Chapter 4 Who's Rex Norman

Arden

I beamed with pride, settling into my new office, relishing my accomplishments. My focus shifted to the day's tasks when an impatient knock interrupted me.

"Hey," the company's security officer said, his expression serious.

"Any issues?" I asked, curiosity etched on my face.

"Yes, sir. Police officers are here, requesting your presence," he explained, his tone measured.

Shock coursed through me. Police officers? What could they want?

"I'll be right down," I assured him, watching as he departed.

Confident in my clear conscience, I headed downstairs to meet the officers. What could this possibly be about?

As I descended to the floor, a group of policemen awaited me. One stepped forward.

"Are you Mr. Arden?" he asked.

"Yes, how may I assist you?" I replied, hiding my growing curiosity.

The officer's expression turned stern. "You're under arrest, sir, for the assault of Mr. Rex Norman."

He handcuffed me, reciting the Miranda rights: "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be used against you in a court of law."

I stood stunned, struggling to process the sudden turn of events. The scene unfolded before our staff, who watched with hushed whispers and sideways glances.

"Excuse me... You can't... Are you even real officers?" I stammered, panic rising. "Do you have an arrest warrant?"

The officers patiently displayed their IDs and the arresting officer handed me the warrant. My mind reeled.

"Wait, this was a fight from last night," I protested, memories flooding back. "I was assaulted first! It was mutual."

I revealed the bruises on my body, evidence of the previous night's altercation. "I was defending myself."

The officer's expression remained stern. "My advice, sir, is to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you."

"Bullshit!" I fumed. "That jerk's influence reaches far. Tracking me down and arresting me within few hours? Impressive."

I realized I had underestimated him. It all makes sense now - his arrogance was rooted in his influence.

But he'd made a grave mistake – assuming I'd back down.

"I won't give in," I vowed to myself.

The officers escorted me to their vehicle, and we headed to the police station.

Isla

I woke up feeling elated, beaming with joy. With lectures ahead, I quickly got dressed.

"Good morning!" my sister Ana chimed, as I rushed downstairs.

"Morning!" I replied, unable to hide my radiant smile.

Ana raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so hyper this morning?"

I felt my cheeks flush. "Me? Hyper? No idea what you're talking about," I said, attempting to play it cool, but Ana's knowing gaze indicated she saw right through me.

"You're practically glowing," Ana teased, "and you've been humming nonstop all morning." She raised an eyebrow, studying my flushed face.

I dismissed her observation with a shrug. "You're exaggerating."

Ana playfully bumped her shoulders against mine, her smile mischievous. "Who's the charming prince who's got you swooning?"

I attempted to escape her questioning, walking away. "Anna, leave me alone. The bus will be here soon."

But Ana persisted, singing mockingly, "Isla's in love, Isla's finally got a crush!"

I spun around, laughing. "You don't know that."

Ana giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, I do. It's written all over your face."

"Can we go already?" Julian asked, his irritation palpable. "I can't afford to be late again because of you."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's go." She grabbed her backpack and flung it over her shoulder.

As she exited, she turned back to me with a sly grin. "Get ready to spill the beans when I get back. You're not keeping secrets from me!"

The door shut, and I heard Anna call out, "Hold up, Julian!"

I chuckled to myself. Anna was energetic and loving. Despite being five years my junior, we had almost the same physique.

My thoughts shifted to Julian, my fifteen-year-old brother. Once a jovial kid, he had retreated into himself after our parents' passing. I had tried to help him regain his sparkle, but so far, my efforts had been in vain.

As I reflected on my siblings, I realized that Anna's liveliness and Julian's reserve made them an interesting contrast. Both in high school, doing their own thing.

After attending lectures and juggling my part-time jobs, I headed to Vintage Club for my evening shift. As I arrived, I sensed an unusual atmosphere – the staff were all staring at me. I felt a surge of awkwardness but maintained a composed facade.

Suddenly, a colleague approached me. "Mr. Stanton wants to see you," he said, his tone serious.

My heart skipped a beat. Mr. Stanton? He was the proprietor of the club. I had never met him since starting work at Vintage Club. Even interactions with the manager were rare. Why would Mr. Stanton request my presence now?

I nodded, trying to conceal my growing anxiety, and followed the messenger.

As I walked, my mind raced with questions. What could he want? Had I done something wrong?

We entered the office, and I faced Me. Stanton, a man likely in his fifties, with a deepening frown etched on his face.

"Here she is, sir," the messenger announced.

"Good day, sir," I greeted, still curious.

Mr. Stanton's piercing gaze swept from my head to my feet and back up, making me shift uncomfortably. His silence was oppressive.

