Quinn's Mansion. Los Angeles, California.

Words can't describe how utterly free-spirited Rebecca was when she broke away from the  guests gathered around, already done with cutting her cake and feeding a slice each to her mother and Ashley. Greeting a few of the guests fortunately hadn't taken long and before her mother had finished hugging her, whispering into her neck what a fine job she'd done with her speech, the music had taken on a more electric vibe instead of the boring tune that had been playing earlier. Though things had turned out much better than she'd anticipated, all the nerves and anxiousness she was experiencing before proving to be unwarranted after, it still feels like a dead weight has been lifted off her shoulders the moment she stepped away from the podium, her half-eaten cake and the cameras that had been circling around her everywhere she turned. She judge it must be because she's that relieved to be away from the dazzling lights and above all else looking forward to finding out just where Colby has suddenly vanished to.

It's unreal to think he's still in her bedroom. She'd personally told him before she'd left that he should leave the same way they came in; through the back door connected to her painting room. The mansion is big but not that huge for him to get lost navigating his way around it even though the route she'd taken him to the pool area had been dark and barely recognizable. If anything, the current booming music at the party is a guaranteed give away to direct him to the hall which rules out only one possibility. He isn't here at the party on purpose and given his clear uneasiness about being surrounded by people, Rebecca can only guess he's outside, watching everything unfold from afar or simply kicking grass at the lawn or staring at dim-lit flowers at the garden.

For Rebecca, she's determined to get out of this party before she’s forced to give the interview her mother unfortunately promised the paparazzi  without her consent. The guests had been friendly and nice as to not give off any sort of brazen, rude attitude which would've propelled her to say something she might have regretted later but she can't trust the paparazzi to be so lenient. Just thinking of the absurd questions they might ask causes her stomach to churn but she doesn't let the thought dampen her mood nor does she allow it to wipe the smile of satisfaction stretching her face as she walks over to where her brother and Mercedes are standing and chatting, a small slice of cake between her fingertips.

Unlike her mother and Ashley who were warm and recipient to the gesture, Fergal once again prove to be a hard nut to crack. It doesn't astound Rebecca when he subtly inclined with a shake of his head his refusal for the slice of cake she's offering him. Rebecca is aware pressing may end up irritating him but she isn't ready to let Fergal off the dance floor tonight. He dragged her onto it and it's now time he dances to the tune of the music as well. "You have to eat it," she insists with a sugary smile, holding the cake at his face. "Remember, the cameras are watching."

Fergal's eyes narrow as his forehead wrinkle, no doubt thinking she's blackmailing him but for Rebecca, blackmail is out of context. She's just reminding him of what they've been bugging her about her whole life, even when her father was still alive. It was often her mother who used to scrutinize their every activity in the past and always made sure to let them—–including their father—–know the family's reputation is at stake even when they were going to something as harmless as a party at a friend's house. Fergal only inherited that behaviour after their father’s death and so far, Rebecca can say with every ounce of certainty that her brother is ten times worse than her mother.

After seconds of him being nothing but silent, pondering, momentarily glancing around, no doubt checking whether the cameras are on him and they are; Rebecca catches with a quick glance back over her shoulder. Fergal, without much fuss, opens his mouth. His teeth sinks into the spongy, rich flavour of the cake Rebecca knows so well by now and bites, the only thing giving away his displeasure is his scowl as he munches on it. Rebecca just smirks in victory, offering the rest of the cake to Mercedes who smiles and accepts it graciously.

"Happy birthday." Fergal's abrupt birthday wish causes Rebecca's eyes to widen slightly but the hug he gives her next almost knocks her off her feet. She can't decipher if it's for the cameras but she's grateful for the icing around her fingers, providing her a lame but viable excuse for not wrapping her arms around her brother as his are, enclosed around her waist and back.

"Thank you." Rebecca says once Fergal parts away, still slightly shaken, not only from the abrupt, affectionate hug but for the birthday wish as well; two things he hasn't done ever since she declared without much weight behind her words—–she now realize—–that they'll never hold a party at the mansion ever again. It was a tradition her father personally reserved for her and Fergal every year. Hence when he died, she saw no reason why they should continue honoring the custom. The banishment of the party had also banned the warm birthday wishes she used to receive from her brother in the past. He would send gifts instead with birthday cards every year although she often told him it wasn't necessary but even then she always wished she'd hear it from his lips instead of the birthday wish printed on a card. She had grown used to it over the years though; she hadn't even minded a month ago but after that brief interaction, Rebecca is reminded of the fragile yet strong relationship her and Fergal used to share.

