The Heart System

Chapter 441: Chapter 441

I stared at the phone for a second before dropping it back on the desk. Chase. Maeve. Nala. The company mess. The system. It felt like every direction I turned, there was another problem waiting for me.

I rubbed my face with both hands and exhaled slowly. I needed a break. Maybe a vacation. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere without goddesses, corporate sabotage, hidden contacts, and unstable fucking boyfriends.

Maybe Carrie would let us use her summer house again.

I doubted it.

Still, it was worth asking.

I turned back in my chair, the old thing creaking under my weight, and looked through the glass wall toward the hallway. Maeve had just stepped out of the elevator. She was heading in the direction of Nala’s office, heels clicking against the floor.

Then she stopped.

Mid-step.

She stood there for a few seconds like she was debating something in her head, then shook it off. I saw her lips move, muttering something under her breath, before she turned around and pressed the elevator button again. The doors opened and she stepped inside.

I leaned back slightly.

"What are you hiding, Maeve?" I muttered. "And who the hell is K?"

My phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Security," a man said. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Marlowe. There’s a man here trying to enter the building. Claims he knows Mrs. Nolin. Says he has a meeting with her."

"She doesn’t," I replied immediately. "Apart from Anotta, her schedule’s clear. Who is he?"

"Older man. Refuses to give me his name."

I sighed. "Alright. I’ll come down. Have him wait."

"Yes, sir."

I ended the call, stood up, and headed for the elevator. A few seconds later, the doors opened, a couple of employees stepped out, and I got in. I pressed the ground floor button and waited while the soft instrumental music played overhead.

I had a bad feeling I already knew who this was.

The so-called father of Amelia.

There was no way he had a meeting with Nala. He probably just threw her name around because it sounded important. What he thought he would gain by getting inside the building, I had no idea.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out.

And there he was. The same man from before. Security stood firmly in front of the automatic doors, blocking his way in.

I walked outside and gave the guard a light pat on the shoulder. "I’ll handle it."

"Yes, Mr. Marlowe."

He stepped back inside, staying close enough to intervene if needed.

I turned to the man.

He was wearing a suit that was clearly too big for him. The sleeves swallowed his hands, the shoulders sagged, and the pants bunched awkwardly at his shoes. It looked like he had borrowed it from someone much taller and heavier, trying to appear respectable.

Around him, the other employees lingered in loose clusters near the building’s entrance, just outside the automatic doors that slid open and shut with a soft mechanical sigh. A few stood off to the side by the metal railing, smoking, their cigarettes glowing faintly as they talked in low voices. One woman cradled a paper coffee cup in both hands, staring down at her phone between sips. It was a calm sight... other than this punk.

When that old man saw me, he exhaled harshly and rubbed his face, then stepped back and leaned against the railing.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Tell me the truth."

"Jack," he said. "Who are you?"

"Evan. What are you doing here, Jack?"

"I’m here to see my girl," he replied. "Amelia."

"What’s her last name?"

"Hitch."

I shook my head slowly. "Wrong."

His jaw tightened.

"Are you stalking her?" I continued. "Trying to lie your way inside so you can get close to her?"

"I’m her father," he snapped. "And she owes me money. I deserve half of what she earns here. I fed her. I took care of her. I dealt with her useless mother."

"A father who doesn’t know his daughter’s surname," I said flatly. "Impressive."

"Let me in," he insisted. "I need to see her."

"How did you even get past the outer gate? Did you climb over?"

"I need to talk to her," he repeated, ignoring the question. His voice started rising. "I deserve half of her money. I’m poor. I deserve it."

"Lower your voice," I said calmly. "And leave."

"I’m not leaving until I get what I’m FUCKING owed."

"You already got caught lying," I said. "Her surname isn’t Hitch. And she doesn’t know you. You’re not her father. You’re just some delusional creep."

"You can’t talk to me like that," he muttered. "My girl works here."

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced inside. Security was already watching through the glass.

The guard stepped back out and stood beside me.

"Remove him," I said quietly. "And make sure he doesn’t come back."

"Yes, sir."

The guard moved toward him, firm but controlled.

I didn’t wait to watch the rest. I turned and walked back inside the building, the doors sliding shut behind me.

Maeve hiding secrets. Chase acting suspicious. A supposed father trying to extort Amelia. Problems stacking up faster than I could clear them.

And there was only one little ol’ me.

