better choice

Chapter 3–4:

Chapter 3–4: Better Choice & Shadows of the Past (Expanded)

Better Choice Headquarters – Morning Pressure

The Better Choice building stood in the middle of the business district like a carefully placed statement—modern glass panels reflecting the morning sun, steel frames polished but not extravagant, and a quiet confidence in its design that said we are still growing, but we belong here.

Outside, traffic had already begun its usual chaos. Honking taxis squeezed between buses, street vendors shouted prices over one another, and office workers rushed past with coffee cups and tired expressions. The city did not care who succeeded or failed—it only moved.

Inside Better Choice, however, everything was controlled.

Air conditioning hummed steadily through the corridors. The scent of paper, ink, and faint coffee drifted from different departments. Staff moved quickly but quietly, each holding folders, laptops, or printed manuscripts. There was a rhythm to it—meetings, editing cycles, approvals, publishing deadlines.

And at the center of it all was John.

Better Choice was his creation.

Founded four years ago when he had nothing but reputation, risk, and stubborn ambition, it had slowly climbed into recognition. Not top-tier yet—not among the elite giants of publishing—but stable enough that competitors watched it carefully.

Out of 159 published books, 18 had produced breakout authors. Three had even been adapted into screen productions featuring known actors. It wasn't just luck—it was timing, selection, and John's instinct for stories that people felt rather than just read.

Still, John knew the truth:

One wrong contract could collapse everything.

One scandal could erase years of work.

And the industry never forgave weakness.

Joseph Sood – The Weight Behind Him

"You're late."

The voice came before John even reached his office.

Joseph Sood stood near the stairwell, arms crossed over his broad chest. His build alone made him intimidating—thick shoulders, heavy frame, and a face that rarely softened in public. Many new employees mistook him for security or worse.

But Joseph was neither.

He was structure.

He was discipline.

And unfortunately for John, he was also honesty wrapped in bluntness.

John barely looked at him.

"Hm."

Joseph sighed.

"You didn't eat again."

John walked past him.

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

"That's not the standard."

John waved at a passing guard without slowing.

Joseph followed behind.

"2:34 PM. Interview with Mrs. Madison. Don't forget."

"I won't."

"You always say that before forgetting something."

John didn't respond.

Instead, his eyes scanned the movement of workers—how fast they were moving today. Something about the energy felt tense.

"Your mother left earlier," Joseph added.

That made John pause briefly.

Then continue walking.

"Okay."

Joseph studied his back.

That "okay" meant nothing.

It never did.

Business Pressure & Hidden Problems

As they reached the seventh floor, Joseph opened a file on his tablet.

"KB Company contacted us."

John finally stopped walking.

"Never heard of them."

"New entertainment firm. Aggressive entry into publishing-media crossover. One of their actresses wants adaptation rights from one of our writers."

John frowned slightly.

"Name?"

"Still under negotiation. They want a meeting with you personally."

That alone told John everything.

Small companies didn't request CEOs unless they wanted leverage.

"Check their background," John said quietly. "Everything. Financials. Connections. Debt history. I don't want surprises."

Joseph nodded.

Then hesitated.

"There's also something else."

John exhaled slowly.

"Say it."

"Mrs. Precious had a drunk driving incident last night."

John didn't react immediately.

He just closed his eyes briefly.

"Anyone hurt?"

"No."

"Property damage?"

"Yes."

A long pause.

"Handle it," John said. "Company covers damages."

Joseph watched him carefully.

"And her?"

John's tone dropped slightly.

"She's already been arrested."

Joseph waited.

Then John added:

"I've arranged bail."

Joseph didn't comment, but his expression tightened.

This was the side of John few saw.

Not cruel.

Not careless.

Just… dangerously efficient when dealing with chaos.

Meanwhile – Mira's Uneasy Journey

Far from the corporate building, a black car moved slowly through another part of the city.

The interior was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of traffic outside.

Mira sat near the window, her forehead pressed lightly against the glass.

The world outside blurred into streaks of color—cars, people, buildings, movement without meaning.

But her mind wasn't seeing the city.

It was replaying silence.

Clara's silence.