She miss those days when she was able to read Fergal like an open book and how easy it was for her brother to read her every emotion even without words and his desperate concern for her when he'll see so much as a scratch on her skin. She miss those childish years when she used to exchange their lunch boxes just to tease him and enjoy three minutes of him kneeling and begging her to give it back to him only to inform him later she'd eaten his lunch. The complaints he would make to their father after school and his sulky face the next morning when he’d realize she hadn't been punished as their father promised was always a delightful treat to watch.

But the man standing before her now, the business tycoon, Fergal Devvit Quinn, isn't someone she’ll even dare steal his pen just to tease him. For the past ten years that has gone by, he has rapidly built a cold, formidable wall around his life, isolating himself from everything that used to matter to him before. What hurts Rebecca even more than anything about the shattered relationship she now has with him, is that even after all these years, he's still adamant that their father had been murdered. Every time he gets into a fix with their mother, he always makes a point to accuse them about how they aren't doing enough to make sure the culprits are sought out and punished.

'You will believe the words of a crazy man instead of a certified medical report?' Rebecca recalls screaming these very words to Fergal the night he'd fought with Annette over this same topic, resulting in him packing his bags and leaving the mansion that very night. The only reply he'd been able to give her was, 'I believe him and I'm going to find them.'

It has been five years since then and no one has been found. There are no medical reports which indicate their father had been shot or intentionally murdered in the arm robbery incident but Fergal is still insistent, stubborn, defiant and above all else, a passionately angry man sworn to find phantoms. For no one murdered their father. The medical reports and the doctors say he was struck by a sudden, deadly heart attack induced by fear and panic attack due to the arm robbery incident. They just robbed him of every stash of cash in his safe and that was it. No one even laid a hand on him but Fergal still insists otherwise.

At this point, she has given up all hope of having the once upon a time beautiful relationship she'd with Fergal. Every time a hope ignites in her heart, he ends up crushing it the next minute. Whether by leaving the country without informing anyone or missing one of her gallery events she'd dedicated to their father in the past or not even bothering to visit her even once when she was admitted to the hospital. She has lost all that right to comfort him and tell him everything is going to be alright when he comes around the mansion upset, informing their mother of the deal he has lost for his gold mining company. At times she thinks it's probably for the best their relationship remain as indifferent as it is but now that her brother has someone like Mercedes—–not Colby's ex-girlfriend, she reminds herself again—–who knows?

'He might cool down, he might change,' Rebecca wishes inwardly, grabbing a tissue from a tray a waiter passing by is holding, cleaning her fingers off the icing with it. She lets the hopeful thought simmer and boil in her mind as she addresses Mercedes, "Welcome to the family. I'm so happy to have a sister in-law and don't forget, we have a girl's day out to plan."

Mercedes wounds an arm through Fergal's, lowering her head onto his shoulder. Rebecca sees her brother flinch a bit but he doesn't complain, looking away instead, probably embarrassed. Rebecca had turned into the gossip type years back thanks to Ashley and she admits now, she will be all ears about how her brother and Mercedes ended up together. Envisioning her brother romantically sweeping Mercedes off her feet with promises of love is a bit hilarious but she refuses to think her mother is right. That Fergal won Mercedes over because of his money. "Thank you so much, Rebecca. You don't know how much your approval means to me. As for the girl's day out, It's impossible to forget. I'll call you soon so we can fix a date. Happy birthday again."

Rebecca smiles and nods, "Thank you. I'll hold you to your promise then. Enjoy the rest of the party. Excuse me."

Fergal's voice stops her before she scurries away, "Your gift is on your bed. Don't go complaining to Ashley tomorrow that I didn't gift you anything and if you'd like some changes made to it, inform me."

Rebecca wonders just what kind of gift can have adjustments made to it later but doesn't ask, acutely aware she's running out of time in escaping the paparazzi. She gives a warm smile and a quick nod to her brother before turning away. She was running ideas of the possible gift Fergal had gotten for her this year through her head while searching for Colby around the hall when Mr. Spear, without warning, appears in front of her. She immediately searches for an escape route, for Ashley, for Colby, even for the paparazzi above all the unlikely options to come save her from the lengthy speeches she's about to receive and that's when she catches sight of him at the courtyard, a smile full of humor on his lips as he waves at her when their eyes lock. She signals for his help, does everything, even mouths it knowing Mr. Spear's eyes are on her face but Colby doesn't budge, only shakes his head before mouthing a silent 'no'. Rebecca glares at him.

