Gutiérrez and Co.
The heavy glass door to Suzzanne Gutiérrez's top-floor office pushed open without a knock, without announcement. The two men entered — their shoes noiseless on the marble, their presence anything but rough.
Eduardo, with his piercing gaze, walked first, then his soft-spoken yet watchful partner Lucas. The air was crisp, seasoned with professionalism and a little bit hint of challenge as they stood firmly across her mahogany desk.
"Ms. Gutiérrez," Eduardo said, his voice even and calm.
Nothing.
Suzzanne sat behind her expansive desk, fingers tapping over her keyboard as her eyes stayed fixed on the screen. Her back was impeccably straight, her fitted black suit clinging to her like a layer of armor, and her dark hair fell like a dark curtain past her shoulders.
She hadn't even flinched.
Lucas coughed, clearing his throat and started over." Ms. Gutiérrez—"
Still nothing.
Time stretched. Five minutes passed. Then six. The silence was deafening. The only sound in the room was distant ticking of the wall clock and rhythmic tapping as Suzzanne typed.
By the 10th minute, Eduardo's brows were twitching in withheld disbelief. But before he could speak a second time, Suzzanne finally finished typing. Her hands stilled on the desk. She leaned back slowly, her eyes rising to theirs for the first time since they came in.
Her stare was cool, steady — a storm behind the glass.
"Knock before you come into my office," she said, her voice smooth but charged, like velvet stretched over steel.
"We don't knock," Eduardo answered, the smoothness of his detective's tone bordering on assertion. "If I'm not mistaken, you were the guest of honour at the MAC Organization charity event.
A pause.
"There must be more," Suzzanne responded coolly, the way someone might swat away a fly. Her eyes had no expression, unreadable, detached but aware.
Eduardo continued, "Your presence at the event led us to discover a body. A man. Found in poor condition, dumped behind the venue."
Meanwhile, Lucas was studying her face — each blink, every breath — looking for the tiniest flicker of emotion.
But Suzzanne remained statuesque.
Her expression didn't budge an inch.
"In what way does that concern me?" she finally said, voice low and fill with commands of power.
"Currently," Eduardo said, moving closer, "you're the only suspect we have. Or, to put it bluntly… the most likely person behind all this."
Suzzanne turned her head slightly to the side, a hint of smirk at the corner of her lips — an expression that could be interpreted as amusement or contempt.
"What makes you so certain?" she asked, leaning back into her chair with a grace that only someone of her stature could pull off — elegant but silently domineering.
Eduardo reached into his pocket. His hand drew back something small and shiny. He leaned in, precise as he put it down on her desk.
A rose brooch.
Conplex. Delicate. Silver with fine detail. Suzzanne's eyes immediately locked onto it. She didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Is this yours, Ms. Gutiérrez?" Eduardo asked, his tone suddenly sharper, suspicion strung between every syllable.
Lucas leaned in a little, watching her response like a hawk.
But she said nothing.
The air in the room thickened with tension. Her silence was a strategy, every second of it was.
Then Eduardo made a slight gesture, and Lucas passed him a thin file. Eduardo opened it nimbly and spread it out before Suzzanne.
"The man who died, his name was Arthur Ortiz," he said slowly. "An employee of yours. Or rather, ex-employee. Terminated by your office a month ago."
He waited.
So did Lucas.
They thought they had her. They were certain that the name and the brooch, as well as the body, would finally break her wall.
Suzzanne's gaze dropped to the folder. Then she looked up, her expression remained the same.
"I don't involve myself with ex-employees," she said, tilting her chin slightly. "He was irrelevant."
Then, with the faintest lift of her brow, she reached for her desk drawer.
She opened it, with steady fingers, and took something out.
An identical brooch.
She set it down next to the one Eduardo had brought.
"This brooch," she said, maintaining an ever-cool tone, "does not belong to me."
Eduardo's eyes flickered back and forth between the pair — identical in construction, sure, but the one she took out shined differently… newer, unmarked.
"They're alike, detective," she continued, her voice dipping only a shade now as she leaned closer, still another few knots of presence tighter in the twist of the tense present, "but not the same"
Lucas exchanged a glance with Eduardo.
The certainty they had walked in with was quickly slipping from their hands.
Suzzanne leaned back calm once more, crossing her arms.
"Next time," she said, voice quiet but cutting, "come prepared."
Maximiliano's House
A soft click of the remote reverberated through Maximiliano's apartment, the otherwise quiet living room filling with sound. He'd only just gotten comfortable on the couch, tie undone, a steaming mug of coffee in his palm and the other hand reaching for the blanket draped over the armrest.
The day had been long, brutal even; and this moment — a pause in the chaos — was the one he'd been waiting for.
The TV screen sprung back to life before him. Static gave way to a clear, vibrant broadcast.
At the bottom, a red banner flashed:BREAKING NEWS: SUZZANNE GUTIÉRREZ — PRIME SUSPECT IN MAC EVENT HOMICIDE!!!
