SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Chapter 2

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Still standing at the window, staring at nature. Maria felt birds were luckily to be free and not have time for betrayals. She moved back to the couch and her eyes swept the parlour.

Her eyes fell on a framed photograph—her mother, smiling warmly, arms wrapped around a younger Maria. Her chest tightened. Slowly, she rose and took the picture into her hands, tracing her mother’s face with trembling fingers. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek before she quickly brushed it away.

“I will try to be strong for you… no, I must be strong,” she whispered, clutching the frame tightly. She pressed her lips to her mother’s photo, a faint, shaky sigh escaping her. Carefully, she wiped the glass, ensuring it was clean again. It was a small act, but it felt like she was honoring her mother—keeping her memory alive even in her own fractured, bitter world.

After doing that small act, she became more determined to push harder. She decided to watch a movie to clear her mind.

The screen flickered to life. And then her eyes froze.

Gabriel.

His face filled the screen.

The same face that torment her for weeks, the same face she gave her love and all. Even after knowing what she past through with her father, he decided to also betrayal. Worst part was with her best friend .

“No,” she muttered under her breath, jaw clenching. Her chest heaved. The memories hit like knives—his smug smile the day he humiliated her, the whispered promises he never intended to keep, the cold way he had cut her out of his life. She quickly change the screen to a movie.

She sank further into the couch cushions, letting the drama on the screen fill the silence. Even that was a small comfort, though her mind kept circling back to Gabriel—his betrayal a constant shadow she could never quite shake.

She had thought she has overcome this trauma. Guess she thought wrong.

Meanwhile, miles away, in that same city, Francis sat in his sleek, glass-walled office, the hum of the city below serving as the background to his carefully controlled world. He was in his element here, in charge, commanding respect with every decision, every sharp word, every pointed glance at his subordinates.

The phone on his desk rang, and he glanced at it, seeing his mother’s name flash across the screen. He didn’t pick up immediately. He let it ring once. Twice.

“If what you called me for is not important, Mother, I will block your number,” he muttered under his breath on the third ring, his voice low and flat.

“Son,” came her voice, firm but weary, “you need to stop this behavior of yours. I am your mother.”

“Never said you weren't ,” he replied, glancing at the city below without meeting her voice. “Or did I?”

A faint pause, a sigh audible even through the phone.

“Your father called for a family dinner,” she said, her tone clipped but steady.

“I am not coming" Francis’ voice was sharp, icy, unyielding.

“But Ephr—”

He hung up before she could continue, the line going dead with a click. He knew it she continue to talk he might give in, that was his weakness and she knows.

He never like going to that place his mother call 'home'.

A place that he was treated like he begged to be there. He folded his wrists very tight in anger as the memories flood in.

His office door opened, and a pair of legs walked in. He didn't need to look up only one person apart from his mom and Marcus had that right.

Of entering his office without knocking.