"Isn't it a a pure delight to see you again, my dear Becca?" Being one of her father's closest friends for many years, Rebecca doesn't mind him referring to her by a nickname as much as the gift he's inevitably going to present to her mere moments from now.

"It's nice to see you too, Mr. Spear. Are you enjoying the party?"

"Ah yes," he replies, beaming. "That's quite a motivational speech you gave back there. You poured your heart out, all the fears and the pain and vowed to get your life back. Your father would've been proud of you tonight, my dear Becca as I am."

Rebecca laughs, her eyes threatening to mist with unshed tears. "Thank you so much. Wherever my father is, I'm sure he must be happy. I should have gathered my life back together a long time ago but as they say, better late than never."

Mr. Spear retrieves a card from his coat before clasping it into her palm, bobbing his head up and down. "So true and for my gift to you on your birthday, here's a holiday trip to Cancun. It's a wonderful place. Serene, peaceful, relaxing. Just the perfect, quiet place for your mind and body. I've personally covered the hotel expenses and even your flight. I have everything covered for you and I hope this time, since you aren't busy with toys or assignments at school, you'll take up my offer."

There goes the teasing. Not the Colby-kind-of-teasing but still good enough to make her chuckle as she reads the info on the card. Cancun has always sounded lovely to her ears and the chance of going on this trip with Colby just sounds like a whole new level of fabulous but with his father's recent death, Rebecca isn't too sure he'd want to go. Colby's situation is much more tamer than hers but nonetheless, it's still a huge turn off. Getting him to attend her birthday party was a blessing. "Thank you so much. Really. You used to do it every year in the past and I never ended up going anyway and yet, here you are, gifting me another tonight. You really are so sweet."

"One can never stop doing good deeds. People might not appreciate it today but they will someday. That's just how life is, my dear Becca. Come on, give me a hug," Rebecca goes with the flow and let the man engulf her in a hug which ironically feels like an embrace her father would've given her tonight. She basks in it, for it is that longer just as she feared but she doesn't care anymore as long as she has enough time to mouth 'I'm going to kill you' to Colby who is still standing at the courtyard, his hands now in his pockets. His obvious lack of faith in her threats causes her glare to sizzle all the more. She swiftly replaces it with a smile once she faces Mr. Spear again. "God bless you, my dear Becca. I'm just going to speak to your mother about a few business related stuffs. We'll be seeing more of each other hopefully."

"Hopefully, Mr. Spear. Enjoy your night." After a final hug and smooches on the cheeks, Mr. Spear walks away just around the same time Ashley's voice booms through the hall, her friend unknowingly saving her from the paparazzi who are now busy covering Ashley's announcement of her upcoming fashion event. Rebecca quietly sneaks away from the buzz, waving the holiday card in her hand at Colby's direction. "What do you think of Cancun, Mr. Lopez?"

He shrugs, "Heard of it but never been there before."

"Me neither but I know it's an amazing place. Good music. Good food. Good people. Just think of the dark ocean," she dreamily says as she descends the stairs, "a bonfire blazing bright through the night at our right while we are sitting on the sand, a blanket wrapped around our shoulders as we cuddle, sharing a cup of hot chocolate." She halts before him, putting on her best seductive look as she asks, the card in both hands folded in front of her. "Would you like to go to Cancun with me, Mr. Lopez?"

"Let me guess," he leans in to whisper in her ear, "you're going to kill me there and dump my body in the ocean afterwards."

"Oh, it's nothing personal," she whispers back just as teasingly into his ear, getting tempted to lick his earlobe and nip. "Just a dagger into your heart. I promise I'll be there the entire time, kissing you and making sure it doesn't hurt too much. You can even have your way with my clothes and rip them apart as much as you want like you did with my green dress."

His mouth is so close on her neck she's certain if there weren't two to three people around, she will be spoiled with kisses, not just his hot breath. "How can I decline her majesty of her wish? My heart doesn't beat without you anyways so it's only fitting it stops beating by your hands."

"You are such a flirt," she laughs as she gently shoves at his chest. “It amazes me sometimes."

"And you are such a tease," he retorts playfully.

“I wasn't kidding when  I said I'm going to kill you. I needed your help back there and all you did was stand here and smile at my predicament. Where were you all this while?"

He vaguely gestures around the spacious courtyard, "Here.'

"Where," inquires Rebecca with a frown.

"Here," he says simply for a second time, smiling mysteriously.