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It was eight when Chase’s door finally opened and one of his patients stepped out. The sun had set a while ago, the rain was gone, and the air outside the windows looked sharp and cold. The old man who left turned back with a polite smile toward Chase, who was still seated at his desk, then shuffled toward the elevator.

I noticed the laptop on Chase’s desk. It wasn’t the one he usually carried around.

Good.

Chase looked up and met my eyes, offering that calm, reassuring smile he used on everyone. I mirrored it, stood up, walked into his office, and closed the door behind me. I approached his desk and took a seat. He extended his hand and I shook it.

"Mr. Marlowe," he said. "Welcome. Hope I didn’t make you wait long."

"It’s fine," I replied. "I’m used to waiting."

He gave a small nod. "Ivy mentioned you’re working at a large tech company now, correct? How’s that going for you? Especially with your anxiety."

"It’s going well," I said with a shrug. "I still stammer sometimes, but I manage."

"That’s good to hear. And your homework? Did you complete it?"

"I wrote my thoughts in a notebook," I said with a faint smile. "But I forgot to bring it. Feels like I’m lying to a teacher."

He chuckled lightly. "No worries. Shall we begin? Let’s talk about—"

Yeah, no.

╭────────────────────╮

SHOP [Page 2]

==========================

• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)

• Time Stop (90c)

• 500 Dollars (50c)

• 1 Ability Point (150c)

• 1 Mastery Point (160c)

• Desire Aura (100c)

• Reputation Point +30 (200c)

• Mastery Evolve (1500c)

• Random Passive Skill (1700c)

==========================

Credits: 3589c

╰────────────────────╯

He froze mid-sentence, hand slightly raised, mouth half-open, eyes caught between blinks.

I leaned forward immediately and pulled his laptop closer, turning it toward me. It was unlocked. His previous patient’s notes were open in a document. I closed that and went straight to the desktop. Browser. A few scattered image files. And a folder with a nonsense name: "klsdjfsdkljf."

Subtle.

I clicked it. Password prompt.

No fingerprint option. Straight password request.

I didn’t know it, so I closed it for now. I needed another angle.

I plugged in the USB I’d taken from Nala and dragged the folder over. It copied without asking for the password. The file transferred as a zip. I didn’t know how to crack that myself, but at least I had it. Maeve might.

Once the transfer finished, I opened his browser and checked the history.

Some regular browsing. A handful of adult sites. Nothing shocking there. Then I scrolled further.

Multiple article links about him. Fourteen separate visits within twenty minutes. Each with a few minutes spent reading.

I shook my head slightly. "You really enjoy reading about yourself, huh?"

I clicked into one of the articles. It loaded quickly. He was logged in under a female username, with a woman’s profile picture.

There was a comment beneath the article that he had made with his fake account.

"He was so kind. He listened to me and helped me through everything. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without him."

Below it, another comment from a different account.

"I agree. He’s incredible. We need more therapists like him."

I copied the second username, "MamaXx12," and before I could even search it, the browser prompted me with a saved login suggestion for that exact account.

So that one was his too... MamaXx12.

Different female profile picture.

I leaned back slightly and opened another article. Same pattern. Logged in under another woman’s account. More praise. More exaggerated admiration.

I opened another site. Same thing. Different usernames. Different female photos. Same writing tone. He had created multiple fake accounts to comment glowing reviews about himself across different platforms. Huh...

I exhaled slowly.

"Nothing like manufacturing your own reputation, Mr. Bellings," I muttered.

Time was still frozen.

And I was starting to see just how deep his ego ran.

I didn’t really know how the therapy business worked. Maybe this was normal. Maybe a lot of them created fake accounts and left glowing comments about themselves to polish their image. Build a clean, trustworthy persona online so more clients would come in.

What stood out to me was that every fake account I saw was a woman. Not a single male profile. All women praising him, admiring him, defending him.

That couldn’t be random.

If most of the negative comments about him were written by women, then maybe this was his way of balancing it out. Rewriting the narrative. Making it look like women trusted him, adored him, felt saved by him.

That was useful information.

I saved a few of the article links to my phone, just in case they got deleted later. Then I closed the tabs, reopened the previous patient’s notes, and turned the laptop back toward him exactly how it had been.

I ended Time Stop.

Motion resumed naturally.

"...your work," he continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened. "Let’s talk about it."

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "What do you want to know?"

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