Meanwhile
"The number you have dialed is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later."
The cold, mechanical voice echoed through the room as Patricia tried to reach Isaac.
"Grrr... aaagh! Why isn't he picking up right now?"
She growled, redialing his number—only to be met with the same robotic response.
"Grrr..." she snarled, tossing the phone onto the bed in frustration.
"Are you sure he left to follow me to the party and not... somewhere else?"
She turned to Alisha and Zach, who were in the room with her.
Zach shrugged.
"We don't know. We just mentioned you were going to the party, and he flipped out—leapt out the window like a maniac."
Patricia ran a hand through her hair.
"Maybe he got called out on another mission while he was on his way to see me."
"I guess..." Zach replied.
"Guys, look..." Alisha said, her eyes glued to the laptop on her lap.
Patricia and Zach joined her on the bed.
"What is it? Did you find something on Donnel McCoy?" Patricia asked.
"Not just something—a lot," Alisha replied.
"He's a renowned multi-billionaire business tycoon. Deeply invested in land and estate agencies. He owns multiple properties here in Costa Rica and in Luz. And he's just launched a new land project in Luz—a mega complex with hotels, restaurants, and small apartments. And guess where he's building it."
She turned the laptop around for them to see.
"Son of a bitch!" Zach cursed.
"It's the old block where we used to live! That bastard bought the place! Unbelievable!" Patricia exclaimed.
"Which means he's in cahoots with the local council, land developers, and the bank," Zach growled.
"That's why they came up with that bullshit about our house being mortgaged—to drive us out. The nerve of those bastards!"
"And not only that," Alisha added.
"Remember Dad's letter? The one where he mentioned working with someone to build clinics and care centres?"
"Yeah," Patricia replied.
"It was him. Donnel McCoy. Dad was working with him to build those clinics and centres. I dug deeper—Dad was the one funding most of the construction, and the buildings were even registered under his name. But the moment Dad died, that bastard seized everything. Claimed Dad made him the benefactor and gave him the right to take it all once he passed."
"That's bullshit!" Zach roared, jumping to his feet.
"Dad must've left those properties for us! He wanted us to run those clinics, to carry on his legacy. There's no way he would've left them to him."
"He did," Patricia said quietly.
Zach and Alisha turned to her, stunned. "What?" Zach asked, stunned.
"What do you mean he did? You mean Dad left those properties to McCoy—and not to us?"
"Yeah... he did," Patricia replied softly.
"But... why would Dad do that?" Alisha asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The same reason he hid his will from us. To protect us."
She paused.
"Dad knew about Montenegra's dealings, remember? He knew those so-called clinics and care centres were just a front for his dirty business—prostitution, human trafficking, drug manufacturing and distribution. Dad made McCoy the benefactor because he didn't want us involved. He wanted us far away from Montenegra's world. So we wouldn't get hurt."
"But he still involved us anyway," Alisha said, dejected.
"Yes. But only to get justice—not to be entangled in their mess," Patricia replied.
"That's fair," Zach muttered, collapsing into a chair.
A long silence followed. Each sibling lost in their thoughts.
Then Patricia turned to Zach, eyes sharp.
"Did you finally tell Isaac about the kid who's been banking on you?"
Zach shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
"No... not yet. I mean, he's still busy trying to track down that missing fugitive. I don't want to bother him with my problems. Not... right now."
"Mmm... but you still have to tell him. So he can bail you out. Otherwise, if things start going south, you might go down with them. Got that?" Patricia said firmly.
Zach exhaled and nodded.
"Yeah... I get it."
Patricia hummed in response.
"Well, I think we're done for tonight," Zach said, rising from the chair.
"Best I go finish this lovely evening in my room—with some popcorn and a movie. Good night, ladies. We'll see each other in the morning."
"Mmm... good night, Zach," Patricia said.
Alisha just hummed.
Zach walked out of the room.
Patricia sighed as she picked up her phone again, trying to call Isaac—but the same mechanical voice greeted her:
"The number you have dialed is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later."
She sighed again and dropped the phone onto the bed, dejected.