Rebecca wonders what exactly his wistful demeanor means but she decides to humor him, playing along with his games. "There are many sections in this mansion. We have the courtyard where we're standing now. The garden, the garage. . . ."

His head cocks, "What?"

Rebecca is baffled herself, "What?"

"You were saying the courtyard, the garden," his head cocks further, "the garage?"

"What about the 'garage'?" He burst into hysterical laughter while all Rebecca can do is just stand there and watch him, his laugh so infectious that she's smiling herself although she doesn't have a clue as to what he's laughing about. "Wait, I just said the garage. . . ." that's when it hits her, "you're laughing at the way I said it, aren't you?"

Colby stops laughing and straightens to his full length, struggling to keep on a straight face. "You have a beautiful Irish accent, Rebecca."

"Then why were you laughing at me, you jerk?" She begins hitting him with the card repeatedly and Colby just dodges every time, still laughing, still teasing her and even if Rebecca wishes to get offended, she can't help laughing herself the moment he effortlessly draws her to him, their bodies flushed and just like the greediness only love can bring, Rebecca wants him much closer. "That wasn't funny, Colby."

He disagrees with a shake of his head, "It was. It was cute and funny the way you said the 'garage' in that Irish accent of yours. It was hilariously sexy and beautiful just like you."

Rebecca rolls her eyes, a smile she can't keep away tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Whatever, Mr. Lopez. For the hundredth time, where were you?"

Colby jabs a finger on her chest, right on the place that always races when he's near and purrs, "In your heart, the only place I ever want to be." She gazes at him, with love and adoration and she notes he can see it for he's smiling just as wide as she is, just as shy and love struck, lost in the moment of being here, in this lifetime, tonight. "Am I wooing you yet," he asks as he burrows his face in her neck, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin.

"You are. How come I never realized you need a shave?" It's only a featherlight kiss when his lips travel from her neck to connect with hers. She squeals when his tongue suddenly plunges into her mouth, deepening the kiss, tasting her hungrily. His hands grabs at her cheeks, pulling her in deeper and Rebecca is just lost in the manly scent and taste of him and the abundant love she never thought she'll ever experience again. When the kiss ends, her arms are now settled around his neck, his still on her cheeks. Rebecca dumps the tissue she'd used to clean her fingers off the icing somewhere on the cobblestone but she holds Mr. Spear's gift tight in her hand for she'll never know when Colby might be open to the idea of going to Cancun. She's all in for a romantic evening beside the ocean, cuddling and sharing a cup of hot chocolate. "You weren't there for my speech."

Colby grins and Rebecca gets the feeling he was watching from afar just as she thought. "You were quite loud for someone who didn't want a party. I could hear you all the way from the tree house. You did amazing. The guests seemed happy. You seemed happy. All in all, it turned out well, right?"

She nods in agreement, fingering the button on his shirt idly. She makes a mental note to tell him later how handsome he is in a suit. "It was. The moment I descended the stairs, I thought I was going to get looks like; 'look at her. The woman who had her groom abandon her for another woman and stormed into his wedding.' But that didn't happen. The guests seemed genuinely happy to see me and even the cameras weren't as obnoxious as I thought they will be. They gave me a bit of space and for that I just couldn't be rude to them in my speech. Sometimes it's best not to expect any negativity out of a situation. One will never know how things might turn out." She smiles at him next, tightening her arms around his neck. "I own the success of this party partly to you. You calmed me down. Told me everything is going to be alright and it did. You make me feel good about myself, Colby. You save me from my own fears and anxiety. You're like my. . . . Messiah."

He takes her hands into his grasp and kisses the back of it each, lingering on her left hand long enough to make her giggle. "If I'm so good and a saviour, don't you think I deserve a little gift in return for all the good things I bring into your life?"

"Says the one who didn't bother to bring me a birthday present."

He feigns a hurtful look, "Ouch. But I thought I was your Messiah?"

She smacks him lightly on the arm with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around the nape of his neck. "I take it back."

His arm tighten around her waist, "Oh come on. Just three magical words. Just say, 'I love you.'"

She tilts her head back when he attempts to settle his forehead on hers, "Nope."

"Rebecca. . . ." he drawls out her name menacingly but just as he doesn't hold any faith in her threats, she doesn't mind his at all.

"Not until you beg."

He raises his head to give her a full stubborn look, "Never."

Rebecca shrugs her shoulders, "Then I won't say it."

