is different from the first time we were together. This time, I’m consumed by a feeling of relief and a kind of warmth compelling me to be someone who could give her the world. Her head has been resting on one of my arms for hours, but it seems to never get sore beneath her lightless.
I tenderly stroke her hair, admiring her. She’s sleeping soundly, but the rosy glow on her cheeks remains. She looks like a porcelain doll, delicate and exquisitely beautiful.
Grinning mindlessly, I pull her in and bury my face in her hair, inhaling her natural scent. Her smell is addicting, and I can never get enough of it. For the past few weeks, I’ve been adamantly avoiding her, fighting to shut down all thoughts and feelings toward her…but it’s only made me realize how severely her absence affects me. I struggle to eat and can’t sleep.
She’s like oxygen to me; I feel like I’m suffocating without her.
I hesitate to admit it, but I would be lying to myself if I denied missing her intensely every minute I’m not next to her. My time away made me realize that I’ve always looked forward to eating meals with her, which has improved my
own health over these past few years. In the entire time we’ve lived together, I have never once skipped a meal, just to make personally sure that she is well fed.
It's become a habit–she, too, is one.
But of course, these thoughts will remain with me alone. Spitting out sweet nothings never has been my style, and as astute a person as she is, I’m confident she understands.
My attention is jolted back to reality when my ringtone comes blasting from my phone. I move out of bed as swiftly as possible to avoid waking her and dig my phone out from the pile of clothes lying on the floor.
I hit the phone button, grabbing a cigarette pack and lighter from the drawer after slipping into a bathrobe. This call will take longer than usual.
“What’s up?” I greet unenthusiastically as I step out onto the balcony, closing the French door partially behind me.
“Try not to sound so happy to hear from me, bro.”
The man on the line is Ashton Kingsley. He’s one of my childhood friends and became my fraternity brother when we both attended Stanford. We rarely contact each other, but when he does reach out, I know it’s something important.
“Cut it out. What do you want?” I grumble, lighting the cigarette hanging from my lips. My voice is low, making sure I don’t disturb the woman under the sheets.
The man chuckles.
“So impatient. Did I disturb you?”
“Spill.”
“I’ve uncovered something interesting from twenty-three years ago. The newsabout our parents’ deaths was completely suppressed for three months before itbecame public. Isn’t that strange? Business magnates dying on a plane crashtogether didn’t even make headlines!”
Ashton’s family holds almost eighty percent of the business in multi-media, from newspapers, broadcasting networks, films, advertisements, and now even the digital market. His father’s death alone could take the news by storm. How much more the death of the previous chairman of Lewis Corporation that dominated real estate, banking, and agricultural industries? Especially when they died together?
“Go on,” I urge.
“Do you remember why our parents went on that trip together?”
I scratch my nose before taking another drag from the cigarette. It’s an old memory I’ve buried in the depths of my mind.
“Vacation.”
“My grandfather told me before it happened that Lewis Corp and SterlingGroup had plans to venture into oil and mining. I was young when I heard this,and I wasn’t sure what was wrong with it.”
“Stop beating around the bush, Kingsley. What’s your point?”
Ashton and I were never convinced that the plane crash from twenty-three years ago was merely a malfunction of the airplane as it was reported. At first, we thought it was a terrorist attack. But now, things are getting a bit more interesting.
“The oil and mining industry is big. We both know that. The people in italways want to monopolize the market. Many businessmen dabble in it but nevermake a breakthrough. Back then, oil prices were dependent on–”
“Wars.”
My brows knit further as I stare blankly at the dark horizon. This information is new, unprecedented, and complicated.
“Well…”
“Lie low for now. I’m sure whoever is behind it still has eyes and ears out.”
“Nah, those bastards can’t touch me…”
Ashton laughs dismissively. I can easily imagine that usual playful smirk on his face.
“Regardless.”
“I’ve made sure my existence is well-known to the public. Why do you thinkI’ve been living frivolously all these years?”
Putting out the cigarette butt, I press my temples, feeling a headache coming on. It’s still a mystery to me that a person–a literal genius who skipped years of education–like Ashton can carry on all these years carelessly living as a philanderer and socialite.
“Don’t you think your actions are way too bold and obvious?”
The man laughs.
“The media sensationalizes everything. If those people were watching me,they would know what goes on in reality. How about you? Are you stillbabysitting that chick from the Quinns? I hear she’s quite a looker. Why don’tyou introduce me?”
“Shut the fuck up. You’ll never touch her,” I warn, my voice low and heavy with hostility.
