Chapter 34 : Sharp hidden

Angela could see the doubt in Leonardo’s frowning face, even if he was looking blankly at the wall. She was disappointed about mentioning the lady in white again. “Forget it, maybe it’s just my imagination playing tricks with me again.”
“Maybe,” Leonardo said silently as he tried to touch something in his bed but Angela was quick to grab the pillow and handed it to Leonardo. Slowly Leonardo slid into the sofa and put the pillow on his back and sat there briefly quiet. “This is an old house, maybe, were not alone here. Maybe, there is some kind of entity dwelling among us here, only we couldn’t see them.” And then he was silent.
Angela sighed and decided to leave, “I think you need to be alone,” She retreated toward the door when someone knocked. It was Mrs. Gale, informing her of Fredrick’s arrival and that he was asking for her.
"Tell him I'm busy, Mrs. Gale," Angela instructed.
Leonardo intervened, his suggestion sounding more like a command. "Go, talk to him. If you're not interested, then tell him the truth. Don't let him hold onto false hope."
Reluctantly, Angela made her way to where Fredrick sat on the outdoor furniture, his gaze fixed upon the sprawling city below. She had no desire to engage with him, but she understood the need to respect her adversary to unravel his intentions. "How are you, Mr. Fredrick?"
"I'm glad you took the time to talk to me," Fredrick replied, a smile playing on his lips as he shifted to accommodate her presence. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No, my boss simply informed me that I had to face you," Angela responded coolly. "Sir, what can I do for you?"
"Please, don't call me sir. I quite enjoy hearing my name from your lips," Fredrick pleaded. "And give me a chance to prove my dedication to you."
Angela couldn't suppress her laughter. "What? Are you joking? Come on, Mr. Fredrick. You know that I'm aware of the connection between you and Miss Lara Chavez."
The tension hung heavy in the air as Angela's words lingered, leaving Fredrick to ponder the depth of his involvement with Lara.
"It's purely about sex because she's sick," Fredrick stated flatly, his words dripping with disdain. "And Angela, Lara is a nymphomaniac."
Angela hadn't expected Fredrick to speak so bluntly, and the revelation sent a wave of horror and humiliation through her. "If you're trying to impress me with such derogatory comments, especially by smearing mud on her forehead, you must cease this behavior immediately, sir," Angela demanded. "Because let me make it clear how I feel about you."
"Come on, say that you love me, Angela," Fredrick pleaded, his voice desperate. "I can provide you with everything you've never experienced in life—money, a luxurious house. Whatever you desire, I can give it to you."
"I don't like you," Angela declared unequivocally, her words leaving no room for doubt. "And to be honest, you're not my type, sir."
Fredrick was rendered speechless, his gaze fixed upon Angela. He couldn't believe he was being rejected so harshly. He frowned but managed to smile at her again.
"That's all I have to say to you. Expect nothing from me because I have nothing to offer. Not even a cordial relationship," Angela stated firmly, her voice unwavering. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to."
Angela turned away from Fredrick, aware that her words had dealt a severe blow to his ego. She knew she had delivered a harsh truth, but she believed that sometimes a snake could be vanquished by a mere twig from a tree. She made her way back to Leonardo's room, but he was already fast asleep. She didn't attempt to wake him, knowing he needed the rest. Instead, she resolved to check on everyone else in the house who might be wearing white attire.
Mrs. Gale donned a vibrant blue blouse, exuding a touch of sophistication. Her elegant presence was further enhanced by the flowing brown caftan dress she gracefully wore. Lara, on the other hand, opted for a comfortable seat on the bench outside the house, clad in a sleek black mini-skirt dress. Meanwhile, Angela observed them discreetly through the window as Mrs. Gale served coffee to Lara and Fredrick.
A wave of sickness washed over Angela each time she witnessed Lara and Fredrick engaging in casual conversation, their smiles concealing any hidden secrets. She withdrew from the window, preparing a cup of coffee for herself, and quietly settled in the living room. But the image of the mysterious lady in white she had glimpsed moments ago in the pink room lingered in her mind, unsettling her. Angela was certain that her imagination hadn't conjured it—the lady's movements were too natural, too human, and it troubled her deeply.
Suddenly, the main door swung open, revealing Lara, who locked eyes with Angela before shutting the door behind her. "Why are you staring at me like that, bitch?" Lara growled under her breath as she walked past Angela in the living room, ensuring her words were concealed from prying ears.
Remaining composed, Angela responded, "I apologize for my gaze, but it doesn't give you the right to call me a derogatory name."
Lara turned to face Angela, her anger simmering. "Your insolence might just come back to haunt you." She was poised to engage in a heated argument when Mrs. Vera unexpectedly emerged from her room, putting a halt to the impending clash. "How are you doing today, Lara?"
"Hello, Mrs. Vera," Lara greeted, her countenance transforming from anger to warmth, accompanied by an exaggerated smile. "We were just discussing the dinner menu."
As dinner preparations unfolded outside the house, Fredrick and Lara joined the gathering, engaging in conversation about the eagerly anticipated art exhibit. Fredrick's voice resonated throughout, taking the lead as he elucidated his plans and the meticulous arrangements with the staff and the chosen venue. Lara, in turn, provided updates on the distinguished guests who had been invited—predominantly art collectors with a keen interest in Leonardo's paintings.
As the evening wore on and Fredrick bid his farewell, everyone retreated to their respective rooms. Angela lingered, becoming the last to check on Leonardo in his chamber. "Is there anything you'd like me to prepare, Leonardo?"
Leaning against the edge of the bed, Leonardo contemplated for a moment before speaking. "How did you handle Fredrick's advances?" he inquired, his voice hushed.
"He's already been rebuffed," Angela responded, her tone conveying a sense of resolve. She recounted to Leonardo how she skillfully navigated Fredrick's attempts to court her, omitting any mention of her awareness regarding his ulterior motives.
"Very well, you may rest now," Leonardo uttered softly, his voice carrying a gentle reassurance.
"Goodnight," Angela whispered, her voice barely audible, as she stepped outside Leonardo's room and gently closed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the dimly lit lobby, its atmosphere permeated by the chorus of nocturnal crickets. The chilling breeze from outside had seeped into the mansion, casting an icy aura over its interior. After a brief moment of stillness, Angela made her way toward her room—the pink room. However, sleep was not her intention.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Angela contemplated where to begin her exploration of Esmeralda's diary. Her gaze settled on the drawer beneath the cupboard, and she resolved to uncover its secrets. As she rummaged through its contents, a sudden sharp sting pierced her finger, causing her to recoil. Looking down, she discovered a droplet of blood staining her hand. Nestled amidst the papers in the drawer gleamed a shining, ominous knife.
The sound of running water from the faucet filled the air late into the night. Angela found herself alone in the solitude of her thoughts as she tended to her injured finger, all the while pondering the presence of the knife. Though it measured a mere four inches in length, its razor-sharp edge held the potential for lethal harm. "What were you doing in that drawer?" Angela questioned, her voice laced with curiosity. Placing the knife on the table, she locked her gaze upon it, as if seeking answers within its gleaming surface.
"Somebody had hidden you in that room with a purpose," Angela concluded, her voice directed toward the inanimate object before her. "You belong in the kitchen, not hidden away in the drawer of a young lady."
With that final remark, Angela left the knife inside the drawer, its fate momentarily intertwined with her uncertainty.