Cedric stood by the study door, posture straight as he delivered his report in a controlled voice. "Sir, the head prosecutor just called. He said they are on their way to the manager's house. I also reminded him to bring the wife with them."
Raghnall did not respond immediately. He finished signing the last page of a document that had been sitting on his desk since dawn, the pen slowing only at the final stroke before he set it down with quiet precision. "Good job, Cedric." The study returned to silence after that, with Cedric remaining near the door without moving, waiting patiently as Raghnall continued reviewing files.
After a while, Raghnall closed the file and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening again as he shifted focus. "Did they find anything new regarding Dylan Fyre's movements before the crash?"
"Not yet, sir," Cedric answered. "However, our people believe he had help. There are too many missing gaps. His accounts were emptied too quickly, and several transfers appear to have been arranged in advance, possibly weeks before."
Raghnall's expression darkened faintly as he processed that. "I expected as much. A man does not steal that amount of money and disappear overnight without assistance."
Cedric nodded once before continuing. "There is another matter, sir," he added.
Raghnall's eyes lifted slightly. "What is it?"
"The wife."
That single word shifted the tone in the room. Raghnall's attention fully focused now. "What about her?"
"Our people have not been able to locate her," Cedric said.
Raghnall repeated it slowly, as if testing the information. "Not located her?"
"Yes, sir. The house was already empty when officers arrived. She had left before they got there, and according to neighbours, she was forced out yesterday."
A faint crease formed between Raghnall's brows. "Forced out?"
"That is what they reported," Cedric said carefully. "Dylan Fyre's mother allegedly threw her out immediately after news of his death spread, and the neighbours also said she looked… in a very pitiful state."
Raghnall did not respond immediately. His gaze shifted slightly away from the desk, not unfocused but distant, as though something in the report had pulled a memory to the surface.
A woman moving through a busy office corridor, arms filled with documents heavier than they should have been, still managing a polite smile whenever someone passed her, still acknowledging everyone with quiet composure even while clearly exhausted, and then the memory shifted without warning into something heavier, a bruised body, a frightened face, an unconscious woman lying in a guest room upstairs as if the mind itself refused to keep it buried.
His jaw tightened faintly. "What happened to you," he muttered under his breath, too low for Cedric to clearly catch.
Cedric blinked. "Sir?"
Raghnall straightened slightly, his expression returning under control as if nothing had shifted. "Nothing."
He rose from his chair. "I'll be upstairs."
"Yes, sir."
Before he could leave, a knock came at the door. A servant stepped in and bowed. "Sir, Doctor Ramesh has arrived."
"Send him in."
Moments later, Dr Ramesh entered with a medical bag in hand and an easy grin already in place. "Good morning, President Raghnall."
Raghnall glanced at him briefly. "I don't like that smile."
"That is unfortunate," Ramesh replied smoothly as he stepped further inside, "because I have no intention of changing it."
Raghnall exhaled lightly. "I should have called another doctor."
"You say that every time," Ramesh responded, "and yet I am still the one you call."
Cedric quietly excused himself, closing the door behind him and leaving them alone.
Ramesh took a seat opposite Raghnall without waiting for permission, settling in comfortably. "So," he said, leaning back slightly, "how is our mysterious guest?"
"There is no such thing."
Ramesh's grin widened slightly. "Interesting. Then explain why you spent half the night sitting in her room."
Raghnall looked at him without speaking.
Ramesh laughed under his breath. "That expression says everything."
"I was ensuring she was stable."
"Of course."
"I was."
"Absolutely."
Raghnall pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. "Ramesh."
"Fine," Ramesh raised one hand in surrender. "I'll behave."
A short pause followed before his tone shifted into something more clinical. "Has she woken again?"
"Briefly during the night," Raghnall answered.
"And after that?"
"She went back to sleep."
Ramesh nodded slowly, the teasing fading. "Expected. Her body is exhausted, and the stress she has been under did not start recently."
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. "The bruises I saw were concerning."
Raghnall's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"They were not fresh," Ramesh said. "Some were healing, others were older. That pattern does not come from a single incident."
The room fell quiet again, heavier this time.
Raghnall's voice was low when he finally spoke. "What are you saying?"
Ramesh did not soften it. "Repeated harm over time."
Raghnall said nothing in response, though the tension in his jaw tightened.
Ramesh leaned back again, as if stepping away from the weight of his own words. "Anyway, I came here to check on a patient, not to theorise."
