CHAPTER 22.

CHAPTER 22

Anniberry followed Ashley into the house, and she couldn’t help but wonder why everything was pink.

The walls, the tables, the chairs, the doormat—almost everything her eyes landed on was pink.

“Sit down, Strawberry,” Ashley said to Anniberry.

Anniberry turned to her with a slightly disgusted look.

“It’s AnniBerry,” she corrected.

Ashley burst into loud laughter. “My house, my rules,” she said mockingly.

Anniberry rolled her eyes and sat down on the sofa. She folded her arms and continued observing the place.

After a while, she pulled out her phone and logged into F******k, hoping to find a message from Merrilyn, Mark, or, better yet, anything that could give her information about what was happening.

But to her disappointment, there was nothing.

A few minutes later, Ashley walked over to her.

“What you feel like eating?” she asked, loudly chewing her gum.

Anniberry gave her a stern look.

“Thanks. I’m good,” she replied.

Ashley let out a small giggle.

“I see you’re still trying to fit in,” she said before walking away.

Anniberry watched her leave, then looked around the house again.

She couldn’t understand why a grown woman would paint her entire house pink.

“Maybe she has a child,” she thought to herself.

She picked up her phone again and called Marchen.

The phone rang.

No answer.

She called again.

Still nothing.

Anniberry tried several more times, but Marchen didn’t pick up.

Her frustration grew, and her mind returned to the incident that had happened at her house.

“Marchen needs to tell me who he really is,” she whispered to herself.

She let out a frustrated hiss.

She still couldn’t understand how her life had gone from being peaceful to this.

She was now hiding in a place she had never imagined herself stepping foot in, all in the name of safety.

What had happened to her life?

As the thoughts continued to run through her mind, exhaustion slowly took over.

Before she knew it, Anniberry fell asleep on the sofa.

Marchen was driving at full speed when his phone began ringing. He glanced at the screen and saw that it was AnniBerry.

He ignored the call and continued driving, but panic was evident on his face. His phone rang several more times, and he couldn't help wondering if something was wrong with her.

He was about to answer the last call when he approached a police checkpoint and quickly muted the ringing. Once he passed the checkpoint, he didn't bother calling her back. He was already close to his destination.

Marchen parked his car in front of a tall glass building with a sign that read PALMS COMMUNICATIONS.

There was a lot of activity around the building. People walked in and out, security guards checked vehicles, and groups of two or three stood around having conversations.

Marchen was trying to unbuckle his seat belt when a security guard approached and knocked on his car window.

Marchen turned toward him and wound down the window.

“Mr. Marchen, long time no see,” the guard said with a broad smile.

Marchen smiled as he stepped out of the car.

“How have you been, Fred?” he asked, returning the man's smile.

“I’m fine, Mr. Marchen. But why aren't you parked in the underground parking lot?” Fred asked, his expression turning curious.

Marchen looked around before glancing up at the building as though he were carefully scanning it. Then he turned back to Fred.

“Fred, if I'm not out here before you close for the day, wait around and come find me after everyone has left,” Marchen instructed.

Fred's curiosity deepened. He wondered if something was wrong. What could possibly go wrong in a public building? But he decided not to ask questions. He knew there were other activities taking place inside the building, although he didn't know exactly what they were.

“Okay, Mr. Marchen,” he replied with a smile before walking away.

Marchen remained where he was for a moment, looking around and carefully surveying the area. Once he was satisfied, he adjusted his jacket and walked into the building.

He walked past several staff members and customer service representatives. Some were making phone calls while others were speaking with customers. A few smiled at him, and he responded with a slight nod of his head.

Finally, he reached the elevator.

He stepped inside, pressed the button for the top floor, and waited as the doors closed.

Marchen reached the top floor and stepped out of the elevator. He scanned the area carefully, his eyes moving from one end of the hallway to the other. After making sure no one was watching, he discreetly touched the back of his trousers to confirm that his gun was still there.

He walked toward a door at the end of the hallway. A tag on it read, CEO.

Marchen let out a sharp breath before twisting the doorknob. The door creaked open, and he stepped inside.

His eyes immediately fell on a fat, dark-skinned man sitting behind a large executive desk. He wore a black suit and a black hat, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He looked to be in his late fifties. Grey beards covered parts of his frightening face, and a deep frown rested on his forehead.

Beside him stood a woman who looked gentle and elegant at first glance. She had light skin, beautiful blonde hair, and wore a white skirt paired with a neatly tucked-in white chiffon top. Her red lipstick was perfectly applied.

She smiled.

But everyone who worked there knew better.

Victoria was deadly.

Marchen stood silently, saying nothing.

The man slowly rose from his chair and walked toward him. Before Marchen could say a word, the man threw a hard punch at his jaw.

Marchen's face twisted from the impact, but he quickly turned back to face the man.

“I see you have decided to betray me,” the man said, raising his voice.

Marchen stared at him without saying a word.

“Anthony Marchen.”

The man called his name in an intimidating, low tone.

“You, of all people. My most trusted man.” His eyes narrowed. “You found out about Palm's daughter, and you never dared to report it to me?”

Anger was evident in his voice.

Marchen looked at him with a confused expression.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Boss,” Marchen replied.

Immediately, Victoria let out a loud laugh. She walked toward Marchen and slowly circled him, studying his face with a wide smile.

“Really?” she asked.

She stopped in front of him.

“You mean to stand here and tell us that you never discovered Palm hid his daughter from us?”

She was still smiling.

Marchen took a deep breath.

“I really have no idea what you're talking about. Besides, Mr. Mars handled everything that had to do with Mr. Palm, not me,” Marchen replied.

The man suddenly burst into loud laughter.

He turned away from Marchen, walked back to his desk, picked up his phone, and made a call.

Marchen's expression remained calm, but his mind was racing.

He knew a lot was about to go down in that office.

He silently prayed that none of his secrets had been revealed to his Boss and Victoria. As long as they remained unaware of the truth, he could continue pretending to know nothing.

And if they had no solid evidence against him, his Boss would have no reason to act on assumptions.