"So... what's up with you?" Alisha asked.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Patricia replied.
"Well... you've been acting kind of weird ever since you came back. And I have a feeling something major must've happened for you to be like this."
"Oh, really? Is that what you think?" Patricia said, forcing a smile.
"Well, don't worry—nothing major happened. I'm just... a little frustrated, that's all."
"Just frustrated? Really, Patricia?" Alisha tilted her head.
"You've called Isaac over fifteen times without getting an answer. He's probably out on a mission, but you keep calling anyway. That's definitely not like you."
She shifted to face her fully.
"Tell me—what's going on?"
Patricia sighed.
"I really can't get anything past you, can I?"
Alisha raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
Patricia exhaled.
"Fine." She paused.
"I'm worried Isaac might've snuck into the party at Wilby Manor... and saw me with..."
She sighed.
"...with Bernard."
Alisha's eyebrow arched higher.
"Was it really that intense?"
Patricia bit her lower lip, guilt flickering in her eyes.
"Well... more or less..."
"Oh my god, Patricia, I can't believe you!" Alisha exclaimed.
"Nothing happened, okay!" Patricia snapped.
"Nothing happened."
She sighed.
"Although... it almost did. I was quick enough to stop it. But I'm worried Isaac might've seen us—misunderstood the situation—and got angry or... disappointed."
"Disappointed? Patricia, come on." Alisha's voice sharpened.
"The poor guy must be heartbroken if he saw that. Weren't you the one who scolded him for being jealous of Bernard? You called it childish—said he didn't trust you to stay loyal. So what the hell are you doing right now?"
"Oh, okay, I get it—I'm a hypocrite!" Patricia snapped.
"Don't make me feel worse than I already do."
She exhaled and stood from the bed, pacing the room.
"Don't get me wrong, okay?" she murmured, turning her gaze to the window.
"I love Isaac."
She sighed again.
"More than I can even admit to myself."
A pause.
"But... there's something about Bernard. Something so alluring. I have to confess—it's starting to pull me toward him too. He's got this charm, this boldness, this daring energy that gets under my skin and makes me feel so... so..."
She hesitated.
"...different."
She turned back to Alisha, eyes heavy.
"Oh, Ali. I don't love him. But it breaks my heart every day to know I'm subconsciously leading him on. Bernard's a good man. And what I'm doing to him—it's cruel. Every time I try to set the record straight, I freeze. The words won't come. And it feels like I'm letting him down. Letting both of them down."
She slumped into the chair, burying her face in her hands.
"I'm a horrible person..." she whispered.
Alisha exhaled and sat up straighter on the bed.
"Look... I get it. You've been through a lot of heart-wrenching things in your life—so much that you're not even sure how to feel about someone anymore. And what makes it harder is that you've got two good—great—guys vying for your attention. Now you're stuck in a dilemma. Your heart wants one thing, your mind feels complete with the other. So you don't know who to choose."
She leaned in closer.
"But I know this for a fact: you'll make the right decision. You'll choose what's best for you."
Her voice softened.
"You're not a bad person, Sis. You're just a girl with a lot on her plate—someone who needs attention, care, affection, support, understanding, and love to face each obstacle. And both men have been giving you that, in their own special ways. That's why you're confused. But I trust you'll find your answer... and choose the one who truly makes you happy."
Patricia felt tears sting her eyes. Alisha's words cut deep.
She hadn't expected that. Not from her little sister.
She was in this dilemma because of her own mixed feelings. She loved Isaac—of that she was sure.
But Bernard?
What did she feel?
Gratitude.
Pity.
Friendship.
Care.
Infatuation?
Or... was it something more?
No, it wasn't.
...Or was it?
Patricia was now more afraid of the answer than the question itself—and that made her uneasy.
She needed to sort this out. To set the record straight.
To stop causing pain—to them, and to herself.
She couldn't live with the guilt of breaking both their hearts because of her indecision.
She had to choose.
And she had to do it soon.
"Wow..." she muttered, looking at Alisha.
"I can't believe my little sister is all grown up."
She wiped a tear from her cheek.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Seriously? You're just noticing that now? Unbelievable," Alisha said sarcastically.
