Chapter 50

|10:00 PM

Evelyn was already swimming in the black current of unconsciousness when the pressure on her throat vanished. Williams had abruptly released her.

“Alright,” Williams said, straightening her posture as if nothing violent had just happened. “Why not wait for Monday?”

She turned to Makizal. “We will wait for Monday.”

Evelyn collapsed into a heap on the hardwood floor, a strangled sob escaping her bruised lungs. She lay there trembling, trying to pull oxygen into her chest. Was this karma? Retribution? Fate? Whatever it was, she finally understood one thing: the woman standing in her living room was no longer the Williams she once knew.

Williams, completely unfazed by the wreckage of Evelyn’s body and their confrontation, delivered her next commands in a flat, managerial tone. “Put everything back in its place. Destroy every document concerning the hospital. Makizal, have her pack her necessities. We will wait together until Monday.”

Her gaze drifted toward the mirror near the kitchen, calculating and assessing, before she returned her attention to Evelyn. She picked up Evelyn’s phone and extended it to her.

“Take it.”

Evelyn stared at the device, then at Williams’s immaculate hand holding it, her mind struggling to reconcile the recent near-strangulation with this offer. She reached out, her hand shaking uncontrollably, and accepted the phone.

Williams crouched, bringing her eyes level with Evelyn’s distraught face. Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper that cut through the silence. “Listen to me closely. I am making an effort to be understanding. Consider yourself fortunate that I’m willing to wait until Monday. But if you fail to ensure that no one looks for you, then every person who writes to you will be traced and dealt with. Anyone who enters this home will never leave it again.”

She leaned closer, her breath brushing Evelyn’s cheek as if studying her scent.

“And you will justify your absence. Is that clear?”

Evelyn swallowed. “It’s clear.”

“Good. Proceed.”

While Makizal directed the guards to swiftly and silently erase all signs of the invasion, rearranging the furniture and sweeping up the glass fragments from the shattered portrait, Evelyn accessed her contacts. Williams’s proximity was suffocating, her breath cool against Evelyn’s cheek.

Evelyn navigated through her small, spare contact list: Yada, her lawyer; Kannika, her only true confidante; and the orphanage administration, including Jack. She didn’t have the detective’s number or any data concerning Williams anymore. She had purged that life the moment she realized her investigation was a dead end. Now, she wished she could purge the pregnancy as easily.

She typed a message to Kannika explaining that she needed to isolate herself and would be unreachable for a few days, promising to connect when she resurfaced.

As her thumb hovered over Yada’s contact, Williams’s cold, firm hand clamped down on the phone.

“To your lawyer, tell her you’ll have your answer Monday.”

“She already knows I’m waiting for Monday.”

“Then there is no need to write.”

“I know.” Evelyn closed the message draft. Then she scrolled to Jack’s number and, with a decisive movement, blocked him.

“Who is that?” Williams’s voice was sharper, the curiosity laced with sudden, hard authority.

Evelyn looked up, meeting the doctor’s gaze. “If I don’t answer, are you going to hit me again?”

Williams’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching under her pale skin. “You will find out if you refuse.” Makizal, hearing the challenge, took a deliberate step closer.

“My ex,” Evelyn replied. Makizal stopped.

Williams remained silent, staring intently at the phone, then back at Evelyn. She felt a strange, inexplicable pull, a familiarity to Evelyn’s body odor, the faint scent of her fear and natural musk, that seemed to trigger a deeper mechanism within her brain.

As Evelyn messaged the administration about her sudden personal absence, the mechanism tripped.

The Flash

Williams’s body seized, rigid. The room dissolved into a thick, swirling grey. Voices rushed in, assaulting her ears and overriding the sounds of the clean-up crew.

“You ran a little and you’re sweating.”

A soft, intimate voice spoke close to her ear. “And you too, you’re sweating as well.” A hand, warm and firm, landed on her shoulder. “What are you doing? Tell me, do you like the smell of my sweat?”

“You’re weird!” Williams heard herself laugh, the sound hollow and distant.

“No, but go on!”

Williams sensed a scent, crude yet distinct, a mix of ozone and something uniquely human. “Your sweat has a crude smell.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“That it’s a mix of oxygen and hydrogen.”

The voice, belonging to someone whose face remained stubbornly blurred, then placed a hand on her neck. “Here, what are you doing? I’m mixing my sweat with yours. That way it creates a new molecule, doesn’t it?” The soft voice concluded, trailing away: “Come on, stop.”

