Chapter 6 The Tattoo Truth

# Chapter 6: The Tattoo Truth

Eden led me through the underground tunnel for what felt like miles, though it was probably only a few hundred yards. We emerged into a different building on the estate—smaller, more modern, and apparently Eden's personal residence.

"Alexander's security won't look for us here immediately," he explained, guiding me through a minimalist living space. "This gives us time to prepare for phase two."

"Phase two?" I sank into a chair, exhausted. My torn dress hung awkwardly, the fake bruises starting to smudge from sweat and friction. "I thought destroying your brother's reputation was the plan."

"That was merely the beginning." Eden poured two glasses of water, handing one to me. "Alexander has contingencies. By tomorrow, he'll have convinced enough board members that the footage was entirely fabricated. He'll claim you're an actress I hired."

"But the women in those videos—"

"Will never be found to testify." Eden's voice was matter-of-fact. "And the ones who might talk will be paid for their silence."

I stared at him in horror. "Then what was the point of today? All that risk for nothing?"

"Not nothing." Eden smiled thinly. "We've planted the seed of doubt. Now we need the killing blow."

He disappeared into another room, returning with a medical kit and what looked like tattoo equipment. My stomach dropped.

"What is that for?"

"Phase two requires additional... authenticity." Eden set the equipment on a table. "Remove your dress."

"No." I backed away. "I'm done being your puppet."

Eden's expression hardened. "Alexander will recover from today's setback unless we finish what we started. Do you understand what that means? He'll come looking for both of us. And when he finds us—" He let the implications hang in the air.

"What exactly do you want to do to me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You need a tattoo. One that Alexander will recognize immediately." Eden opened the kit, revealing inks and needles. "A very specific design."

"You want to tattoo me? Permanently?" I couldn't keep the panic from my voice.

"It needs to be real," Eden insisted. "Alexander will check."

"Check what? I don't understand—"

"My brother marks his favorites," Eden interrupted. "A small design, always in the same place. The right shoulder blade."

I remembered the women from the videos. Many had indeed shared a small mark on their shoulder—I'd assumed it was a birthmark or existing tattoo.

"No," I said firmly. "I won't let you permanently mark me for your revenge scheme."

Eden studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. There are alternatives."

He produced what looked like a specialized airbrush system. "This creates a subcutaneous tattoo that lasts approximately three months. Still visible, still will pass inspection, but not permanent."

I eyed the device suspiciously. "What's the design?"

Eden pulled out his phone, showing me an image—an intricate pattern of interlocking lines forming what appeared to be a stylized lotus flower with a small character at its center.

"What does it mean?"

"To Alexander, it means ownership." Eden's voice was flat. "To our mother, it meant something else entirely."

I hesitated, weighing my options. The temporary tattoo was better than a permanent one, but I still didn't want Eden marking me in any way.

"Why can't we just continue with the AI approach? Fake the tattoo digitally?"

"Because in phase two, Alexander needs to see it in person. On your skin." Eden stepped closer. "I don't have time to argue, Janice. Alexander's people will be searching the estate. This needs to be done now."

The urgency in his voice, the reality of our situation—Alexander's men hunting us—finally broke my resistance.

"Fine," I conceded. "The temporary one. But that's it. No more physical alterations."

Eden nodded. "Turn around. Lower the back of your dress."

I did as instructed, my skin prickling with apprehension as I felt him cleanse the area with alcohol. The airbrush device hummed to life, and I flinched at the first cold spray against my shoulder blade.

"Stay still," Eden murmured, his breath warm against my neck. "This needs to be perfect."

The process took nearly an hour, Eden working with meticulous precision. When he finally stepped back, I could feel the slight tightness of the artificial tattoo on my skin.

"Perfect," Eden pronounced, showing me a mirror reflection. "Indistinguishable from his usual work."

The tattoo was beautiful in a haunting way—black lines creating a flower that seemed to float on my skin. The character at its center was not one I recognized.

"What does that symbol mean?" I asked.

"It's ancient Chinese. It means 'eternity.'" Eden's eyes met mine in the mirror. "Or sometimes, 'revenge.'"