Patricia chuckled.
"Well, can you blame me? This is the first time in, like, ever that we've had such a deep, heartfelt conversation. And I'm happy."
She stood from the chair and sat beside Alisha, wrapping her in a warm hug.
"Thank you, Ali," she whispered.
Alisha hugged her back.
"I'm always here when you need me."
The sisters held each other tighter.
Feeling the warmth of their embrace.
The love.
The care.
This was the comfort they needed in a complicated world.
Each other.
And nothing could ever compare to that.
Nothing.
Beep. Beep.
A small beeping sound echoed in the room.
The girls pulled apart, glancing around to locate the source of the sound.
It was coming from the laptop.
"It's a new message," Alisha said.
"From who?" Patricia asked.
"I don't know." Alisha opened the message.
A plain white screen appeared, displaying a single block of text:
"Canes et chacalli similes videntur, sed tandem alter naturam suam veram ostendet. Noli falli… effod thesaurum."
Patricia leaned in, eyes narrowing.
"Wait—I know this. It means, 'Dogs and jackals look the same, but eventually, one of them will show its true nature. Don't be fooled... dig up the loot.' I saw it at Governor Wilby's mansion back in Luz. He said it was a coded message used by the Black Tulips over 700 years ago. But he never figured out what it meant."
"Wait—there's more," Alisha said.
She scrolled down.
"Praesertim cum fulgur horologium media nocte percutit. Noli horologium spectare, alioquin citius quam palpebra moveri senesces atque morieris."
Signed, Paul Macguillary.
"Paul Macguillary? I've never heard of him. Check the translator—see what that last part means," Patricia said.
"Okay. I'll try to get the full translation."
Alisha snapped a photo of the message and ran it through her phone's translator.
A few moments passed.
"Okay, got it."
"What's it say?" Patricia asked.
"Alright... 'Dogs and jackals look the same, but eventually, one of them will show its true nature. Don't be fooled... dig up the loot. Especially when the lightning strikes the clock at midnight. Don't look at the clock or you will age and die faster than you can blink.'"
She looked up.
"Well... that's dark. What do you think it means?"
Patricia shook her head.
"I don't know. Try to find out who Paul Macguillary is."
"Okay..." Alisha began typing the name into her phone.
"Nothing here... not you... definitely not you... are you serious..." she muttered as she scrolled.
Then—
"Aha! Bingo!"
Patricia leaned in, alert.
"Paul Anderson Macguillary was a world-renowned novelist from 650 years ago. Famous for his thrilling dark romantic saga that took the world by storm—The Flower in the Teapot, The Flower in the Red Veil, The Frail Flower That Took the Spotlight—and one of his most mysterious elite novels..."
She paused.
"The Dark Knight and His Tulip."
They said the title together.
Then looked at each other in stunned silence.
"The Dark Knight and His Tulip was a famous—but deeply mysterious—novel among society's elite. Only ten copies were ever made, each given to a select few. No one knows who received them, or what the story was truly about. But the book made its author infamous.
His fame, however, didn't last.
He was brutally murdered by envious contenders. But with his final breath, he managed to scrawl a single, eerie name in his own blood—on a plain sheet of paper. People thought it was a title of a new book he was working on before he was killed. So that paper was later framed and immortalized by fans and family.
"Sheesh... who would want to immortalize something so creepy?" Alisha muttered.
"Chronalis..." Patricia whispered, eyes wide as she stared at the portrait—at the jagged word written in blood.
Alisha blinked, startled.
"Is that what it says?" she murmured, leaning in to look at the image.
Patricia didn't answer. She just kept staring.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room—
illuminating the picture on Alisha's phone.
The jagged word glowed for a moment in the electric light,
and a creeping dread slithered up their spines.
"Oh boy... this can't be good..." Alisha whispered.
Then the heavens opened.
Rain poured down in torrents, drenching the earth—
and drenching their minds with the fear of the unknown.
One question lingered in the air:
"What is IT?"
And somehow, they knew—
They were going to find out soon.
They were now more afraid of the answer
than the mystery itself.