Chapter 12 : She’s the same mask Girl

“Miss Elena!” Nathaniel called out with a laugh, stepping out from his hiding spot. He looked around, expecting to see her nearby. But there was no sign of her.

“Dad!!” he shouted instead, spotting Mr. Hughston standing stiffly near the large window.

Mr. Hughston’s stormy expression softened the moment he heard his son's voice. He turned around.

“Hello, kiddo,” he said, trying to sound normal.

Nathaniel frowned a little. “Where’s Miss Elena?”

Mr. Hughston didn’t respond as he stared ahead instead.

“Dad?” Nathaniel called again, louder this time.

“She’s fired,” Mr. Hughston said flatly.

“Huh?” Nathaniel blinked in confusion.

“There will be a new nanny starting tomorrow,” he added, already moving toward the stairs.

“But Dad… I like her,” Nathaniel said, his voice quiet, almost hurt.

Before Mr. Hughson could reply, his phone buzzed.

“Hello?” he answered curtly.

“Mr. Hughston”, came Mr. Thomas’s voice from the other end, calm but urgent. “We found something... You’ll want to see this.”

Mr. Hughson’s jaw clenched slightly. He ended the call and turned to Nathaniel. “Come with me.”

Without hesitation, Nathaniel grabbed his jacket and followed.

They stepped outside and into a Ferrari Purosangue, the engine humming to life with a low growl. The gates opened and in seconds, the car sped off down the driveway......

..............

The door bursts open as Mr. Hughston storms in, sharp, focused.

“Where is it?” he demanded, walking straight to Mr. Thomas, who stood beside a large screen.

Mr. Thomas didn’t waste time. “A video of the masked woman was sent to me this morning.”

Mr. Hughston frowned. “Good! Let me see”

“It’s not just the mask,” Mr. Thomas cut in, his voice serious. “Someone had a video of her... before she wore it that night".

He tapped a button.

The screen lit up.

First, a grainy video played of a woman’s back as she swayed to music, her dress elegant, her posture graceful.

Then she turned.

Mr. Hughston leaned in, his breath caught.

Red lipstick. Hair tied up in a soft bun. A radiant smile.

It was Elena... laughing, carefree and dancing.

Then another video flicked on. The same woman, in her fitted black dress, a shimmering gold mask covering her face. She held a shot glass, muttered something under her breath “Drink to die,” and downed it all in one throw.

Mr. Hughston stepped back slightly, his eyes wide. A gasp escaped him.

Mr. Thomas looked over. “So this... is the woman.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What’s left now,” Mr. Thomas said quietly, “is finding out where she is”...

..........

Mr. Hughson gripped the wheel tightly, jaw clenched as the car sped down the road. He pressed the Bluetooth button on the dash, the line ringing once… twice…

“Yes, sir?” Mr. Chris answered quickly.

“Send me Elena Rivera’s address,” Damien snapped, his voice sharp, no room for questions.

There was a pause.

“Sir… I have them at the office, but I haven’t processed them yet. They’re at the office,” Mr. Chris said carefully.

Damien’s brows furrowed. “Then go there. Now.”

“Right away, sir.”

Mr. Hughston ended the call and sped faster, frustration boiling under his skin...

............................

Chris was already digging through a drawer when the door burst open and Mr Hughston stormed in.

“Did you find it?”

Chris held up a folder. “Yes, sir. It’s here.”

He handed over the file, and Damien scanned the paper quickly. An address of a small town on the other side of the city

“I’ll take it from here,” Damien muttered.

.........…

Already in the town… Damien stood in front of the door, knocking again, a bit harder this time. But still nothing... He pressed his ear to the door, listening for even the smallest sound.

He stepped back, exhaling sharply, pacing the narrow hallway outside her apartment like a man on the edge. He checked the address again... he wasn’t wrong.

 This was the place. Still, the way no sign of anyone coming through that door.

Back outside, he leaned against his car, eyes scanning the building like she might magically appear in the window.

Time dragged. One hour. Then two. Then three.

The sun dipped lower, shadows crawling across the pavement. He sat on the low brick wall beside the building, head tilted back, closing his eyes for a moment but not to rest..

Still no sign of her. Damien’s jaw clenched. His heartbeat echoed in the still air. Every passing minute felt like punishment..

Knock knock knock!

A sharp rap on the window startled him. Damien shot to his feet and turned quickly.

An old woman, maybe in her eighties, was standing at the edge of the walkway, squinting at him suspiciously.

“This isn’t a parking area,” she said firmly, pointing at his car.

Damien stepped forward as he brushed his palms on his trousers. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize. I’m just... I was trying to find someone. Do you know if anyone’s home in that apartment?” he asked, nodding toward the door upstairs.

The woman looked at the door, then back at him.

“They’re working people,” she said matter-of-factually. “They don’t show up until the weekend.”

Damien’s jaw tightened, disappointment sinking into his expression.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

She gave a sharp nod. “Why would I lie? I’m at my dying age, son. I’ve got no reason to make things up.”

She leaned slightly on her cane and added, “I live just next door. I know when anyone comes or goes. And none of them are around here right now, and that’s on period.”

Damien let out a slow breath, glancing once more at the quiet door. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” the woman replied, waving a hand. “You just looked like you needed to hear the truth.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I should be going.”

“Please,” she said, her tone softening…“don’t waste your time here’’…

Damien gave her a small, grateful nod before turning to leave.