A chill ran through me. "Your brother tattoos this on women as a sign of ownership, but it actually means revenge?"

Eden's smile was cold. "Our mother taught me calligraphy. Alexander never bothered to learn what the symbols actually meant. He just copied our mother's design."

Before I could respond, a security alert sounded on Eden's phone. He checked it, his expression darkening.

"They've reached the tunnel entrance. We need to move." He handed me a simple black dress. "Change quickly."

I ducked into the bathroom, shedding the torn blue dress and donning the black one. When I emerged, Eden was monitoring security feeds on a tablet.

"They're searching the east wing first," he reported. "That gives us time to reach the main house through the garden path."

"We're going back?" I asked incredulously. "That's insane!"

"It's the last place they'll look for us," Eden countered. "And we need access to the boardroom again."

He led me through a hidden door and into a manicured garden. We moved quickly through the shadows, avoiding the security teams visible in the distance. The main house loomed ahead, most windows dark now except for the frantic activity visible in one wing.

We slipped in through a service entrance, Eden guiding me through back corridors until we reached the boardroom. It was empty, the evidence of the earlier chaos still visible—overturned chairs, a cracked screen, papers scattered across the table.

"What are we doing here?" I whispered, every nerve on high alert.

Eden moved to a control panel, activating the room's systems. "Setting the stage for our final act."

The screens came to life, but instead of the disturbing footage from before, they displayed company financials, board member profiles, and what appeared to be confidential Constantine Group documents.

"Alexander will call an emergency board meeting once he regroups," Eden explained, working quickly at the controls. "He'll try to salvage what he can. We need to be here when that happens."

"That's suicide," I protested. "He'll kill us both."

"No." Eden's certainty was unnerving. "He'll be too focused on saving his position to risk another violent outburst. And when he sees you—sees the tattoo—it will destroy his credibility completely."

He positioned me near the head of the table, adjusting the black dress to ensure the tattoo would be visible at the right moment.

"When Alexander enters, stay calm. Let him make the first move." Eden's eyes held mine. "When I give the signal, turn slightly so the tattoo is visible. Nothing more."

"And then what?"

"Then we watch him destroy himself."

We didn't have long to wait. Within twenty minutes, the sounds of approaching voices echoed down the hallway. Eden quickly hid behind a panel near the projection controls, leaving me standing alone at the table, heart pounding in my chest.

The doors burst open. Alexander entered first, followed by several board members and security personnel. He froze when he saw me, his face contorting with rage.

"You," he snarled. "Where's my brother?"

I remained silent, forcing myself to meet his gaze steadily despite my terror.

"Sir," one of the security team interjected, "we should secure the room first."

Alexander waved him off impatiently. "She's alone. Aren't you, Vivienne? Or whatever your real name is."

"Janice," I said quietly. "My name is Janice Harlow."

Something flickered in Alexander's eyes—recognition. "Harlow," he repeated. "Julia Harlow's daughter."

The fact that he knew my mother's name sent ice through my veins.

"You know nothing about my mother," I said, with more courage than I felt.

Alexander laughed, a hollow sound. "I knew everything about your mother. Just as I know everything about you, Janice. Including the fact that my brother is using you just as ruthlessly as he claims I use women."

He turned to the board members. "You see? This proves everything I told you. My brother hired this woman—a gemologist with a personal grudge—to impersonate Vivienne and sabotage me."

The board members looked uncertain, glancing between Alexander and me.

"Where is the real Vivienne Laurent?" one of them asked.

"Safe," Alexander replied smoothly. "I sent her away when I began to suspect my brother's plot. She'll return when this is resolved."

It was a lie, and we both knew it. But it was plausible enough to sway the already-compromised board members.

Alexander approached me slowly, his confidence returning as he sensed the room turning back in his favor.

"Tell them," he commanded. "Tell them Eden Constantine hired you to destroy me."

From the corner of my eye, I saw a slight movement behind the panel—Eden's signal.

I turned slightly, ensuring the tattoo on my shoulder blade became visible through the cut-out back of the black dress.

"Eden didn't hire me," I said clearly. "But someone in your family certainly had plans for me."

