Virgin At 25-Chapter 99: WRONG PARCEL TO RIGHT PERSON

THIRD PERSON POV

TORY’S HOUSE

Aec didn’t wake up gently.

He twitched first, just a small shift of his fingers then a harsh, broken groan dragged itself out of his throat. Tory, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watched every movement like he had been expecting it.

The room was dim. Aec was on the bed in Tory’s guest room, hooked to a drip, chest rising unevenly. His face was bruised, lips cracked, hair messy from being dragged, tied, unconscious for hours.

Tory’s jaw tightened.

He’d tried calling Maxie for the past fifteen minutes but she hadn’t answered. Not once. And the more her phone rang without picking, the more his stomach dropped with unease.

He tried again.

Call failed.

He let out a sharp breath and turned his eyes back to the bed, just in time to see Aec force himself awake.

Aec blinked hard, confusion swaying through his expression as he struggled to sit up. Pain dragged his body back down, but he pushed again, breathing harshly, scanning the room...

Then panic hit him.

"Where..." His voice cracked, then sharpened. "Where is Sharon?"

He tried to swing his legs off the bed.

Tory didn’t move. He just folded his hands back across his chest and said flatly...

"If you don’t want to die like that lady, just stay in bed."

Aec froze.

A slow, dangerous coldness seeped into his eyes. Rage tightened his jaw so hard a vein pulsed in his neck. But the pain shot through him again, forcing him back on the pillows.

He gripped the drip line next. Tugged halfway almost removing it...

Tory’s calm voice cut sharply across the room.

"I might have a clue on Sharon’s whereabouts," he said, tone still lazy... but the message hit like a blade. "So don’t remove that from your hand."

Aec stopped.

He looked up at Tory with an expression so deadly the air between them felt like it could split cold, murderous, calculating.

His voice was low, controlled, terrifying.

"What do you know?"

Tory didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

"I’m not saying anything until Maxie gets here."

Silence stretched, thick and poisonous.

Aec said nothing. His glare alone could have burned the house down.

Tory pushed off the wall and walked toward the door, still perfectly calm.

"You better not try anything funny," he said as he reached for the handle. "Dad is looking for you right now."

Aec’s jaw flexed... Victor’s name was enough to pull a storm through his eyes.

Tory opened the door.

Paused.

Looked back once, emotionless then stepped out and shut it behind him.

Tory stepped out of the room and immediately dialed Maxie again.

Ring... ring... ring...

Nothing.

He tried again.

Still nothing

His jaw flexed, irritation mixing with an unease he couldn’t explain. He was about to dial for the fourth time when his phone vibrated with an incoming call.

Mom.

He stared at the screen.

Ignored it but it rang again

He hissed under his breath and finally picked on the third call, lifting it to his ear without a greeting.

Before he could speak, a thunderous voice blasted through the line...

"WHERE DID YOU KEEP AEC?"

Tory’s eyes narrowed.

Victor’s rage was pouring through the speaker, sharp enough to slice the air.

In the background, Camila’s voice snapped...

"Victor, stop accusing our son! He wouldn’t do anything like that!"

Then quieter, softer, closer to the phone she said

"Tory... sweetheart... where is Aec?"

Tory exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"Well, Mom," he said, tone deliberately calm, "I saw him tied up in Dad’s study. I thought someone invaded, so I took him to the hospital. But I left immediately he was being attended to."

The line went dead-silent for two seconds.

Then Victor exploded.

"YOU WHAT?! You took him WHERE?!"

His voice rattled through the phone like thunder slamming into steel.

"You interfered with business you knew nothing about!" Victor roared. "Do you have any idea what you’ve just..."

Camila’s voice cut in again, frantic now.

"Tory, which hospital? Tell us now!"

Tory rubbed the bridge of his nose, completely unbothered by the chaos.

"I can’t remember," he said dryly. "I was in a rush."

Victor cursed violently in the background while Camila gasped...

Camila’s voice softened again, too soft, too careful.

"Tory... why did you leave the hospital so quickly?"

Her tone had shifted. She wasn’t scolding.

She was probing.

Suspicious.

Tory’s brows pulled together slightly, but his voice stayed flat.

"Why?" he asked, as if genuinely clueless. "Was I supposed to stay?"

A beat of silence.

Then he added, with a hint of confusion,

"Mom... is something wrong?"

Camila’s breath hitched. Victor’s rage still murmured in the background like a storm, but she quickly covered it.

