Chapter nine

Darian’s thumb hovered over the dial button longer than it should have. The file on Bella’s desk still lay open, a silent accusation, but the phone had become the only tool that could give him clarity. He exhaled, pressed the number, and waited.

The first call went to voicemail. Darian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have time for incompetence.

He pressed redial.

Rings again. No answer.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I have other things to attend to, and you can’t even pick up your phone?”

He slammed his finger down on the desk and dialed again.

Each unanswered ring sent a spike of irritation through him. He wasn’t used to waiting. He didn’t like delays. And this lack of response, felt personal.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a voice answered, crisp but tired.

“Hello?”

Darian leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “This is Darian Blackwood. I need to speak with whoever handled the booking for a woman named Bella Morrison on the night of the 12th. Immediately.”

A pause on the line.

“Yes, sir… the escort service, right? Uh… one moment.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds before the connection returned.

“This is Simon,” the voice said, more professional now. “How may I help you?”

Darian’s fingers tightened around the phone. He didn’t bother with small talk.

“Simon, I was there that night. The hotel, the suite. You arranged an escort, Bella Morrison. I need confirmation of what happened. Was she booked? Paid? The full arrangement.”

There was a brief intake of breath on the other end, the faintest hesitation.

“Yes, sir… she was booked,” Simon confirmed. “Paid. Fully arranged. Everything went according to protocol.”

Darian’s eyes narrowed further. He had expected to hear something that would match his assumptions. Protocol. Payment. Arrangement. Everything aligned. And yet… it didn’t.

“Booked,” he repeated. “Paid. Protocol.” He leaned back, letting the words sink in, a slow growl building in his chest. “So nothing went wrong?”

“Nothing, sir,” Simon replied carefully. “Everything was handled professionally. She arrived at the hotel, entered the suite, and the standard engagement took place. Nothing unusual on our end.”

Darian’s brain refused to reconcile the information. “Nothing unusual? You’re telling me this was standard?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Because I remember precisely, she didn’t behave like a typical escort. She wasn’t… trained. She wasn’t… professional. She wasn’t someone who was supposed to be there for anything other than an arrangement. And yet…” His voice trailed.

“Yet, sir?” Simon asked, tone neutral but careful.

“Yet she acted different,” Darian admitted, reluctantly. “She wasn’t transactional. Not in the slightest. She didn’t act like she was aware of her role in any of it.”

Silence on the line.

“That’s… unusual,” Simon said slowly. “Are you sure you mean Bella Morrison? Because our records indicate this was a booked client. Paid in full. Fully aware of the arrangement. She was briefed, as usual.”

Darian slammed a hand against the desk, the dull thud echoing in the office. “Briefed? Fully aware? She was confused, untrained, completely off balance. I… I had to manage the situation myself.”

“Sir, according to our report,” Simon said carefully, “she was compliant. Professional. I arrived on time, followed instructions, No complaints, no confusion noted. Payment confirmed.”

Darian froze mid-breath. His mind reeled. Payment confirmed. Protocol followed. Booking correct.

And yet, every memory he had from that night, the hesitation, the unfamiliarity, the hesitation before she spoke, the way she avoided certain gestures didn’t match the clean record Simon was describing.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the memory in his head with the data in front of him. Nothing made sense.

“Wait,” he said, voice sharper now. “You’re telling me she acted like a trained escort? That everything went according to the rules? That she knew exactly what she was supposed to do?”

“Yes, sir. That is what the report indicates. No deviations”.

Darian’s chest tightened. “Normal? You don’t understand. I was there. I remember the night exactly. She didn’t…” His voice faltered. “She wasn’t like that. She didn’t behave like a professional.”

“I see, sir,” Simon said slowly, his voice cautious, professional. “I can only confirm what’s in the files. Everything we recorded and verified aligns. Perhaps you misremember some details?”

Darian’s fingers curled around the phone, knuckles white. Misremember? No. He remembered every detail.

Every flicker of uncertainty that passed across her face when she realized she was in a world she didn’t understand.

He stood, walking back toward the window, staring down at the city, trying to make sense of it.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Nothing… nothing aligns. Everything in the files says one thing. Everything in my memory says something else.”

“Sir,” Simon’s voice cut in carefully, “I’m only reporting what our records indicate. If there’s a discrepancy, I can check further, but this is the official documentation.”

Darian pinched the bridge of his nose. Discrepancy. That word felt inadequate. This was more than that. This was impossible.

“I want answers,” he said finally, voice low but commanding. “Check every record. Every transaction. Every internal note. I want to know exactly how this… situation was documented. I want the discrepancy explained.”

“Yes, sir. I will look into it and report back,” Simon replied.

Darian didn’t wait to hear anything else. He ended the call, the dial tone buzzing sharply in his ear. He set the phone down, but his mind didn’t settle.

He returned to Bella’s employment file, scanning it again, line by line.

Everything about her was immaculate. Education, experience, references, background checks, behavior, all pristine.

Nothing to justify the instinctive suspicion he felt. Nothing to reconcile the strange inconsistencies between what he remembered that night and what the escort service’s records now confirmed.

Darian’s hands hovered over the file. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Her insistence that she earned the position, demanding fairness and now, this.

He knew instinctively that something was off. Something didn’t add up. And yet, nothing in the documents offered a clue.

Darian’s jaw tightened. His pulse quickened. The questions multiplied faster than he could organize them.

Who was she really? How could someone with such clean records and impeccable qualifications also align with the chaotic, hesitant, confused woman he had encountered that night?

And why did she matter so much now, standing in his office, staring him down with defiance?

Darian’s hand moved decisively toward the phone once again.

He dialed, not impatiently this time, but with purpose. Each number pressed was deliberate. Each pause is measured.

The receiver clicked as the line began to ring.

He didn’t speak. He just watched the phone, fingers lightly tapping the desk, mind racing.

Finally, the line was picked up.

“Hello?”