The effect was immediate. Alexander's eyes locked onto the tattoo, his face draining of color. The board members couldn't see what he was seeing, but they certainly saw his reaction.

"That's—" he began, then stopped himself. "That's a fake. A forgery."

"Is it?" I challenged, gaining confidence from his obvious distress. "You should know. You designed it."

One of the older board members stepped forward, frowning. "Alexander, what is she talking about?"

Alexander ignored him, moving closer to inspect the tattoo. "How did you get this?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Who gave this to you?"

I met his gaze steadily. "You did. Don't you remember?"

His hand shot out, gripping my arm painfully. "I've never seen you before in my life."

That's when Eden emerged from his hiding place, calm and collected. "Haven't you, brother? Look closer."

Alexander's head snapped toward Eden, then back to me. His eyes narrowed, studying my face with new intensity.

"That tattoo," Eden continued, addressing the board members now, "is my brother's personal mark. He places it on women he considers his property. Women who often disappear shortly afterward."

The board members shifted uncomfortably.

"But the most interesting thing," Eden went on, "is that this particular design isn't just any symbol. It's our mother's writing. Her final message."

Alexander released my arm abruptly. "Shut up."

"The tattoo my brother has been marking women with for years," Eden said, his voice carrying across the silent room, "is our mother's suicide note."

The statement hit like a physical blow. Several board members gasped.

Alexander lunged for Eden, but security stepped between them.

"Our mother didn't commit suicide," Alexander snarled. "She died in a lab accident. Everyone knows that."

"The official story," Eden agreed. "But not the truth." He turned to the board. "My mother left this symbol as her final communication—knowing Alexander would never understand what it meant, but I would."

"He's lying," Alexander insisted, but doubt had crept into the room. The board members were exchanging glances, whispering.

Eden moved to the control panel, bringing up a new image on the main screen—a handwritten note with the same symbol at its center.

"Our mother's last letter," Eden explained. "Found beside her body. The official investigation claimed it was meaningless—a doodle from a disturbed mind affected by chemical exposure. But my mother was leaving evidence. Evidence that her 'accident' was anything but."

The oldest board member stepped forward. "That's enough, Eden. These accusations—"

"Are supported by evidence," Eden interrupted. "Evidence I've spent eight years gathering. Including testimony from the lab assistants who were paid to tamper with her equipment."

Alexander's composure finally shattered. "You have nothing! No proof, no witnesses—just a woman with a fake tattoo and a fabricated story!"

His outburst silenced the room. Eden smiled coldly.

"The tattoo isn't fake, brother. I applied it myself." His voice dropped to a deadly quiet. "I tattooed it with needles dipped in diamond dust. Microscopic particles of the Crimson Tear—mother's blood diamond."

Alexander stared at him in horror. "You're lying."

"Am I? Have it tested." Eden's confidence was absolute. "The tattoo contains particles of our mother's blood, preserved in diamond form. Her DNA, literally embedded in Janice's skin."

The statement hung in the air, stunning in its implications. Alexander swayed slightly, as if physically struck.

One of the board members finally broke the silence. "Alexander, I think we need to adjourn and consider—"

"No!" Alexander shouted. "This is all lies! That tattoo—" He stopped suddenly, a new realization dawning on his face. He looked at me with renewed intensity. "That tattoo... is my mother's last words."

His voice had changed, become almost childlike in its confusion. The transformation was so sudden, so complete, that even Eden looked surprised.

Alexander fell to his knees, reaching toward the tattoo on my shoulder but not quite touching it. "Mother," he whispered. "What are you trying to tell me?"

The board members exchanged alarmed glances. This was not the composed, calculating Alexander Constantine they knew. This was someone broken, unhinged.

Eden moved to my side, his expression triumphant. "Now they see," he murmured. "Now they all see what he truly is."

As security personnel moved to help Alexander to his feet, I caught Eden's eye. The cold satisfaction there chilled me more than anything else that had happened. This wasn't justice. This was calculated destruction—a plan years in the making, with me as its unwitting instrument.

And somehow, I knew we still hadn't reached the end of Eden Constantine's revenge.