Chapter 2
1492 Words
The Lotus Club was a roaring success, a goldmine. The prices were so outrageous, even I, the owner, would wince at the invoices. But people, it seemed, craved the exorbitant. The tougher the membership screening, the more fiercely the city’s elite competed for a spot.
I woke from a deep sleep, drenched in a cold sweat. My alarm clock read 9:30 AM. The blackout curtains kept the penthouse in a perpetual night, and the double-paned windows muffled the city’s morning rush. For me, the day was just beginning. In my line of work, we usually rose around two in the afternoon.
I lay in bed for a long time, trying to decipher my dream. It was Alex, exactly as he was ten years ago, exactly as if he were a bastard. Eventually, it clicked. Today was my mother's death anniversary.
Mom had been gone for almost a decade. Back in our old neighborhood, custom dictated that on the third anniversary, you burn all the deceased’s belongings, then erect a tombstone. After that, they were truly supposed to be at peace, no longer needing constant remembrance or visits to their grave.
I was a terrible daughter. I missed all the traditional mourning periods after Mom passed. I was gravely ill then, and almost died myself. By the time I left the hospital, it had been over six months since her death.
Alex took me to her grave, located in an incredibly expensive cemetery on the city’s outskirts. Mom's plot occupied a prime spot, paved with striking black and white marble, like piano keys. The sun baked the stone scorching hot. As I laid down the roses, my only thought was, Hope the heat doesn’t wilt them.
Mom loved roses. I'd bought them from the most exclusive florist in town, flown in fresh from Bulgaria. As the florist wrapped them, the young woman, about my age, chatted, "Who are these for?"
"My mother," I replied.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling like crescent moons. "She’ll be so happy! They’re absolutely gorgeous!"
I thought so too. If Mom could see them, she would be delighted.
Setting down the bouquet, I didn’t cry. I almost imagined hearing tears hit the hot marble, a soft 'plop,' but my eyes were dry. I truly didn't cry.
On the drive back, Alex handed me a set of keys. "I had your old house sold for a good price. Bought you an apartment downtown. The rest of the money's in the bank."
I rested my elbow on the car window, chin propped on my arm, letting the wind whip through my hair. Mom hadn't left me much: a walk-in closet full of designer clothes and bags, and that villa. Now the house was sold, the clothes and bags discarded by Alex’s staff as junk. Nothing was left.
No, there was a substantial sum in the bank, also from Mom. But money didn’t count. What was money but a number on an account? When I was six, Mom told me, "There's too much in this world money can't buy, like happiness."
My mother’s entire life, she was unhappy.
I never wanted to repeat her mistakes. But then I met Lucas Reed.
When my mother learned I was seeing Lucas, she slapped me in a furious rage. It was the first time she’d ever laid a hand on me. "Why can't you learn?" Her voice was laced with such heartbreak and despair, it hurt more than the slap itself.
I was young then, didn't think I'd done anything wrong, unaware that some people in this world were just worlds apart. By the time I understood, it was already too late.
Unexpectedly awake so early, I lingered in bed before finally getting up to wash and brush my teeth. Before I even finished brushing, my phone rang. It was Sam, Alex's executive assistant, his voice tinged with anxiety. "Mr. Thorne's had an incident."
I almost swallowed my toothpaste. Spitting it out, I immediately asked, "What? Where is he?"
"The hospital. Midtown Medical Center." Sam quickly added, "Bring him some pajamas, a few changes."
I hung up and rushed to Alex’s walk-in closet. Heart pounding, I grabbed a bag and stuffed a few pairs of silk pajamas inside, then added his bathrobe and a specific brand of towel. Alex was prone to allergies; he only used that particular brand of towel. Hospital linens, even fresh ones, would surely bother him.
I drove my red Porsche, with the large bag of clothes on the passenger seat. The sky was overcast, and through my sunglasses, the city already seemed to be in twilight. The wind tangled my long hair, strands lashing painfully against my face. At a red light, I rummaged through my bag for a silk scarf to tie back. In the rearview mirror, I noticed I was drawing a lot of stares from other drivers.
Normally, I'd have tied my hair, then smugly waved and blown kisses to the gawking crowd. But not today. Sam had been vague. What terrible thing had happened to Alex? If he died, I’d be ruined.
I sped to the hospital, finally exhaling as I entered his room. He was furious, yelling at someone. Clearly, his life wasn't in danger.
He was insistent on being discharged, but the doctors firmly refused. My arrival conveniently diffused the tension. The Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery both recognized me, giving me sheepish smiles. "Ms. Vance, perfect timing. Please talk some sense into Mr. Thorne."
"What exactly happened?" I asked, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. My curiosity was genuine. Alex had a large bruise on his cheek, like he’d been punched. Alex Thorne, punched? It was utterly preposterous. Had his notoriously fierce father flown in for a private lesson? Or perhaps a new, feisty girlfriend had taken a swing? Or maybe his dog had pulled him into a lamppost during a walk?
Every scenario made me want to burst out laughing.
Sam, ever the quick one, interrupted my wild speculations. "Mr. Thorne chased a mugger. He was hit by the mugger."
"Oh…" I couldn’t resist a jab. "A man of his stature shouldn’t get involved in such petty things. What did the mugger even take that he had to chase them?"
Years ago, after leaving work, a petty thief punctured my tire and snatched my bag. I chased after him and ended up getting slashed. I instinctively blocked my arm, leaving a long, bleeding gash that required stitches. Alex, vacationing in Italy at the time, still managed to gloat over an international call: "What did they take that you had to chase them?"
So, I returned his exact words. Surprisingly, Alex didn't retort. Instead, he looked thoughtful. I figured the mugger must have knocked some sense into him.
Within days, rumors reached my ears. Alex hadn't just chased a mugger; it was an act of heroism to save a beautiful girl. A biker gang had snatched her purse. He happened to be passing by, chased them into a dead end, then abandoned his car to fight the muggers hand-to-hand. With the help of some bystanders, he delivered them to the precinct, but not before getting injured himself.
Those weren't the main points. The main point was the girl he saved: Serena Davis, a graduate student at Metropolitan University, from a respectable background, intelligent, and beautiful. Her father was a professor, her mother a civil servant. Whenever my friends mentioned her name or her university, they'd subtly glance at me.
I pretended to be perfectly indifferent, accepting their well-meaning reactions.
This time, Alex was seriously dating. Some said he picked Serena up from campus every weekend. Others often saw them strolling happily in Central Park, both clutching ice cream cones, beaming like children.
Finally, even David Miller couldn't resist needling me. "You're taking this rather well, aren't you, Zoey?"
"What are you talking about?" I smiled, gracefully pouring wine from the decanter into a glass. "When have I ever taken anything 'well'? We've known each other for years, David. You know my temperament; I buy a new dress and wear it out of the store immediately. Am I the type to 'take things well'?"
David glared at me for a long moment before grumbling, "We'll see how long you can keep up the act."
David and Alex were close, part of that exclusive inner circle. For some reason, everyone in Alex’s orbit seemed to like me. Perhaps it was my easygoing nature; I could joke around, make a scene, and never needed anyone to save face for me. If things went sideways, I’d be the first to diffuse the situation. I was open-minded, able to shrug off their outrageous comments. Over time, being 'carefree' became my advantage. Everyone treated me like a buddy, and out of loyalty, David worried for me.
Truth be told, Alex and I had a similar 'buddy' dynamic. It wasn't as complicated as they thought.
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