Lucien Whitmore sat upright, his sharp gaze piercing the two men in black standing before him.
A cold aura filled the room.
"Six years," he said quietly, yet every word felt heavy. "And you still haven't found anything?"
His voice was not raised, but that made it sound even more dangerous.
The two men glanced at each other briefly before one of them gathered the courage to answer.
"Sorry, sir. We've traced everything. That nightclub, that hotel, even the entire guest list from that night has been checked. The women who came have also been identified one by one."
He swallowed before continuing.
"None of them has a red mark on the chest like the one you described."
Silence fell, tense and suffocating.
"CCTV?" Lucien asked shortly.
"It couldn't be recovered, sir. The data from that night is completely gone."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Leave."
One firm word, devoid of emotion. The two men immediately lowered their heads and left without daring to add another word.
The room fell silent again. Lucien sat still, then slowly clenched his hand resting on the desk.
It had been six years. Six years, and that woman had vanished as if she had never existed.
Yet strangely, the more time passed, the clearer he remembered her.
Her touch, the sound of her breathing, and that red mark.
"Who exactly are you…?" he murmured softly, more to himself.
His gaze darkened. "How could you disappear without a trace like this?"
A knock sounded on the door. Lucien turned his head, his expression returning to its usual coldness.
"Come in."
The door opened, and his assistant entered with a formal posture.
"Miss Valtieri has arrived, sir."
For a moment, the room fell silent again. Then, a faint smile appeared at the corner of Lucien's lips. But it was not an ordinary smile. It was meaningful.
"Let her wait," he said casually. "Tell her I'm busy."
"As you wish, sir."
His assistant bowed slightly and left without saying much. As soon as the door closed, Lucien leaned lightly against his chair.
His eyes narrowed. "We meet again, Lyra."
His tone was low, filled with something hard to define, somewhere between mockery and interest.
"With pride that high…" he continued softly, almost like a whisper, "I want to see how long you can last."
His smile deepened. Cold, confident, and dangerous.
"I'll see where your patience ends," he murmured. Not just a statement, but a promise.
Outside the president director's office, in the main lobby of Luxora Holdings, Lyra sat calmly.
Her legs were crossed neatly. Her gaze was straight ahead, cold and unreadable.
Beside her, her assistant stood in a ready posture. But the calmness was only on the surface.
"Does the president director of this company really not value other people's time?" Lyra finally asked, her voice flat yet clearly carrying impatience.
She had just been told by the receptionist that she was asked to wait. Even though this meeting had been scheduled several days ago. This was not an ordinary delay, it was intentional.
Lyra took a slow breath, trying to keep her emotions under control. She did not come here to argue. She came to save something far more important.
She came to save the Valtieri family's property company, which had been declining over the past two years.
At first, it happened slowly, almost unnoticed. But then everything collapsed systematically.
After Alberto had an accident and fell into a coma, control of the company changed hands.
The major shareholders appointed someone to take over operations, someone who turned out to be far less competent than they had assumed.
The decisions made began to go wrong. Large investments were made without careful calculation. New projects were launched without strong foundations. Cash flow started to be disrupted, until finally, one major project failed completely.
The losses were not only significant, but they also shook market confidence. The company's reputation gradually fell. Investors began to hesitate. Some withdrew their funds, and in a short time, the chain of problems grew even larger.
What made everything worse was that Alberto never told Lyra. Even while he was lying in a coma, and even after he regained consciousness with a body that was no longer the same.
He chose to remain silent, bearing everything alone for the sake of his daughter's comfort.
Until a few months ago, when his condition became critical again due to a heart attack. That was when Alberto's personal assistant finally contacted Lyra. And from that moment, everything changed.
Now Lyra stood on the front line, facing chaos she did not create, yet had to resolve.
She had studied everything. From financial data, project reports, stock movements, and one name kept appearing at the top, Luxora Holdings. A company that had surged sharply in recent years and now occupied the top position in the industry. The complete opposite of Valtieri Group, which was on the verge of collapse.
That was the reason Lyra was here. Not to beg for mercy, but to offer cooperation. A deal that could save both sides.
That company had been built from nothing by her father, as proof to the woman who once underestimated him, and to a world that never believed in him. And Lyra would not let all of it collapse just because of someone else's mistakes.
The shareholders were now starting to panic. Yet instead of taking responsibility for their own decisions, they blamed Alberto, accusing him of negligence and incompetence in managing the company. Even though they were the ones who had appointed the wrong person. Ironic, and utterly disgusting.
Lyra slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze returned to being cold and firm. She did not come this far to return empty-handed. No matter how arrogant the president director of Luxora was. No matter how long she had to wait. She would make sure this cooperation happened so the company would not fall.
Two hours had passed. The clock on the wall seemed to move more slowly than usual, stretching every second that felt wasted.
Lyra had remained completely calm until the question finally surfaced.
"Is it possible…," she spoke again, softly but sharply, "that he never intended to meet us from the beginning?"
Her gaze shifted to her assistant. "Didn't you say he was the type of person who values time?"
Her assistant straightened slightly. "We arrived ten minutes early," Lyra continued, her voice now a little colder. "And now? Two hours. Yet he hasn't even sent anyone to give an explanation."
There was no shouting, no emotional outburst. That was what made the atmosphere feel even more oppressive.
Her assistant took a slow breath before answering. "Please be patient, Miss. Luxora is currently in a very strong position. They know their value in the market."
He looked at Lyra carefully. "If they're willing to cooperate with us, investor confidence can return. We could even attract new investors."
Silence fell for a moment. Lyra looked at him deeply, as if judging whether those words were enough to calm her.
But in the end, she simply looked away. Clearly, the words did nothing to ease her irritation.
A moment later, her assistant reached into her bag. She took something out, then slowly handed it to Lyra.
A notebook and a pencil. Lyra glanced at it, recognizing the item instantly.
Her sketchbook, the place where she usually escaped when words were no longer enough.
"How about waiting while sketching?" her assistant said softly, this time in a lighter tone. "At least, it might help a little."
She gave a small smile. "You can pour all your frustration into it. Safer than taking it out on someone else."
Lyra did not respond immediately. Her gaze fell on the blank page in front of her, a page still clean, without any marks.
Silence lingered for a moment. Slowly, she took the pencil. The tip touched the paper. The first line was drawn.
Sharp.
Fast.
Without hesitation.
As if every stroke released the emotions she had been holding back.