CHAPTER 37: 37

AN: please note that all action that is carried out here is totally fiction and nothing more.

In the opulent confines of his private jet, Nix reclines in decadence, his gaze fixed upon the delicate parchment that bears witness to the binding contract of his marriage to Carmela. Each intricate stroke of her pen serves as a testament to their union, a union that wields power over others with an ironclad grip.

As the jet descends towards the awaiting tarmac, Nix’s countenance shifts subtly, his smirk melting into a mask of solemn anticipation. Stepping onto the solid ground below, he is met by Ken, whose grave expression portends the weightiness of the impending ordeal at the police station. With a silent exchange of understanding, Nix prepares himself to navigate the murky depths of the situation ahead.

Inside the precinct, a palpable tension hangs in the air as Nix is ushered into the interrogation room. The assistant investigator, a man of formidable presence and authority, meets his gaze with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"Good morning, sir," the officer begins, his tone laced with a hint of deference. "I apologize for any inconvenience caused, but the lead investigator on this case..."

"It’s quite alright. Let’s proceed," Nix interjects, a flicker of boredom evident in his voice. He had anticipated this moment ever since his fateful decision to rid himself of his uncle, a move he knew would draw both legal and extralegal scrutiny.

Taking a seat opposite the investigator, Nix preemptively addresses the unspoken accusations hanging in the air. "From the 12th to the 14th, I was in Paris. The murder occurred between 10 to 11 pm, and during that time, I was at my residence in Paris, reviewing documents. Here’s the CCTV footage for verification," he states calmly, producing the evidence from his pocket and placing it on the table with a measured air of confidence.

"And if you have any doubts, perhaps you should question whether I could have committed a crime in the United States while I was in Paris," Nix adds, a wry smile playing upon his lips as he retrieves a pen from his jacket pocket. "Since I’ve answered your inquiries, I believe my presence here is no longer required."

"But, Mr. Dean, I haven’t even begun questioning you," the investigator protests, his confusion evident.

Nix’s smile widens, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "True, but I suspect my answers have already addressed your concerns. After all, this isn’t my first time in an interrogation room, and it certainly won’t be my last," he remarks with a knowing wink before taking his leave, leaving the investigator to ponder the enigmatic figure before him.

...

Confined within the confines of Mr. Dean’s opulent bedroom, time seemed to stretch endlessly, each minute dragging on like an eternity. The steady rhythm of the maids’ footsteps echoed in the silence, their occasional visits serving as the only reminder of the outside world. Yet, despite their presence, a sense of isolation weighed heavily upon me, casting a pall over my thoughts.

The events that led to my confinement remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle with no clear solution. Mr. Dean’s abrupt summons, coupled with the cryptic phone call that preceded it, left me grasping for answers, my mind swirling with unanswered questions. But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remained constant my unwavering hope that whatever troubles plagued Mr. Dean would soon be resolved.

As I navigated the labyrinthine hallways of his sprawling estate, each turn a maze of uncertainty, my eyes were drawn to a striking portrait that adorned the wall. The figures depicted within its frame seemed hauntingly familiar, their faces etched in my memory like a half-forgotten dream. With a sudden jolt of recognition, I realized they were the same couple I had glimpsed in a photograph in Nix’s room an image that had vanished without a trace soon after.

But unlike the photo, the subjects of this painting bore a different aura, their expressions tinged with a sense of melancholy that tugged at my heartstrings. As I studied the intricate brushstrokes, a flood of memories washed over me, transporting me back to a time long forgotten.

It was then that realization struck me like a thunderbolt, knocking the breath from my lungs and leaving me reeling in disbelief. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with startling clarity, illuminating the dark corners of my mind with newfound understanding.

"That’s the young master’s parents," the butler stated, his voice carrying a note of reverence as he appeared behind me with a soft smile. "This photo was taken three months after the birth of the young master." He approached the table, where the portrait hung above, and retrieved some photos from behind a flower vase, extending them to me. "Unlike the twins, the young master is very attached to this house, perhaps because he was born and raised here."

The butler’s narrative unfolded like delicate lace, each word imbued with a sense of history and intrigue. He spoke of the circumstances surrounding Nix’s birth, shrouded in foreboding yet defied by resilience. Despite the ominous whispers and superstitions that surrounded his arrival, Nix emerged as a beacon of vitality, his mother’s unwavering belief in him casting aside the shadows of doubt.

