The expensive mistake.

News

The dim light from the antique lamp on Eric’s desk casting elongated shadows on the walls of his opulent penthouse. Eric had already finished his dinner and dismissed Anton to his bedroom.

Anton had his own area in the penthouse, this was for security reasons, and Anton was the only person Eric could tolerate.

Eric stood near the window, waiting for the coffee machine to finish his espresso.

The building's exterior gleamed like polished obsidian in the evening light, reflecting the kaleidoscope of colors that danced off the skyscrapers surrounding it. Inside, however, it had natural woodwork all over the inside. Eric loved the simple yet stylish style.

As one stepped deeper into the penthouse, the air was thick with the scent of leather and an undertone of expensive cigars. The main living area was dominated by a grand, U-shaped leather sofa that embraced a glass coffee table perched at its center. The table, a masterpiece of artistry, showcased an array of fine whiskey bottles glistening in the light, the amber liquid swaying gently within their crystal confines. This was Eric’s favorite room in his whole penthouse. He always found comfort in this space, surrounded by remembrances of his empire—the framed photographs, the trophies of his successes. He remembered how his father had spent all his hours in this room.

Eric sat down turning on his television while he sipped on his late-night espresso. Switching through the channels the local news channel caught Eric’s attention.

That night, however, the tranquillity was shattered by a report that made his heart race.

The anchor's grave voice cut through the static of his evening routine, seizing Eric's attention.

“...and in breaking news, a young woman was attacked in her apartment on the East side. Authorities are investigating the scene and have yet to identify the assailant. We have been informed that the victim is in critical condition.”

Eric leaned forward, his breath catching in his throat. The camera cut to a blurred image of the apartment complex, a cadre of police officers milling about the entrance. But now, inches from the screen, Eric watched the news anchor continue,

“Witnesses report hearing screams coming from her unit around 7 PM. The authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward.”

Eric’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white against the black leather.

“We also just received that the victim is Tricelle Wincher, the current CEO of Wincher’s stocks.”

At that moment Eric’s phone started to ring, filling the silence. Eric snatched the phone answering it with a low tone.

“Yes.”

“Boss, it's Tricelle. Something’s happened. She’s been attacked in her apartment. They say she’s in critical condition.” Anton’s voice burned through Eric’s skull.

Eric’s world tilted on its axis. A surge of primal rage coursed through his veins, igniting a fire in his chest that drowned out all rational thought.

“I am watching the news now.”

Tricelle was fighting for her life, and he would do whatever it took to find out who had dared to harm her. He didn’t know much about her, but he knew she didn’t deserve this.

“Find out which doctor is in charge of her,” Eric commanded his voice a low growl. “And I want every detail you can find about what happened. Who? When? Where?”

“Got it,” Anton replied seriously.

“Find them!” he growled into the phone, his patience stretched thin. “The moment you have a name, I want to know.”

Eric got dressed and made his way to the hospital, his phone connected to his car.

He contacted its many tendrils—informants in the streets, corrupt cops willing to turn a blind eye, and old friends in other families who owed him favors. Eric was a maestro, conducting a symphony of intimidation and fear, unraveling every thread that led to the man who had attacked Tricelle.

Every single person he called, promised to find the person responsible.

Eric arrived at the hospital in record time. He walked into the hospital his face stern. The sterile white walls and the antiseptic smell felt foreign to him; he was accustomed to dimly lit rooms and shadowy corners. But today, he was here for a different reason.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation he knew was coming.

The moment he stepped onto the hospital grounds, he felt the eyes of the world upon him, scrutinizing him as they would a lion among sheep. This wasn’t his place, but he needed to see Tricelle.

Two security guards, broad-shouldered and steely-eyed, stood at the entrance to the ICU.

"Excuse me, sir," one of the guards said, arms crossed. "You can't go in there. Family only."

Eric opened his mouth to argue, but the guard's face hardened at the mere sight of him. "It’s hospital policy. No exceptions."

Frustration bubbled inside him. "You don’t understand. Tricelle—she’s my… my friend. I—"

The guard who had spoken softened his stance, lowering his arms slightly. "Look, I know this is tough, but—"

But before he could finish, another voice interrupted this one from behind the guards. A sleek brunette clad in scrubs, Dr. Elene Morales, strode into view, authority etched across her features. "What’s going on here?"

Her eyes met Eric’s—sharp and assessing—and for a heartbeat, they seemed to understand each other on some silent level. Elene knew that a high-profile man like Eric could only be there for the Wincher woman. She had seen him at a few charity events that was held for the hospital.

"Dr. Morales," said the first guard,

Dr. Morales’ expression shifted. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You’re here for Miss Tricelle, aren’t you?"

Eric nodded, his composure slipping just a little.

"She’s in critical condition, but you can see her. Follow me."

The guards stepped aside, and a pathway opened for Eric. Relief washed over Eric, hot and heavy, as he walked through the sterile corridors, the faint beeping of machines echoing in his ears. He couldn't allow his personal feelings to overwhelm him; he needed to keep his composure.

Elene led Eric to a private room near the end of the corridor, the door stood ajar, and the tension in Eric’s chest tightened.

He paused just outside, his heart sinking as he caught a glimpse of Tricelle lying unconscious, her delicate face framed by a tangle of her red hair. Tubes and machines surrounded her, a stark reminder of how quickly life could twist into chaos.

Before he entered, his phone rang. Quickly checking who it was, he answered. “The Red Horse mob,” Anton said in a serious tone.

Eric frowned, glancing back at Tricelle’s room. This rival gang is notorious for their brutality. They were a small group trying to carve out a reputation, but they had crossed a line.

Eric's determination transformed into a consuming hunger for vengeance.

‘Did they see her with me? And decided to make a bold move against me?’ Eric thought.

Dr. Morales placed a hand on his shoulder. "You need to decide if you want to talk to her, I cannot let you be here long, because you are not family.”

“Meet me at the hospital,” Eric said before he placed his phone back in his pocket.

The air in the room felt thin as Eric stepped into the room, every instinct in him screaming to protect her, to erase the pain from her life. And for the first time in a long while, he felt something shift inside him.

He leaned over, brushed his fingers against her forehead,

"Tricelle," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s me, Eric. I want to get to know you better so please, just hang on. I promise I’ll be right here."

Eric turned to Elene who was standing in the doorway.

“What are her injuries?” Eric asked.

“She was stabbed in her side, the blade missed the organs but she had lost a lot of blood, other than that, a few scrapes and her cracked jaw.

Eric turned his gaze back to Tricelle, noticing her swollen jaw. Rage was about to explode inside of him. Elene saw the tension building up in his muscular frame.

“The attacker, he is dead. The detective suspects she had pushed him towards the window. The 911 operator says the same.”

Eric raised his brow.

“It’s recorded…I can find out whose man it was.” Eric said softly.

A soft moan came from the bed, the rage inside Eric disappeared immediately as he moved beside Tricelle.

“Tricelle it's Eric, your safe.” He said gently

Without opening her eyes Tricelle whispered.

“Mister Fuzz.”

Eric frowned, "Who is Mister Fuzz."