"You won't, huh?" Her hand slides away from around his neck when he begins tickling her ribs through the fabric of her gown. They clumsily dance around the courtyard, the card flying out of Rebecca's hand as she laughs amid tears of joy. Colby keeps tickling her, missing occasionally but always finding a way to hit the spot that makes her throw her head back in laughter. The next thing they know, the fireworks boom through the atmosphere, startling Rebecca who panics and throws herself into Colby's arms, clutching him tight, causing Colby to take a step back, almost falling to the ground due to the impact. He strokes her back while he laughs at her silly reaction. "Scared of fireworks, your highness?"

"I was caught unaware!" She says defensively, still holding him tight as the fireworks continue to boom and fly around in the sky in colourful fashion. "I just hate fireworks," she admits a second later, ignoring his mocking snickers which followed after her confession. "Ash is going to get from me." Some of the guests—the young girls—mostly fly out of the hall to the entrance of the mansion, pointing fingers at the fireworks as they clap and cheer. The sudden panic she'd experienced wearing off, Rebecca turns in Colby's arms to look up at the fireworks as well, just in time to see the gorgeous firework display of 'Happy birthday Rebecca' displayed in the sky. "Ash did this," she says more to herself than Colby who is standing behind her.

"She's a sweetheart," Colby replies, smiling.

Rebecca concedes with a nod, feeling warm encompassing her chest. Almost too soon, she's huffing as she catches sight of the paparazzi coming out with their cameras. "Take me away from here before the paparazzi force me to give an interview I’m not in the mood to give."

"As you wish, your highness." He suddenly sweeps her off her feet and into his arms and they are lucky they are standing a reasonable distance away from the entrance of the mansion so the people standing there doesn't see them and the few people that are at the courtyard are too engrossed in the fireworks to pay them any attention. He takes her across the lawn, down a path she hadn't taken him before and she suddenly wonders how he knew where the gazebo is for that's where he's taking her. 'Perhaps he had been giving himself a tour.'

But she doesn't mind as long as she gets away from the paparazzi and Colby is more than the desired companionship she wants tonight. "You truly are my Messiah!"

* * *

Pamela has never believed in trick of lights or silly phenomenon people call ghosts. The person she'd just caught a flash of sure isn't some deceased person she'd attended his funeral a week ago. Pamela has known Colby for close to seven years. She'd recognize him anywhere but the more she entertains the thought, the more unrealistic it sounds. Her mind refuses to believe it but her eyes can't be mistaken. She'd just seen Colby disappearing to the back of the other side of the mansion from where she's standing now, a woman in his arms as he laughs. As she attempts to weave through the crowd of people gathered in the midst of the courtyard watching the firework display to confirm what she'd seen, she forgets she's wearing a long, green dress. Before she can cross over from the courtyard to the lawn, she trips in her haste, right beneath the stairs leading to the entrance of the mansion but her knees never makes it to solid ground. A pair of hands grab her arms, preventing her fall and hauling her up before she even has a moment to squeak.

She looks up into the face of her saviour, expecting to say a simple 'thank you' and move on from her little embarrassing incident to continue her pursuit of clarification but the blue eyes she finds herself staring into keeps her rooted in place, her mouth slightly parted in shock. Mr. Fergal Devvit Quinn doesn't need to be told to let go of her arms; they are already off of her before she can tell it to his face, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a second, she's just staring at him. What exactly she's searching for on his face she has no idea of. She's expecting something she can't quite point a finger on. Perhaps it's that commanding, arrogant aura he always has around him when he's doing those business interviews she'd seen countless times on television thanks to Mercedes’s obsession with an ingredient for success Pamela has never understood that she expected to ooze out of him. She expected that cool, plain disinterest in everything and everyone he meets on television to be all over his face and in his posture but it isn't there. He seems. . . . normal. An ordinary guy who just prevented her from falling to the ground. And he's smiling. A half-cracked smile as if he knows something about her she doesn't. As if she's the miracle he was secretly waiting for tonight from the heavens. And it scares her.

"Pamela, right?"

 "How did you know?" It's too late to mask the heat with which she'd said those words and much too late to feel regret if she'd wanted to feel any in the first place. She knows Mercedes isn't the type who prefers blabbering about her friends instead of herself on a date with her boyfriend so the fact that Fergal knows her name to recognize her by face bothers her. 'Had he done a background check on me like Christian Grey did in Fifty Shades Of Grey? Why would he anyway? It wouldn't make sense. Be practical, Pamela Rose Martinez,' she scolds herself.