"So she named him Nix?" I inquired, drawn into the tale woven by the butler’s words, his gentle smile confirming my suspicions.

"Indeed," he affirmed, nodding in acknowledgment. "Despite bearing a striking resemblance to his father, except form his hair color, Nix’s parents harbored fears of what might happen if he were to succumb to the same fate. Thus, they poured their love and attention solely into him, eschewing the idea of further children."

As the butler led the way, my curiosity burned bright, eager for the next Chapter in this intricate saga.

"What happened?" I pressed, trailing after him as he guided me through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors.

"The young master never became a spoilt brat like his peer,infact he hardly associated with others and preferred spending time reading or listening to his mom’s poetry." I suddenly began imagine everything he said and a small smile cropped up my lips

"He would say words like ’i’m too smart to associate my self with those petty spoilt kids’ while his parents would laugh behind his back watching him give a grand speech on not wanting to go on a school trip"

I guess he’s been a narcissist from the very start I thought to myself diligently following the butler from behind

"When he turned eight.." he continued "the twins came into our lives and everything seemed to be perfect until they came to a dead end" his voice filled with a grief that ecoded within the walls as we also came to a dead end

"Master and his wife were involved in a deadly accident and master’s wife uncle came to take the kids away.

Knowing the hatred the madam’s brothers had for my master I never dared try to reach out to them for fear of them being mistreated..but after two years the young master showed up in front of my house completely drained in the rain as he held both the twins

He brought me back here and requested I took care of both the twins while he visited sedomly"

"He visited? Where did he leave then?" I questioned just to have him shake his head

"I don’t know..but after the twins finished collage, he decided to move back to the united state and started his own company" I felt goosebumps cralwup on my skin after hearing all the butler said and for some reason everything he said felt like it was missing a piece, as I opened my mouth about to voice out another question the ringing of my phone stoped me.

"Artist Carmela?" The caller inquired while I confirmed "I’m calling on behalf of a painting of yours if you don’t mind can we meet up and discuss about it in details?" He said and it took me some seconds to digest what he just said.

"Of.. off course" I said, excitement bubbling up inside me. "Great, I’ll send you the location. I hope you make it, as this may be the only opportunity I have to meet with you, Miss Carmela," he said before ending the call, leaving me with a lingering sense of anticipation.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I couldn’t resist doing a little happy dance. "Mr. Butler, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I promise we’ll continue when I’m back," I said hastily, dropping the photos he gave me before dashing off to change.

As I stepped out of the sleek black car and onto the cobblestone streets of Paris, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness.

Nicholas Boucher as he had introduced himself is renowned art collector according to the internet.

I couldn’t help but tap myself on the shoulder for being able to gain the attention of such a personality. Walking into Le Rouge, an exclusive club in the heart of the city. I was determined to make a deal with him and I feel tonight was my chance to show off to the world.

As I approached the entrance, a stern-looking man in a tailored suit eyed me from head to toe before nodding curtly and stepping aside. The door swung open, revealing a sleek, modern foyer with a gleaming metal detector and a burly security guard who scrutinized me like I were potential threats. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I handed over my clutch for inspection. The guard’s gloved hands rifled through my belongings, his eyes scanning each item with an intensity that made me wonder if he was searching for something specific.

Meanwhile, another guard discreetly frisked me, his hands moving swiftly and efficiently over my body. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as he lingered for a moment on my sketchbook, tucked away in my bag.

Once I cleared the first hurdle,I was ushered into a luxurious lounge area where a stunning hostess greeted me with a warm smile. But even as i sipped our champagne and nibbled on canapés, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being under surveillance. Discreet cameras watched my every move, and the security personnel seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

As I made my way to the VIP area, I noticed a biometric scanner discreetly embedded in the wall. A tiny light flickered as it scanned our faces, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. This was some serious James Bond-level stuff! I wondered if Nicholas Boucher was a member of this elite club, and if so, what secrets he might be hiding.

Finally, I entered the inner sanctum a sumptuous room filled with the crème de la crème of Parisian society. The music pulsed, the lights flashed, and the crowd pulsed with energy. I scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of Nicholas Boucher’s distinctive silver hair and piercing blue eyes. And then, suddenly, I spotted him, sipping a drink and chatting with a group of admirers. My heart raced as I made my way towards him, my table and sketchbook clutched tightly in my hand.

"Carmela la peintre"