"No, darling," she replied gently. "Everything is fine."

Tory nodded even though she couldn’t see him.

"Okay then, Mom," he said, letting the calm return to his tone. "I have to go."

Tory simply ended the call. He didn’t wait for a response, he just ended the call.

No hesitation.

No guilt.

No second thought.

Just a cold click, followed by silence.

Tory stared at the black screen for a moment, thumb hovering as if he would dial Maxie again but he didn’t.

Not yet.

His jaw tightened.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

- - -

Diana paced her room like a caged animal, the cold blue glow of her bedside lamp painting her skin pale. Her fingers trembled around her phone, pressed tight to her ear.

"Beatrice," she snapped. "Tell me you delivered it."

On the other end, Beatrice’s breath hit the speaker in short, nervous puffs.

"Yes, ma’am. I made sure the parcel got to Maxie. Just like you told me."

Diana closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

"Good"

That part was done. Now she just needed confirmation.

"Send me the picture you gave her," Diana ordered, voice tight but controlled. "Right now."

There was fumbling. A rushed "okay... okay!" from Beatrice.

A sharp ding sounded on Diana’s phone.

Diana opened the message and the photograph filled her screen.

One glance.

Just one and all the blood drained from her face.

Her throat seized.

Her eyes widened so fast they burned. It was not fear but recognition.

Diana stepped backward until she hit the wall, hand flying to her mouth.

"What the..." she whispered.

The body by the river.

The hair.

The torn sleeve.

Yes, similar but the jawline.

The shoulder curve.

The side profile.

She knew Sharon’s body better than anyone besides Maxie... because she was a rival

And this... This was NOT it.

Diana’s voice came out cracked, trembling with a horror she didn’t expect.

"Beatrice..."

"Yes ma’am?" Beatrice asked anxiously.

Diana swallowed, her hand shaking violently as she stared at the photo.

"This..." she whispered.

"This is NOT Sharon."

A quick gasp exploded through Beatrice’s speaker.

"WHAT? I know Sharon Yoo ma’am and that’s the outfit she wore the day the men took her!"

Diana didn’t answer

She couldn’t.

Her eyes stayed locked on the picture... Because now that she looked closer, something else was wrong.

Something off. Something staged.

And someone wanted Maxie to believe the lie...

Someone wanted EVERYONE to believe it.

Her heart pounded once, twice, painfully hard.

"Bea... tell me something. That picture, was it the one Mrs. Camila Langley gave you?"

Beatrice’s voice came through, steady but tense.

"Yes. She handed it to me herself."

Diana’s heart skipped.

"When?"

"Right after you instructed me to deliver it. I confirmed it was Sharon’s, then I took it straight to Maxie."

Diana’s jaw tightened.

"So... this parcel, this picture... it’s exactly what Camila intended Maxie to see?"

"Yes," Beatrice replied, almost breathless. "I didn’t alter anything. It went straight from her hands to the parcel, to Maxie."

Diana’s eyes widened.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

"Then... Maxie’s seeing exactly what Camila wanted her to see."

Beatrice swallowed hard.

"I... I’m sorry, Diana. I didn’t know it would... I mean, I just delivered it."

Diana’s voice went icy, controlled, deadly calm.

"Beatrice... no one delivers something this big by accident. Remember that."

Beatrice gulped.

"Yes, Ma’am ."

"Beatrice," she whispered, voice thin, fragile.

But before she could finish, a loud click echoed from her bedroom window.

Diana whipped her head in that direction.

Her breath froze.

Beatrice’s voice kept screaming through the speaker...

"Ma’am?! MA’AM?? DIANA?? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT..."

But Diana didn’t hear her anymore.

She was staring at the window.

At the shadow standing outside it

Diana’s finger hovered over the phone, her grip tight, knuckles white. She leaned closer, voice barely more than a whisper, icy and controlled.

"Beatrice... there’s someone here. Ask for help," she hissed, every word sharp, deliberate.

The line was silent for a heartbeat. Then click.

It went dead

Her breath caught. The phone slipped slightly in her hand. She stared at it, mind racing.

Had Beatrice heard her? Or was she... alone?

A shiver ran down Diana’s spine. The sound of a floorboard creaking behind her made her whip around, eyes narrowing. Shadows shifted in the dim light.

She wasn’t imagining it... Someone was here.

And now... she didn’t know if she would get any help at all.