"I recognized you by the short, black hair and the green dress. It fits the description of you Mercedes gave to me. I'm glad you took up my offer and came to the party. Mercedes told me you didn't like parties too much so I'm sorry if she practically forced you to come here. It was on my insistence, not hers. I apologize for any inconvenience caused."

'It fits the description of you Mercedes gave to me tonight?' 'Mercedes told me you didn't like parties too much so I'm sorry if she practically forced you to come here?' 'It was on my insistence, not hers?' What the heck is he talking about? "I'm sorry but. . . . I really need to go. I have things to do so if you'll excuse me." That totally seems like the best option right now. She isn't looking forward to spending another second in his presence. She needs to find Mercedes so they can go home. She has already had enough of this party. It was a bad idea to come along in the first place and the mere fact that she'd had a drink splashed on her dress the second she walked in and having to spend almost twenty minutes in the bathroom, futilely trying to wash the stain off her dress and waiting for Rebecca to finish her speech so she doesn't spoil the moment by having all eyes on her if she'd taken the stairs, she has had enough of this day altogether. She wanted to shout at the waiter when he came back and told her there was a backdoor she could've left through and prevented all the meaningless minutes she’d spent in the guest room but decided it was unnecessary. It wasn't his fault anyway. It is Mercedes's fault for thinking she can forget Colby, a man she has loved for years and run after a rich man. It is her fault for not acting in time to prevent her friend from getting into all this mess. It is the man standing before her, Fergal Devvit Quinn's fault for not accepting the woman he loves doesn't love him back and refusing to let her go.

Afraid she may be tempted to say something inappropriate to Fergal and wanting to confirm for herself if it was indeed Colby she'd seen, she makes a quick attempt to leave but Fergal moves in front of her to block her path. She directs an icy scowl and a frown up at him, questioning with expression alone what he's doing and above everything else, what's going on here she doesn't know of. Fergal looks apologetic, wary and anxious when he says, "I don't want to be a bother but I really need to speak to you. You're the only one I know who can help me."

Pamela's frown deepen, "I don't have the faintest idea as to how I can be of help to you, Mr. Quinn. Now if you'll excuse me. . . ."

He blocks her way again and this time Pamela growls in frustration. "Please, listen to me. Just a second of your time. After that, you can leave. I promise I won't stop you."

There's something about the way he's pleading and begging that has her melting in a strangely, uncomfortable way. He looks desperate. Pamela can't understand how she can possibly be of help to him and the one thing that bothers her is when he said 'it was on my insistence, not hers.' Mercedes had pleaded with her to accompany her to the party but Fergal says he'd personally told Mercedes to bring her along. There may be various reasons as to why Mercedes hadn't bothered to tell her that part, one of the reasons being that she wouldn't have come along if her friend had told her Fergal himself wants her to be at the party. Nevertheless, her friend had lied to her. What else is Mercedes hiding from her? None of what's happening right now makes sense. Mercedes lying to her doesn't make sense either. They are friends. Best friends. Confidants. They share everything with each other. So why?

"Alright," she finally concedes, knowing there's no way out of this. Fergal won't let her go until she'd listened to him and all she wants is to get out of his rich life and into her quiet home, her friend preferably millions of miles away from him as well.

"Let's take a walk," he motions to the same way she'd come from and she obediently walks with him, away from the courtyard and the people there, away from the fireworks and light to somewhere dim and dark. When they stop and he faces her, she's still able to make out the lines in his face and he's suddenly more relaxed and calmer than when he'd asked if she can spare him a second of her time. Relief is more than palpable. "Don't worry. I'm not going to talk about Mercedes. I don't like to discuss my love life and I'm certain you won't be interested either since you want to head home so I better get straight to the point. Mercedes told me you work at Health and Light Hospital?"

Again with a little bit of information about her that Fergal knows and again Mercedes told him. Is that all they ever talked about on their countless dates in the past? Her? "Yes."

 "I want a favour from you. I want information about a patient that was admitted there about ten years ago and I thought you might be able to help me."

That wasn't what Pamela was expecting at all. "Ten years ago?" He nods. "I'm sorry but I can't help you. That kind of information will be in the hospital's archives and no one is allowed access to them unless for references for the doctors. I can't view them and tell you, much less hand them over to you. It isn't done that way."

"Listen, there must be a way for you to help me," he presses, "I really need to know all the information about this patient. When he was admitted, the cause for his admission, the cause of his death. I really need to know all these things. Please, it's important. Surely you can help me in some way."

