Chapter 3

“Business tycoon Lazare Ibañez, son of the late race driver Lionel Ibañez, is now in the eye of a storm. A photograph from his engagement party last night has surfaced, showing him in a compromising position with an unidentified woman, who is not his fiancée, the acclaimed actress Nicole Asuncion. Efforts are underway to reach Mr. Ibañez for his statement on the matter. Stay tuned for further updates—”

Vlada turned off the television and she put the remote on the table. She reached for her phone and dialed Michael’s number.

“Michael!” she screamed in excitement.

He chuckled on the other line. “Yeah, you’re very much welcome, Vlada.”

“No, I really want to thank you for helping me. It means a lot.”

“Silly girl. You don’t have to thank me. I should be thanking you for actually helping me secure my position in our company. This news reached a lot of people. This is the biggest controversy, to be honest.”

“Will they be able to know who I am?” she asked.

“Maybe yes but they wouldn’t focus on you that’s for sure. They’ll be too preoccupied to bug Lazare for information about his infidelity.”

While Michael’s words held some truth, she was determined to keep her identity under wraps, fearing that Fynn would meddle in her life as he always seemed to do.

“Relax, I’ve made sure to blur your face in the online pictures,” Michael comforted.

A sense of relief washed over her, easing the sharp pang in her heart. Despite her concern, she couldn’t care less. After all, she was Lazare's secret ex-wife. To the world, she was simply a fleeting fling Lazare might have picked up from a cheap bar.

As she prepared to speak, a relentless and forceful pounding on the door echoed through the house, interrupting her thoughts.

“Michael, let’s catch up another time,” she quickly mentioned, concluding the conversation before hanging up. Adjusting the edge of her shirt, she straightened it out while making her way towards the door.

With a furrowed brow, she swung the door open to the relentless knocking that seemed to demand entry. However, her expression transformed from annoyance to a radiant smile upon encountering three men in sharp formal attire, each sporting a distinctive red badge on their right breast pocket. They’re Lazare’s men.

Curiosity laced her words as she inquired innocently, “What seems to be the matter?”

One of the bodyguards, hands clasped behind his back, responded, “Mr. Lazare has requested your presence for an urgent meeting today.”

“And what might be the purpose of this meeting?” she probed further.

“Unfortunately, the details were not disclosed, ma’am,” he replied respectfully.

Vlada hesitated, clearing her throat as she pondered joining them. With a brief gaze at the man, she widened the door, silently inviting them in.

"I'll get ready, and you can wait inside," she suggested.

Glancing at his watch, the man frowned. “We’re pressed for time, ma’am. The meeting will be brief. Your presence is needed,” he urged, emphasizing the urgency without revealing further details.

At this moment, Vlada was uncertain about Lazare's intentions. While expecting his call after the scandalous photos, she never anticipated his men arriving at her doorstep to escort her somewhere. She has no idea whether this is a good idea or not.

Without a moment to spare for a change of clothes or even a brush through her hair, she found herself leaving with them, clad in nothing but a black spaghetti-strapped top, denim short shorts, and flip-flops.

Once inside the car, she quickly texted John, warning him she might not make it to work. Lazare’s sudden call for her presence left her unsure of when she’d be back, and she didn’t want to risk her new job. She had just started working for John the day before, and needing the extra money, she was keen on keeping it.

“Where are we headed? I believe he mentioned it,” she interjected, slicing through the dense silence that had filled the car since she entered it.

“To the old house, Ma’am,” replied the bald man occupying the passenger seat beside her.

A wave of shock washed over her as if she’d been struck in the gut. The 'old house' was their shared sanctuary during their married years. She had assumed Lazare would have sold it after she left but he didn’t. For what reason? She has no idea.

Returning to the house she had fled from, attempting to bury the memories, both pleasant and painful, stirred a mix of uncertainty and anxiety within her. The thought of facing Lazare in that familiar setting left her feeling unsure of how she would cope with the situation. But she doesn’t have a choice, does she?

Throughout the entire ride, she remained quiet, mentally bracing herself for what’s gonna happen in this meeting with Lazare. The mere thought of being in the same room as him, especially in their old house, was mentally draining for her.

Her mind wandered out of the window, and before she realized it, the car came to a halt and someone was already opening the door for her.

Stepping out of the car, she felt a gentle touch on her elbow as the uniformed man guided her towards the open gate. Hastening her pace, she entered the premises just as the sky darkened and a few raindrops began to fall.

“Ask everyone to leave except the guards.”

Lifting her gaze, she turned towards the sound of Lazare’s voice. He’s walking towards her; shirtless and clad in white pajamas. His disheveled hair and puffy eyelids indicated that he had recently woken up. She averted her eyes from Lazare and deliberately shifted her focus to examine the details of the mansion.

Every detail remained untouched, it’s the same place she had left two years ago.

“Have you had breakfast yet? If not, come and join me. I'm quite hungry,” he asked as soon as he stood beside her.

She responded by crossing her arms and fixing her gaze on him. “Why on earth do you need me here? I was explicitly informed that this was intended to be a professional meeting. I highly doubt that conducting meetings in a state of undress, with remnants of sleep still clinging to your eyes, is considered appropriate.”

“Cut the formality in your wording. We can discuss that over a meal. Come, I’m sure you still remember where the dining area is,” he remarked with a meaningful tone, then turned away from her.

In the end, she simply trailed behind him, her mind reeling with disbelief at the unchanged state of the house. Even Tasha’s bowl remained in its place, a poignant reminder of her beloved dog who had been a part of their lives in the early stage of their marriage and since her teenage years, but had passed away from old age.

She averted her gaze, her fists clenched, and briskly made her way towards the dining area.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestured, pulling out a chair for her. Once she was settled, he positioned himself in the adjacent chair.

As Lazare began serving food onto her plate, she couldn’t help but observe the emptiness of the house. There was no sign of any maids, and the spread on the table consisted solely of fried eggs, bacon, and fried rice.

“The helpers have the day off. They’ll return in the morning,” Lazare mentioned, observing her scanning the dining area for others.

“Did you prepare these?” she inquired, spearing the bacon with her fork.

Raising an eyebrow without looking at her, he remained focused on his meal. “No, I requested Alvaro to do the cooking.”

She knows Alvaro, one of Lazare’s most reliable associates. Alvaro had been her frequent chauffeur when Lazare was often away from home during their marriage. She found herself in his company more often than with her own husband.

“What is it that you need from me? I have work commitments and can't linger here,” she stated.

“Resign from your job.”

The cutlery slipped from her grasp. “Excuse me?!”

His gaze lifted to meet hers. “You heard me. I told you to resign from your job.”

“You don't have authority over me, Lazare. What is your true intention? You're about to get married! I don't want to be your mistress—”

His hands slammed onto the table. “Resign from your job and stay here. I don't care if it means you become my mistress. What matters is your safety.”

“Safety? When did I become a target?”

His jaw tightened, eyes piercing hers. “The photographs. Someone captured an image of us last night, and it won't be long before they begin investigating the identity of that woman which is obviously you. And I refuse to leave you alone in the midst of this situation.”

Rising from his chair, he approached her seat, lowering his gaze to meet hers at eye level. “Therefore, stay here. No buts. That’s an order.”