed her body like a painting.

“Where do you want me to put them?” Evelyn asked, her voice low and breathless.

Without lifting her eyes, Williams pointed lazily to a spot on the desk. “Here.”

Evelyn placed the stack.

“No,” Williams murmured. “On the other side. To the right. That’s better.”

Evelyn inhaled slowly, checked the clock, only seven minutes until Williams’ scheduled break, and moved the stack.

A beat.

“On second thought,” Williams added coldly, “the first place was better.”

Evelyn snapped, “Williams, make up your mind!”

“Doctor Williams,” she corrected, her tone slicing through the air like a scalpel.

Evelyn swallowed her retort, her jaw tight. “Doctor Williams, please make up your mind,” she repeated, the exasperation still clinging to the edges of her voice.

A satisfied smirk touched Williams’ lips. “Good. That’s enough.”

Evelyn repositioned the files without another word. Her arms folded over her chest; she stared at Williams with open frustration. It had only been a week, but it felt like months trapped under this woman’s thumb. Williams was pushing her—testing her—waiting for a crack.

“You may leave,” Williams said finally.

Evelyn turned toward the door but stopped. “In thirty minutes, you take your break,” she reminded her softly.

Williams did not answer. Instead, she performed a small, dismissive gesture with her left hand, a silent command for a subordinate to vanish. Evelyn left, pulling the door closed with a barely audible click.

Once alone, a ghost of a smirk played on Williams’ lips. She sat up, moving to the table. There was something intensely gratifying about manipulating Evelyn, about watching this determined, rebellious woman forced to bend to her whim. It was a potent, necessary rush of control, a reminder that, despite her injury, Niran Williams still held all the strings.

She opened the stack of documents, reading the intricate hospital paperwork. The Board wanted her to delegate these tasks to her assistant, but Williams refused; she needed to keep her eyes on the beating heart of Niran Kai, signing and returning them herself. She enjoyed complicating things, a self-inflicted burden Evelyn found utterly ridiculous.

After a few signatures, she turned toward a small black laptop Makizal had placed discreetly on a side table. It was a machine intended solely for clandestine surveillance. Through it, she could access Yada’s home cameras, an untraceable rig Makizal would destroy upon task completion.

Williams opened the laptop. She despised passwords; her screen activated instantly. She clicked on a pre-loaded document that launched a surveillance video stream directly into Yada’s apartment.

On screen, a startling scene unfolded: Kannika, in casual clothes, was clearly visible sitting on Yada’s sofa.

Kannika is at Yada’s place.

“What is the meaning of this?” Williams whispered, leaning closer.

Before she could analyze the scene, her phone vibrated violently—a message.

Makizal: The police are requesting that you provide your statement immediately. And I am done with Emilio.

She ignored it.

Her eyes drifted back to the footage—

But at that moment, the door to the office opened. Evelyn was back.

Williams slammed the laptop shut at once.

“You’re not supposed to be back for thirty minutes,” Williams barked.

“Sorry.” Evelyn approached with a sheet in hand. “I just wanted to tell you that we need to buy some ingredients.” She handed her the list.

Williams stared at the paper, then at Evelyn’s outstretched hand.

“Who do you take me for? Your cook?”

Evelyn blinked, recalibrating. “I mean, Doctor Williams. If I’m cooking, I need ingredients. So it’s up to you to call some henchmen so they can find a solution.”

As Evelyn spoke, making the practical, domestic request, Williams looked past the list, past Evelyn’s assertive stance, and suddenly the room dissolved into an intrusive, vivid flash.

FLASHBACK

The light was warm; kitchen appliances hummed softly. A younger Miss Kai, dressed in a silk robe, was arguing with Ralph near a marble counter.

“Honey, you forgot to buy the zucchini,” Miss Kai’s voice, though sharp, was laced with weary affection.

Ralph sighed, rubbing his temples. “Ah, sorry, my head was elsewhere. The Board meeting ran late.”

“But you do that all the time!”

END OF FLASHBACK

Williams flinched, the ghostly voices echoing in her ears. She turned abruptly, staring at Evelyn.

“Williams!” Evelyn called her back, concerned by her sudden stillness.

Williams grabbed the list, crumpling the paper slightly. Her skin felt suddenly hot. “I understood,” she snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “Get out of my office!”

Evelyn, sensing the shift in her mood, spoke her parting words with professional detachment. “Finish signing your documents. The hospital needs them by tomorrow morning.”

Once Evelyn was gone, Williams felt a sudden wash of sweat on her forehead. She touched her skin; it was damp, and her whole body felt intensely heated, a psychological fever rising from the sudden, clear vision of her mother and Ralph. What was that sensation? And why that absurd, clear memory?

She picked up the crumpled list of mundane ingredients, staring at it.

She grabbed her phone and called Makizal.

“Madam?”

“I… I have…” Williams hesitated, her usual commanding tone failing her.

Makizal was surprised. “Madam, are you alright?”

“Actually, I want you to take care of my errands.”

Makizal sounded confused. “Do you want me to put a maid at your disposal, or a quartermaster?”

“No. I just need a few products.” Williams looked down at the list, then suddenly at the door. “Go to the kitchen and ask… No. I’ll send you the list. Just wait outside.”

“Understood, Madam.”

She immediately hung up, her heart pounding. No—Makizal couldn’t come in. She didn’t want anyone to see her domestic vulnerability, the strange intimacy of her confinement.

After a moment, she forced herself back to the documents. She signed them slowly, painfully, her injured right arm throbbing, her left-hand stiffening from overuse. When she finished, she stood and walked to the mirror.

Her reflection stared back, hollow cheeks, dark hair brushing her shoulders, bandages wrapped around her right hand like a reminder of her vulnerability.

“Niran Williams,” she murmured to the mirror, “will make the most impressive reappearance.”

A smile touched her lips.

“My only concern now is that rebel and her lawyer,” she whispered. “Then I will begin the We Kids Project.”

“What do you think?” a voice echoed in her memory.

Perhaps it’s wise to give my statement.

“Show them that even when injured, you’re holding up.”

Then yes, tomorrow I will speed things up.

The decision was made. She would control the narrative, just as she was learning to control the strange rebel currently running her household. The closeness, the frustration, the accidental flash of memory, it was all a new form of power.

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