"Mr. Quinn, I can't help you. Information in the archives are strictly confidential and when the patient is deceased as you’re telling me, his records are only kept for six to eight years at minimum. Rare cases are twenty to twenty-five years but even then, if you want to access records of a deceased person, one has to come with a family member to get authorization to view the records. If you aren't a family member, it's impossible for us to give you that information."

His jaw clenches "I am a family member. The patient I'm talking about is my father."

"Excuse me?" Pamela asks, taken aback.

Fergal doesn't appear too happy to give her the next details. Something tells Pamela he deemed it would be very easy to swoon her into helping him. "My father was admitted to your hospital ten years ago. Transferred is more of a word to describe it. He was in a stable state when he was transferred from the hospital at Mexico to the hospital you work in but once he arrived, the doctors there said he suddenly had a cathartic arrest and the heart attack returned. The next thing we know, before we could even visit him and see his face one last time, the hospital declared him dead and sent him to the mortgage without our consent. The explanations they gave us conflicts with a piece of information I have been able to gather two months ago. I just want to know what really happened and for that I need access to all of my father's records that the hospital refused to give to the police for investigation and that's why I need your help. It's imperative I see those records."

Pamela already knows everything Fergal had been so kind to summarize and narrate to her. She knows about the history the hospital has with the Quinn family. How they had almost shut down due to accusations and suspicions for the mere fact that Leon Devvit Quinn, one of the richest men in the country had died at the hospital after he was deemed cleared and stable by the hospital in Mexico where he'd initially been admitted to. But no one, not even when the Quinn family were going through pain and sorrow did they or anybody else insinuate that the hospital had intentionally murdered him. Fergal hadn't flat out said it but she isn't stupid. "Wait, you think the hospital had a hand in your father's death?"

He answers without a moment's hesitation, "Yes."

"That's absurd," Fergal's gaze harden but Pamela isn't willing to get intimidated to step down from her stance. "The most ridiculous thing I've heard. What reason would we have to do that?"

He gives a reprimanding look, like a father scolding his daughter and the only thing Pamela feels in return is to laugh at the atrocious accusations he's spurring out about her place of work. "Why do you think I'm investigating? Precisely to know the truth and that's why I need your help."

"I can't help you," Pamela tells him again. "If you want your father's records, you better go to the director in charge of the hospital and request him to give them to you. You're a family member. You have every reason to request it. Judging by the delicacy of your father's death, I'm certain his records haven't been cleared yet. All it takes is a phone call to the director and he will hand the records to you. There's no reason why I should get involve."

Fergal sighs out loudly through his nose, as if he's talking to a lifeless stone that can neither understand nor care about what he's saying. Pamela can't see the complexity in this matter. Just a phone call and he'll have it. She can't understand why he's making things difficult for himself and accusing the hospital of killing his father. Pamela can't even think of the possibility of the last part. The hospital has always prided itself over competency and transparency. That's why it was able to bounce back when everyone thought it has neared its downfall. She has been witness to everything the hospital has done over the years, the smiles and hope they have brought to people's faces and the dedicated, passionate doctors—–except one—–they have in every department. None of them will ever think of ending a person's life when he has a chance to survive much less Leon Devvit Quinn. Who's stupid enough to do that? Annette Quinn herself would've burned the hospital to the ground. "You don't understand me. This isn't so simple as you think. It's a delicate matter. I can't involve the entire hospital staff or the director in this. What I hope is to get things done in secrecy otherwise. . . ."

She cuts him off, already having an idea of where he's going with this. "In other words, you want me to steal them for you."

He momentarily looks stricken by the idea of her stealing the reports for him, as if he hadn't meant it like that and for a second Pamela truly believes he hadn't meant it like that either. That he's just desperate and frustrated; even a blind man can see the pure helplessness radiating out of him whenever she tells him she can't help him but it swiftly disappears like a wind and gets replaced with a firm, resolute expression. "Yes."

Pamela can hardly believe her ears, "What makes you think that I'm going to sacrifice my morals, principles and values to steal a bunch of records for you? What do you take me for?"

"Listen. . . ."

She cuts him off again, "No, you listen to me, Mr. Quinn. I came here with you because you said you have something important to tell me and truly it is important. I won't dismiss the importance of your father's death although I think it's laughable of you to think the hospital killed him when you have no evidence to back it up. I worked hard to get to where I am today. You can't imagine the things I've had to do to even be able to complete medical school. I'm where I am today because of my hard work but above all else, my passion, dedication and my principles. They matter to me a lot, more than my own life. I won't sacrifice them even if I was on my deathbed and the only way to save my life is to betray my integrity and that of the hospital I work in and I sure as hell won't steal confidential information for you about someone that has been dead for ten years."