End

Williams snapped back to reality, breathing in sharp, uneven gasps. When she refocused, her gaze collided with Evelyn’s, who was staring up at her, astonished and terrified. Williams realized she had been motionless, staring blankly, for a significant moment.

“I… I’m done,” Evelyn whispered, fearing the sudden shift in her captor.

Williams immediately stood, regaining her imposing height. She looked at Makizal. “We are going back.”

Makizal snatched the phone from Evelyn’s hands. He made a sharp, coded gesture to the others, a silent instruction for Beta and Gamma to secure Evelyn.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn cried, rising instinctively.

“You are coming with us,” Makizal stated, his voice now cold and devoid of the previous curiosity.

In the armored vehicle, Williams was silent and pensive. The flash had been more vivid this time, the scent more potent, the feeling of intimacy disturbing. These faint memories had been recurring for two years, always frustratingly close to clarity, faces perpetually obscured, yet the emotion was undeniably powerful. She had never mentioned them to Adeline.

Makizal watched her through the rearview mirror, his desire a palpable weight in the small space. “So, Williams, what are you thinking about?”

Williams turned her head slowly, her eyes like chipped ice. “If I haven’t given you permission to address me, do not do it again.”

“Sorry.” He lowered his gaze, but a small, satisfied smile played on his lips.

“The next time you take initiatives in my presence, Makizal, you will regret it.”

He merely nodded. Far from being shocked, the dismissal thrilled him. He loved the domination, the intimidation, the frustration. It made every nerve ending in his body vibrate with a dark, twisted longing. If only she knew the depths of his desire. Williams, however, only loved the suffering it produced.

After a long, pregnant silence, Williams spoke, her voice measured. “We are going back to where the problem started.”

Makizal stared at her reflection.

“The Mayeurs were originally assigned to Dr. Saker. That night, they were expected to be inseminated by Dr. Marz. But Dr. Marz mixed up the documents and inseminated Evelyn, who was being treated for pelvic pain. Emilio, blackmailed by Marz, replaced him. The Mayeurs didn’t notice, too stressed and too confused. Evelyn didn’t question it either; she had seen multiple doctors already.”

She flipped a page of her journal.

“Someone falsified the documents. Possibly Emilio.”

A deep, resonant voice, her internal mantra, whispered in her mind: “Dr. Niran Williams doesn’t heal; she restores life.”

She murmured, low enough only for Makizal to barely hear, “We simply need to change the course of that day.”

Williams wasn’t just cleaning up. She was fundamentally recreating the timeline. The sheer, calculating ambition was breathtaking.

“I will have all those original documents in your office by tomorrow,” Makizal offered, seeking approval.

“As for Evelyn, on Monday she will have the answer,” Williams replied, her lips curving into a chilling, triumphant smile, already certain that the answer would be the one she dictated.

|11:00 PM

They arrived at Williams’s stark, minimalist penthouse. Makizal scrambled out first, opening her door with excessive formality. As Williams stepped out, her bespoke suit fabric whispered against the night air, and Makizal inhaled her scent, subtle, cold, intoxicating.

He watched her with hunger.

“Romaric,” Williams said.

“Yes?” he replied automatically, forgetting she hadn’t granted permission to speak.

“He’s home tonight. I want him to give me everything he knows. Then he can be reassigned.”

Williams stopped and looked at him.

“You learn slowly.”

Makizal froze, then remembered.

“Sorry.”

“Have him disappear.”

Makizal’s eyes widened, a flicker of dark excitement crossing his face. The order was direct and final. Williams had just signed Romaric’s death warrant. Makizal grinned internally. So, you and I tonight, Romaric. He thought.

Williams walked away, returning to her nightly ritual.

She entered her room, washed her face, put on her silk pajamas, and poured a measure of single malt whiskey. She sat before the vanity mirror, staring at her own reflection, the final nightly act of self-mastery.

Suddenly, the polished glass of the mirror did not reflect her but her deepest fear. A jagged crack, starting near her eye, raced across the reflective surface, splitting her image in half. She gasped, falling back against the wall, dizzy and disoriented, her hand flying to her pounding head. It was an illusion, but the panic was real.

What was happening to Williams?

The voice resonated, piercing the silence of the room, sharper and closer than ever.

“Niran!”

It was Evelyn’s voice, a haunting echo refusing to be silenced.

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