"So, you're Isla," he said finally, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Yes, sir," I replied, irritation creeping into my voice.

He cleared his throat, pausing before delivering the blow: "Your services are no longer needed."

I stood stunned, reeling from the double blow: the sudden termination and the proprietor's personal involvement. The latter unsettled me more.

"Sorry... Sir... Why?... What... I don't understand," I stuttered.

Mr. Stanton's expression turned grave. "Listen, miss. Your actions nearly destroyed my establishment. I can no longer condone your presence here."

Confusion replaced shock. "Sir, what do you mean?" I managed to ask, my voice shaking.

His response sent a chill down my spine. "I've said all I need to. Now, listen carefully: do not mention what happened last night to anyone. Erase it from your mind. Do not engage. For your own well-being."

I felt a surge of alarm. What was he insinuating? What had happened last night?

"Sir, yesterday I was-"

"Don't you ever listen?" he thundered, his face reddening. "Leave now and heed my warning!"

His finality sparked a raging fire within me. I seethed with anger, my instincts screaming to retaliate. But reason cautioned me to leave quietly.

Yet, the injustice stung. I was the victim yesterday, and now I'm being silenced and fired? Why must I bear the greater consequences?

I met Mr. Stanton's expectant gaze, my eyes locked in defiance. He waited for me to slink away, but I refused to obey.

"What grounds do you have to fire me?" I demanded, my voice steady.

His face reddened, irritated by my audacity. "Your services are no longer needed. Don't be obstinate."

I nodded curtly. "Alright, sir." Turning to leave, I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I swiftly blinked them away.

As I reached the door, the proprietor's parting words stopped me: "Heed my warning, Isla. You don't want a confrontation with the Normans."

I slammed the door shut, fury boiling over. Screw this job, screw Vintage Club, and who are the Normans, anyway? The name echoed in my mind, oddly familiar, but I was too angry to think much of it.

Storming out of the office, I seethed with resentment.

I walked out of the club, every eye upon me. Beatrice, my colleague, called out, "Hey, Isla!" but I ignored her, still reeling.

Undeterred, Beatrice chased after me outside, her voice persistent. "Isla, wait!"

I stopped, turning to her. "Beatrice, please, I'm not up for talking right now. Let's catch up later."

"I understand," Beatrice said, "but please hear me out."

My emotions boiled over. "Hear you out? No one hears me out! They just fired me!" I exclaimed.

Beatrice's face fell, her expression stricken. I immediately regretted my outburst.

"Beatrice, I'm so sorry," I apologized, my tone softening. "I'm still trying to process what just happened."

"It's fine," Beatrice said quietly, her concern evident. "I'm here for you."

"I think you were fired because of last night's brawl," Beatrice said. "I heard one of the people involved is extremely influential and wealthy."

I mentally ruled out Arden, thinking it must be Mr. Rex instead. I remembered the proprietor's word of me not having a confrontation with the Normans.

"Who are the Normans?" I found myself thinking out loud.

Beatrice's eyes sparkled with a mix of fascination and wariness. "The Normans? They're big time shots, Isla. Old-money aristocrats, ridiculously wealthy."

Her expression turned serious. "Hold up, you messed with a Norman? Oh no!"

I shook my head, still trying to process. "What do you mean? I didn't-"

But Beatrice was already glancing at her watch. "Duty calls, sorry. You'll be fine, Isla." With a hasty goodbye, she rushed back into the building.

I sighed, confusion swirling. If Beatrice was right, I'd unwittingly crossed some very powerful people.

I pulled out my phone and searched for "Rex Norman." The results stunned me. Their family photo exuded elegance, with designer clothes and sparkling jewelry screaming wealth and status.

As I delved deeper, I discovered Rex was the son of Hughie Norman, a self-made billionaire. His mother was the daughter of a late influential politician, whose legacy continued to wield power.

One image caught my eye: Rex lovingly kissing his fiancée, Nicole Kensington. My jaw dropped. The Nicole Kensington– my favorite actress, known for her captivating performances.

Nicole hailed from a wealthy family, and her engagement to Rex solidified their status as a powerhouse couple. My mind reeled.

Why would Rex, with his immense wealth and influence, make advances towards me, a simple waitress? It didn't add up.

I felt a mix of emotions: shock, confusion, and a hint of anger.

Concern for Arden's safety flooded my mind. I rummaged through my bag, relieved to find his card there. I quickly tried calling him, but the call wouldn't connect.

"Come on, Arden, answer!" I muttered, anxiety creeping in.

I tried again and again, each failed attempt heightening my unease.

"Good Lord, I hope he's fine," I whispered, my worry escalating.