Fergal still looks offended even after how well and careful she'd calculated her words about his father's death, "That someone you're talking about is my father and I have all the reasons in the world to believe your hospital killed him and covered up his death. I have evidence to back up my accusations for your kind information. . . ."

"Show it to me then!"

"I can't. I don't trust you."

Pamela waves her hand through invisible air and mocks, "Nothing but excuses."

Fergal looks more angry than ever, "Your hospital has no right to boast of integrity when they ended my father's life as if he was some sort of animal, without care, without a second thought like the deceitful, corrupted people they are."

"That's enough!!" Pamela shouts, voice heated up. "Your father died of a heart attack. It was all over the news and your own mother released a press conference confirming the same thing and here you are, claiming we killed him? There was nothing we could do to prevent his death. It was out of our hands."

"Why are acting as if you know everything when you weren't even there in the first place?" Fergal counters just as harshly. "He was perfectly fine when he was transferred from the hospital in Mexico to your hospital. He was stable. He was fine and then all of a sudden he's dead. Just like that. Does that sound normal to you? The explanations they gave conflicts with the information I have gotten and they refused to release medical reports to the police for investigation. What more do I need to know that your hospital murdered my father and covered it up to save their stupid reputation?"

"They refused to release medical reports to the police for investigation? Do you realize how silly and stupid you sound right now?"

"How dare you?" Fergal angrily takes a step forward to her but Pamela remains at where she is, undeterred and unmoved by the sizzling, red-hot glare he's giving her. She meets people like Fergal everyday in her life. People who think because of their money and status they can have the whole world dance to their tunes and she always puts them in place. Fergal will be no different.

"Why? Have you had no one insult your intelligence before, Mr. Quinn?" She drawls out the words as mockingly and prudently as possible, making sure he knows she is indeed insulting him for the clown he is to badmouth the hospital she works in, under no basis except for a piece of information he can't even tell her. "You're stupid to disregard certified evidence which proves your father wasn't killed, just died of a natural death. Do you know what I think? You're just a broken, arrogant, self-obsessed person that is haunted by ghosts and you want to find every thing possible to justify what a pathetic being you are. Do you think I believe your family didn't fight for your father's medical reports when the hospital supposedly refused to give them to you? Do you seriously think I believe the hospital is so above the law of the state that they will keep vital information away from the police? What do you take me for? A fool? I didn't go to medical school just to believe all these lies you're spewing at my face."

"The case got closed and my mother decided not to press the matter any further. That's why your precious hospital was left off the hook but that doesn't mean they aren't murderers."

Pamela scoffs at his face, "First you insult me by suggesting that I should steal confidential information for you and after all those lies you have told me, you seriously expect me to believe your mother wouldn't have pursued the truth if she even doubted for a second that her husband was murdered? None of what you're saying is true. You're just as corrupt, pathetic and the arrogant person I always thought you were."

"You talk as if you know me," Fergal says with an edge to his voice, "but I can assure you, you know nothing about me. Absolutely nothing."

"Oh really? After you practically gave my friend no other choice than to attend this party, you really think I need to know more about you to know the kind of person you are? She's scared you will fire her if she so much as decline an offer from you to attend your sister's birthday party. She doesn't know what to do. She's scared. She's anxious and it's all because of you. Because you refuse to let her go even after she told you she no longer loves you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Fergal shouts, yells, incredulous, confused. But Pamela doesn't spare a second to see it. In the past, she would've had her doubts and uncertainties about judging a person she doesn't know personally but she knows now there's not much distinction between the man she has known on television and the man in person. They are both the same and in the end it boils down to the fact that this man right before her has somehow managed to make her friend's life miserable.

"You love to intimidate people and you assume you can do the same thing with me but I won't give you that satisfaction. You better stay away from my friend. Leave her alone. She doesn't love you. Leave the hospital alone. It had suffered enough when your father died. All your accusations are baseless and senseless."

"We'll see about that when I sue that hospital," Fergal threatens and Pamela realize it's the same tone he'd used on that journalist who had dared to ask if the accusations a manager at one of their companies made about his mother was true. But she isn't that journalist or that media company. She's her and she isn't afraid to stand up for what she believes in. The hospital has done nothing wrong and Fergal can't change her mind.

"Do it. In the end, you're the only one who's going to end up looking like an idiot."