02
1112 Words
Chapter 2
Solveigh Rory Alto, a name synonymous with melody and emotion, a singer whose voice had captivated a generation. At 33, she was a star, her talent undeniable, her fans devoted. But as she reminisced, a bitter laugh escaped her lips. The path to stardom, she realized, was paved with a bittersweet irony.
It all started with Anthony, a young man who had discovered her talent in a chance encounter. He had posted a video of her singing at an event, a simple act that had ignited a firestorm. The video, shared on a confession forum, went viral, her voice resonating with a raw vulnerability that resonated with listeners. Agencies came knocking, her career skyrocketing.
Anthony, captivated by her voice, became her fan, her admirer, her lover. He had pursued her, their relationship blossoming under the spotlight. Rory touched her cheek, the memories of her fans' comments and posts flooding back. She had been a woman in her 30s, while Anthony was in his 20s, a gap that had fueled endless gossip and speculation. She had been called "old," "past her prime," and "desperate" for clinging to a younger man.
A bitter smile played on her lips. It seemed her life, her love, had been a series of miscalculations, a series of choices that led her down a path paved with disappointment. She had wasted years, her youth, on a man who had never loved her, who had only ever used her for his own gain.
"Rory?" Anthony's voice, a familiar melody, broke through her thoughts. He stood in the Balthazar mansion, his eyes searching hers. She sat on the sofa, sipping her coffee.
"What's with this post about quitting singing and not taking any more projects?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. He held up his phone, the post displayed on the screen.
"You're here," she said, rising to her feet. Samira entered the room, her face etched with concern. She approached Rory, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"I've been thinking, now that I'm going to be a wife, it's better if I quit and focus on being a full-time wife and mother, of course," Rory said, a forced smile playing on her lips. She asked Anthony if he wasn't happy about it.
Anthony was caught off guard. If Rory quit, he would have her undivided attention. Her career had been a source of privilege for him, a way to bask in the reflected glory of a famous singer. Without her career, their movements would be more restricted, her sharp eyes and lack of trust in him and Samira would be a constant obstacle.
He stammered, his words hesitant, "It's fine." He reached out, stroking her hair.
"I was just worried because I know how much you love singing and composing. It won't be easy for you," Anthony said, his voice laced with a hint of insincerity. Rory smiled, a faint flicker of a smile, and hugged him.
"It's okay. Once we have kids, I'll have other things to keep me busy," she whispered. Anthony froze, his eyes widening. Rory, noticing his reaction, tilted her head, her voice innocent.
"What's wrong?"
He forced a smile. "I'm just surprised you're already thinking about the future with me." In reality, the thought of having children with Rory was furthest from his mind.
Despite the constant praise for being the ideal boyfriend, their age gap was a source of amusement among their friends. Rory, at 33, was showing signs of aging, the sparkle in her eyes dimming, her complexion losing its youthful glow. Her taste in fashion had also changed, a subtle shift that reflected the passage of time.
He was planning to marry her, not because he loved her, but because of her influence and her family. He had refused to acknowledge the reality of her situation, the subtle signs of her fading youth. He had taken advantage of her, her love, her trust.
Rory had given him one last chance, a chance to prove his love, to show genuine concern for her well-being, not just to exploit her. He had failed. She had given him a chance to step up, to be the man she had thought he was, but he had chosen to continue down his selfish path.
A bitter smile touched her lips as she touched her throat, a silent reminder of the pain he had caused. The man she had loved for eight years, the man who had promised to support her, to give up his career for their family, was gone. He had been a mirage, a fleeting illusion.
Dinner at the Balthazar mansion was a tense affair. The elder Balthazar, Anthony, Samira, and the Jihoo couple were all present.
"Where is Santi again?" the elder Balthazar asked, her voice sharp. Anthony paused, fork mid-air, Anthony's eyes darting towards the elder Balthazar.
"Brother Rylee is back?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned surprise. The Jihoo couple exchanged glances. The Jihoo madam discreetly pinched her husband's arm.
"I thought that bastard wasn't coming back," she hissed, her voice low. Her husband, caught off guard, shook his head. He didn't know Santino was back either.
"The young master usually returns late at night and leaves before sunrise. His assistant called earlier, saying he wouldn't be able to join dinner because he has a lot of things to attend to," the butler explained. The old madam slammed her cutlery down, her annoyance evident.
"That boy never settles down when he's in this mansion!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration.
"Grandma, you're not still used to Brother Rylee," Anthony said, trying to deflect her anger. Just then, a couple, familiar to Rory, entered the room.
Anthony stood up, Anthony's face lighting up.
"Auntie! Uncle!" he exclaimed, greeting the couple warmly. "I thought you wouldn't be able to make it."
"It's your wedding, of course we'd be here! Anyway, who's the lucky lady you're marrying?" the elder man asked, his eyes scanning the table. His gaze landed on Samira, who stood smiling at the couple.
"Is it her? What a beautiful girl," the woman commented, referring to Samira. Anthony, caught off guard, stammered, his cheeks flushing. He glanced at Rory, who had lowered her spoon, her expression unreadable.
"There's not a single drop of Alto blood in that girl. How can you compare her to the true heir of the Altos?" the old madam snapped, her hand reaching for Rory's, which rested on the table.
The couple exchanged confused glances, their eyes questioning Anthony. They didn't comment further.
"Can I ask how old you are?" one of the couple asked, their eyes fixed on Rory.
- Writer