No replies.

No calls returned.

Just nothing.

A void where communication used to be.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her phone.

"Something feels wrong," she whispered.

Barnabas, sitting beside her, leaned back with tired eyes.

"Maybe she's busy."

"Clara doesn't ignore me like this."

"People change."

That answer did not help.

Mira turned toward him.

"Can we check on her later?"

Barnabas exhaled.

"If you want."

Then she shook her head.

"No… you're right. She's probably just busy."

But her voice didn't convince even herself.

The silence inside the car grew heavier.

Outside, the road suddenly narrowed.

Traffic slowed.

Detour signs appeared.

An elderly driver apologized repeatedly.

"About one hour more, miss."

Mira groaned softly, leaning back.

"This is torture."

"Mira," Barnabas warned quietly.

"I know."

But frustration was already building.

Then—

She saw her.

A figure.

Dressed in black.

Standing near the roadside.

Mask covering part of the face.

Hands trembling slightly as she clutched a paper.

Burn scars visible even from a distance.

Mira's body reacted before her mind did.

Her breathing stopped.

Her chest tightened painfully.

The world sharpened.

Then collapsed inward.

"STOP THE CAR!!"

Her scream cracked through the vehicle.

The driver slammed the brakes.

Tires screeched.

A horn blared nearby.

Barnabas jerked awake instantly.

"Mira—what the hell—"

But she was already out.

The Street – Memory Collision

The air outside was harsh.

Dust mixed with exhaust fumes.

People turned their heads in irritation, confusion, curiosity.

Mira stood frozen near the car door, eyes locked on the figure in black.

Her hands trembled.

Her heart pounded so violently it felt like it might tear through her ribs.

Four years.

Four years buried.

But memory doesn't need permission to return.

Barnabas ran after her immediately.

"Mira!"

She didn't hear him.

Or maybe she did—but couldn't respond.

The girl in black had already disappeared into movement of pedestrians.

Lost in the crowd.

Like a ghost.

Barnabas grabbed Mira's shoulder.

She flinched violently.

Her skin was cold.

Sweat had formed at her temple.

"Mira… breathe," he ordered, voice sharp now.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Just shallow, uneven breaths.

People were watching now.

A woman whispered.

A man stepped back.

Barnabas pulled her gently toward the car.

"Back inside. Now."

Inside the Car – Collapse of Control

The driver spoke with a traffic officer nearby.

The officer froze briefly when he saw Barnabas.

Recognition flickered.

Then respect.

Then unease.

"M-Mr. Barnabas…"

Barnabas didn't answer.

He helped Mira into the seat carefully.

Her body felt weightless.

Too fragile.

Like something held together by thin glass.

"Hospital?" the driver asked.

"No," Mira whispered immediately.

Her voice was weak.

"I'm fine."

Barnabas studied her face.

He didn't believe her.

But he nodded anyway.

The car door closed.

The vehicle moved again.

Silence returned.

Except now it was heavier.

Mira stared at her lap.

Her fingers trembled.

That girl…

Why now?

Why here?

Barnabas opened a small pill case from his pocket without looking at her.

"You scared me," he said flatly.

"I know."

He handed her water.

She swallowed her medication obediently.

The bitterness made her flinch slightly.

But she didn't complain.

Barnabas watched her carefully.

"You need to stop reacting like this."

"I didn't choose it."

"No," he said. "But you can control it."

She didn't answer.

Then quietly:

"I thought she was gone."

Barnabas stiffened slightly.

Neither spoke for a moment.

The Question That Shouldn't Be Asked

"Mira."

His voice turned lower.

"Let it go."

But she wasn't ready.

Not anymore.

Her eyes lifted slowly.

"Brother…"

Her voice shook.

"What happened to that girl four years ago?"

The car felt colder.

Barnabas didn't respond immediately.

Outside, the world moved on as if nothing mattered.

He tightened his jaw.

"It's been five years."

A pause.

"Forget it."

But Mira's expression changed.

From fear—

To certainty.

"That girl…" she whispered.

"Did she really die?"

Barnabas finally turned toward her.

His silence was the answer she didn't want.

And the one she feared most.

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