NOVEL NEXT Chapter 96: FuglyDuckling
The next morning came like the day of rapture.
Darren stepped down the grand staircase of his mansion, his polished shoes tapping lightly against the wooden steps.
The morning sun filtered through the high windows, long shadows were casted along the nest tiled floor. He adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, his face was blank and determined, all he could think of was the weight of the day already pressing on his shoulders.
At the bottom of the stairs, his housekeeper, Gladys, stood near the doorway, sorting a small pile of mail. The elderly woman looked up at him with a warm, knowing smile.
"Visitors today?" she asked warmly.
Darren shook his head. "No, you have the whole house to yourself." He picked up his coat from the hanger, sliding it on smoothly. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind making me something before I get back. It's going to be a difficult day."
Gladys chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Anything for you, dear."
Darren returned her smile — brief but genuine — before stepping outside. But the moment the door closed behind him, his face hardened once more.
The warmth was gone. The focus returned.
He got into his black One-77, turned the ignition, and drove off toward Brooklyn's house.
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Miles away, in a lustrous house overlooking the city, Ryan Anders woke up early, as he always did.
His room was pristine; minimalist, modern for the time, and almost clinical in its perfection. Large windows bathed the space in golden light, reflecting off the polished hardwood floors.
He stepped out of bed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. No messages. He preferred it this way. His mood was already sour.
Downstairs, his three housekeepers were already moving about, tidying up, preparing breakfast. Ryan barely acknowledged them as he walked through the house.
His car cleaner, a young man barely in his twenties, was outside, hunched over a Bentley Continental GT, polishing the rims.
"Is it done?" Ryan asked with a cutting tone.
The boy straightened. "Not yet, sir. Just a few more—"
Ryan clicked his tongue in irritation. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. "Forget it. I'll take the 911."
He walked past the boy, heading to another part of the garage. He grabbed the keys to his silver Porsche 911 Turbo S, stepped in, and revved the engine. Then, without another word, he sped off towards his destination: Wellington Realty.
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Darren pulled up in front of a modest but well-kept townhouse, shutting off the engine. He stepped out, adjusting his coat as he approached the door. Before he could knock, the door swung open, revealing a young woman, somewhere around teen age.
She looked at him with immediate intrigue.
"Whoa, you're tall," she remarked. "And well-dressed. Are you my sister's boyfriend?"
Darren didn't react to the compliment. "Where's Brooklyn?"
Candace pouted at his lack of amusement but pointed inside. "She's upstairs, second door on the right."
She led the way, attempting small talk along the way — something about the weather, something about school — but Darren wasn't interested. His mind was elsewhere.
When they reached the room, Candace leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, Brook, you've got a visitor."
Inside, Brooklyn adjusted herself on the bed, straightening in a way that clearly suggested to Candace that this guy wasn't just a random visitor to her sister.
But the moment Darren stepped in, their eyes met, and the mood shifted.
"Hey," Brooklyn said, her tone softer, cautious.
Candace glanced between them, then sighed dramatically. "We'll have fun," she muttered before leaving.
Darren shut the door behind her.
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Ryan entered Wellington Realty, moving with purpose. He approached the front desk, where an agent immediately recognized him, his posture straightening with a respectful nod.
"Mr. Anders, sir," the agent greeted him.
Ryan nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, if you don't mind, I was looking at a building, and I was disheartened to find out that it has already been sold. If you don't mind, can you point me to the agent who sold the property on Greenbaby, No. 147?"
The agent quickly checked a list. "Oh, yes. That would be…" His finger traced down the page before he found the name. "Victoria." He gestured toward a young woman with black hair, dressed in fine office attire.
"Thank you," Ryan said.
The agent, a clear bootlicker, smiled eagerly. "You're welcome, sir. An honor to help you."
Ryan didn't acknowledge the flattery, merely turning and making his way toward Victoria.
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Back in Brooklyn's house, Darren had already begun with his demand.
"You're not listening to me. You can't. No. You can't upload that story on the Teschmachers."
Brooklyn crossed her arms. "Darren, I understand where you're coming from, but you know why I can't do that." Her voice was patient and still firm. "The whole point of this is not keeping news like this from the outside world. People need to know what Alfred Teschmacher did."
Darren's frown deepened. His morals twisted inside him like a vice. "Rachel will be hurt," he muttered. "She's already going through a lot right now. I don't want this… I don't want her father's sins to become her cross to carry. Not now, not ever."
"Isn't that a bit hypocritical? Weren't they also trying to keep me quiet because they didn't want their friend to be affected by a scandal?" Brooklyn asked.
There was some truth to that.
"I don't care if it's hypocritical," Darren said with dark determination in his voice. "What I care about is Rachel. Gareth deserves it. Rachel... she doesn't deserve any of this."
Brooklyn softened. She'd never seen Darren like this. Not even when he got mad at her for trespassing. "Darren… you're making this difficult for me. I wanted you to know first so you wouldn't be caught off guard."
"I gave you this platform, Brooklyn."
Brooklyn sighed. "Darren, come on. I was going to find one sooner or later. You know that."
His eyes darkened as he looked down, lost in thought. "I can't let that come out. For Rachel's sake, I just can't."
Brooklyn slumped her shoulders pitifully.
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Ryan Anders stopped in front of Victoria's desk. She glanced up, professional and poised.
"You're Victoria, right?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Ryan Anders. I represent Steele Group. We were looking into acquiring a property, only to find it had already been sold. That property was No. 147 on Greenbaby."
Victoria nodded. "Yes, that property was purchased recently."
"Understood. Could you confirm the buyer?"
She glanced at her records. "The house was bought under the name of Pamela Steele."
Ryan nodded. "That clears it up. But the transaction. What was the account name that sent the payment to you?"
Victoria's professional smile faltered slightly. "Why do you need that information, sir?"
Ryan remained composed. "It's just a formality. We've had recent concerns about identity theft within the Group, and we need to verify that the transaction was legitimate."
Victoria's expression stiffened. Identity theft? If she had mistakenly sold to the wrong person, she could be in serious trouble.
"Oh," she murmured, now visibly uneasy. "If that's the case, I'd better check immediately." She turned to her system, searching through the records with new urgency.
"Good," Ryan said, watching her with unwavering patience.
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"You have to forget about it, Brooklyn. Burn it."
Brooklyn exhaled, frustrated.
"Brooklyn, you said you owed me, didn't you? For not reporting you for trespassing, for helping you with the platform?"
Brooklyn sighed, looking off to the side, deep in thought. After a moment, she turned back. "Darren… you care about this so much. But the thing is, even if I wanted to help, there's not much I can do now. The page has already been booked. It's been advertised as a big story. If you want this story gone, then you need to find me another big one. And fast."
Hearing that, Darren lowered his head. A big story. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His mind raced.
Well, for Rachel's sake, did he really have a choice?
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"Oh, found it, sir," Victoria said, staring at the screen.
Ryan's expression remained steady. "Good. What is the account name?"
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Darren took a deep breath.
"You want a big story then, huh?" he asked, his voice low and resolute.
Brooklyn stared at him, waiting.
Darren squared his shoulders, inhaling sharply before meeting her eyes. "Here it is."
His next words came out like a silent thunder.
"I'm FuglyDuckling." he said. "I'm the mystery investor you hate so much."
Brooklyn's eyes widened. in disbelief.
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Victoria's gaze hovered over the screen. "As registered in our transactions, Mr. Anders, the money was sent from an account owned by a Mr. Duckling."
Ryan's eyes widened, shock and rage surging through him.
"That bastard."