Chapter 4
Marlene stood outside the convenience store, pressing a cup of ice against her throbbing cheek.
Suddenly, a handkerchief appeared in her line of sight.
“Careful with that ice,” a voice said gently. “With skin that delicate, you might end up with frostbite if you keep that up.”
Marlene looked up and realized it was the man who’d once called himself a doctor and advised her to try some honey water.
He wore a simple jacket, but his well–proportioned frame lent the casual garb an air of effortless refinement.
“Alaric Jensen,” he introduced himself, flashing a disarming smile.
Leaning back against the wall, he braced his hands behind him and
chuckled.
“Funny thing Every time I run into you, you seem to be having a terrible day.”
Marlene shot him a withering glare, and he immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening.
“Whoa, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t making fun of you.”
She found him utterly bizarre. Too drained to entertain his chatter, she grabbed her high heels from the ground and walked off without a word.
“Hey, Ms. Fawcett!” Alaric called after her, his voice carrying a playful lilt. “We’ll see each other again!”
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Her steps faltered for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossing her face as she processed his words. Then she shook it off and kept walking.
Days later, in a cozy cafe, Marlene sat across from Alaric, watching in mild disbelief as he polished off his third slice of cake with gusto.
Alaric was the guy Marlene’s aunt tried to set her up with.
As Alaric reached for a fourth slice, Marlene interjected, her tone polite but firm.
“Dr. Jensen, I’m really sorry, but I’m really not in the mood for dating right now. My family set this up without asking me. I’m sorry… The cake’s on me; just eat as much as you want.”
Alaric paused mid–bite, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Well, Ms. Fawcett, if you’re footing the bill, I might just clear out their entire display case.”
After that little encounter, they went their separate ways. Alaric seemed to vanish from Marlene’s life as quickly as he’d appeared.
Monday rolled around, and Marlene dragged herself to work.
With her resignation looming, Marlene was swamped with handing off projects, her days busier than ever. Even her lunch breaks were squeezed into fleeting moments of reprieve.
That afternoon, Marlene was massaging her aching neck, about to steal a quick nap, when her phone buzzed with a call from Kenyon. On the phone, he demanded that she go to his office immediately.
In the office, the air was thick with tension. The company’s top executives filled the room, their faces grim, the atmosphere suffocating.
“Mr. Burt,” one of them said, breaking the silence, “the security footage
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shows Marlene was the last person in the meeting room.”
It was only then that she learned the company’s finalized project proposal had been stolen. No one knew who the culprit was yet, but Marlene, being the last person there, was the prime suspect.
“Mr. Burt, are you accusing me?” Marlene asked, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest.
Kenyon said nothing. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched like a taut blade, unreadable and cold.
“Mr. Burt, this is no small matter,” another executive chimed in. “If
there’s a mole in the company, the situation could be serious.”
“Since Marlene was the last one in the room, why not let her prove her innocence?” someone else suggested.
“Exactly. If she has nothing to hide, she won’t be afraid of an inspection. If it’s a misunderstanding, we’ll clear it up.
The executives‘ voices overlapped, a chorus of suspicion, while Kenyon remained silent, his gaze distant.
Marlene’s fingers dug into her palms, her spine rigid with defiance.
“I didn’t steal anything,” she said, her voice clear and unwavering. “I would never betray the company.”
A knock interrupted the room. An assistant entered, holding Marlene’s purse, and without ceremony, dumped its contents onto the floor.
“Mr. Burt, we searched her desk. Nothing there,” the assistant reported.
The executives erupted again, their voices a chaotic buzz.
“If it’s not on her desk, maybe she’s carrying it on her,” someone said.
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“Exactly. If we’re going to check, we should be thorough,” another added.
Marlene’s eyes swept over the clamoring group, realization dawning. She knew what they were about to demand.
Her gaze shifted to the man she had shared a bed with for five years. In that moment, he felt like a stranger.
Her voice trembled but held firm. “You have no right to search me. If you insist on an investigation, call the police and let them handle it.”
But then, Kenyon’s voice cut through the room, icy and detached.
“Take your clothes off.”
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Lateefa Khanam is a spirited writer who finds freedom in horse riding. She cherishes her mare and the newborn foal, calling them her little happy family.