"Then go."
Ramesh stood slowly. "You are unusually eager to send me away today."
"Because you talk too much."
"That is fair," Ramesh replied.
He reached the door, then paused and turned slightly. "One thing before I leave."
Raghnall didn't look up. "What."
"Do you like her?"
Silence dropped instantly.
Raghnall looked at him.
Ramesh immediately laughed. "That reaction alone was worth coming here."
"Get out."
"I am going."
"You should have become a comedian."
"And you should have gotten married years ago."
A paperweight shifted slightly on the desk as Raghnall's hand moved, and Ramesh left a little faster than before.
Upstairs, Freya sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket pushed aside as she adjusted to full wakefulness. The first thing she noticed was that the heaviness in her head had mostly faded, and the second was that her clothes had been neatly folded and placed nearby, while the third was her luggage, all of it brought into the room and arranged as though nothing had been lost.
Her breath caught slightly as she moved closer, crouching beside the bags and looking over them in silence before touching them. Everything she owned had been compressed into a few pieces of luggage, five years of marriage reduced into something physical and contained, yet still heavy in a way that had nothing to do with weight.
She opened one bag and found clothes neatly arranged, another held books, another contained documents, and nothing appeared missing. A small breath of relief left her as she sat back slightly, steadying herself.
At least nothing was taken.
A knock sounded at the door.
Freya straightened quickly and turned. "Come in."
A nurse entered, middle-aged and calm, pausing briefly as she saw Freya awake. "Oh, you are awake."
Freya offered a polite smile. "Good morning."
"Good morning," the nurse replied warmly. "I will inform the master."
Freya hesitated. "Wait."
The nurse paused. "Yes?"
"Could you tell me where I am?"
A small laugh left the nurse. "I suppose no one has explained anything yet."
Freya shook her head slightly.
"You are in President Raghnall Blackwood's residence," the nurse said.
"President?" Freya repeated.
"Yes. President Raghnall Blackwood."
The name landed with weight, though recognition was faintly present. Even outside political circles, it was a name people knew.
The nurse continued, "He saved you yesterday. You were about to be hit by a truck."
Freya's expression shifted as fragments returned, the road, the sound of the horn, the sudden pull away from impact. "I didn't get to thank him," she said quietly.
"You can later," the nurse replied. "Doctor Ramesh will examine you shortly."
Almost immediately, another knock came.
The door opened again and Dr Ramesh stepped in. "Well," he said lightly, "the patient is awake."
Freya gave a small, uncertain smile. "Good morning."
"Good morning," he replied, moving closer as he began his examination. "Any dizziness?"
"A little."
"Headache?"
"Not much."
"Nausea?"
"No."
He continued checking her condition with calm efficiency, speaking casually while observing her responses, and after a few minutes he stepped back slightly, satisfied.
"You are physically stable."
Freya relaxed slightly. "Thank you, doctor."
"Don't mention it."
He began packing his instruments, then paused briefly. "Although…"
Freya looked up.
"You must be quite special."
Her confusion showed immediately. "What?"
Ramesh smiled slightly. "Nothing important. Just an observation. The President does not usually bring strangers here."
The nurse laughed softly at that.
Freya looked between them, still confused. "I don't understand."
"You don't need to," Ramesh said casually as he closed his bag. "I am only teasing."
The nurse laughed again, and Freya gave a small polite smile despite her confusion.
When they left, the room quieted again, and Freya remained still for a moment before her expression subtly shifted, the polite calm fading into something quieter and heavier.
When Ramesh stepped outside, Raghnall was already waiting.
"How is she?" Raghnall asked immediately.
"Physically, she is fine," Ramesh answered.
"And mentally?"
Ramesh sighed slightly, glancing back toward the door. "Not fine. Something happened to her, and it did not end cleanly."
Raghnall said nothing.
Ramesh adjusted his bag. "And for the record, I was joking earlier."
"About what."
"About you liking her."
Raghnall looked at him directly.
Ramesh's tone softened slightly. "But now I am not sure it was entirely a joke."
"That is not logical."
"It is if you know yourself."
Ramesh turned away. "I am leaving before this becomes my problem."
He walked off.
Raghnall remained standing outside the room, staring at the closed door for a long time before his expression tightened slightly, as another memory surfaced—Freya, younger, brighter, more composed, standing in a version of herself that no longer matched the woman inside that room.
And the contrast stayed with him longer than expected.