Maximiliano's body froze.
His coffee mug trmbled in his hand.
Leaning forward, he squinted at the screen in disbelief.
"… the businesswoman and heiress to the Gutiérrez and Co. empire is now being investigated in connection with the murder uncovered during the MAC Organization's charity event …"
"…our sources say that she is being interrogated by lead detectives Eduardo Herrera and Lucas Peña. Although officials have not formally charged Ms. Gutiérrez, she is the leading suspect in an ongoing investigation…"
The anchor's voice echoed in his ears like a hammer striking steel.
Another channel.
He flipped. And again—her face.
"Sources close to the investigation have accused Suzzanne Gutiérrez of potentially having personal motives. The victim, Arthur Ortiz, had been reportedly fired by her company just weeks prior to the incident…"
"…many are asking today how someone with such a near-spotless resume could possibly be involved in such brutality. But some say they saw this coming — arguing she has always had an aura of untouchability…"
He switched again.
This go around, the headline took a harsher tone.
"THE ICE QUEEN KILLS? CEO OF COMPANY IN CHARITY MURDER CASE"
Maximiliano felt his throat dry.
"No… no, it can't be…" he muttered to himself, his hand gradually lowering the remote to his lap.
His heart pounded in his chest. That familiar anxiety — the cold sweat of dread — crawled down the back of his neck. The woman he had worked alongside, respected and at times feared now and even cared had her name plastered across the mud of headlines.
He slumped deeper into the couch cushions, attempting to absorb it all.
A wave of fear swept over him. Could it be true? Was she concealing all this under that poised exterior? Could she….do such a thing?
He tried to brush it off. Tried to convince himself that this was just media chaos — the distortion of stories without proof.
Yet lurking beneath lay one thought clawing up the back of his mind:
What if she really did it?
And worse—
What if she had more to do?
Suzzanne's Mansion
The Gutiérrez estate loomed like a shadowed fortress beneath the silver kiss of moonlight. It was not merely a residence — it was an empire forged from stone and silence, draped in gothic opulence and whispers of power.
The great wood doors stood like weathered Guardians, their old grain embossed with the markings of a forgotten age.
The high ceilings loomed like abandoned royal halls above, girdled by billows of white curtains that folded in resplendent undulation at the touch of a passing breeze, ghostly and lithe.
Inside, the bedroom flooded with moonlight.
It flooded in through the huge arched balcony doors, bathing the stone floor with a subtle pale light.
Behind her, the king-sized bed — carved in dark oak with gothic lionhead motifs — remained untouched, topped with sumptuous velvet pillows and satin sheets in muted gray.
But Suzzanne sat outside in her balcony.
Sitting demurely at the wrought-iron balcony table, she seemed like a marble statue abandoned to the stars.
A white silk slip dress hung on her body like a effortless grace, the fabric catching the light of the moon. A matching silk robe draped over her shoulders, just loose enough to reveal her collarbone, glimmering white as porcelain under the faint light. Her black hair straight and sleek, draped over one side, a sharp contrast to the soft white fabric that adorned her.
Next to her was a small wooden table with a crystal glass of untouched red wine — and her iPad, glowing softly against the dark.
Her dark, unreadable eyes scanned the screen with ice-cold precision.
"SUZZANNE GUTIÉRREZ: THE ICE QUEEN WHO STARTED SO WELL, BUT ENDED UP A SUSPECT"
"BENEATH THE POWER—MURDER?"
"IS GUTIÉRREZ INC. BUILT ON BLOOD?"
Headline after headline.
Speculation. Accusation. A storm of controversy.
Yet not a flicker crossed her face.
No tightening of the jaw. No scoff. No exhale of disbelief.
Just calm.
Composed.
Almost… serene.
She had seen this coming. The moment Arthur's corpse was found, she knew the dominoes were about to fall— and she'd positioned herself just so. Everything was moving. Pieces were shifting. And now… the world was starting to look precisely like she needed it to.
Her fingertip swiped lazily across the screen, browsing through the wreckage like a reader thumbing through a magazine.
And then, with quiet finality, she gently set the iPad down on the table. A soft clink of glass, as her knuckles grazed the wineglass next to it.
Shw leaned back into the chair, arms resting at either side, gaze looking up.
When she looked above, the sky unfurled like velvet — an inky black sewn with stars. The moon was low, full, spilling silver on her skin like a lover's touch.
She closed her eyes.
Not to rest from exhaustion, but to enjoy the silence. To breathe in the stillness of a world that now viewed her differently.
She was not the queen in marble towers anymore.
She was something else now.
Something they feared.
And in that fear … she found peace.
The corners of her lips touched each other, as the soft breeze stroked her skin.
Off in the distance, an owl hooted into the night.
She didn't move.
She was just there — she simply existed—unshaken, unreadable, and absolutely in control.
Author's Note:
Thankyou for reading<3
Have a Good Day/Night <3<3