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───── ❝ prologue ❞ ─────
The woman was a walking mystery.
She wore a dark wig that hid half of her pale face; a ruddy dress, long enough to cover most skin of her legs. Late-night locals roaming down the street would turn to her sight, curious to discover who this attractive soul was, but preferred the enigma she carried, so they opted to conserve the image of her perfect frame.
If they learned the intentions on her mind, they would run away, wishing to never have seen her.
Turning into the darkest path, she hesitated, catching deep, encouraging breaths. A sole lamp scarcely glowed on the pavement, flickering continuously. Dogs barked from the distance, the sound eerily resounding through the deserted alleys. The clicking of her heels against the flooring accompanied these shivering noises. She regarded the homes, scanning for a precise address. As soon as she recognized it, she halted.
This was it, finally, she would confront them. She wanted to know about him. Her beloved. Footing towards the house, she headed to the backyard, where four handsome, tall men were hanging out, a cigarette on their lips.
A light igniting made her existence visible to them, the selection of clothes captured their attention, "regarde cette beauté. Je sa ferais tant de choses," unfortunately, she was fluent in French and she understood what he had mumbled. Defending herself from such words would only distract them for the real reason she had traveled across the world, so she suppressed them and took a courageous step closer. The biggest one nobbled on his lip and exhaled vapor seductively ―a failed attempt since she never really liked men who smoked―.
"I'm here for my husband," she harshly informed, her French, not her best as it always had been, she was too anxious. "I know you have something to do with his disappearance. I tracked you down. I know everything I need to know about you. Even if you kill me, someone has the data, ready to leak it if anything happens. Now tell me, where is Oliver Kane?"
The shortest one began to snicker, wheezing a little due to his addiction, "Oliver Kane," he repeated, tossing the cigarette on the ground and stepping on it as he leaned away from the vehicle, "he was stealing our money and ran away with it. We have nothing to do with him going missing, he must've left you. Realized he didn't love you. Not a smart move if you ask me."
"He did not run away! He bumped into one of your colleagues, Jose Torres, and they agreed on a meeting, with you, Mr. Aurand," the man looked aghast to hear his last name, almost intimidated, but he tried not to express it. "Where― is― my husband?" She took one stride nearer to the chubby male, who glanced at his watch.
