Each morning, he opens his eyes to the weight of another day. As if commanded by some unseen force, dread creeps in—silent but certain. He pulls open the blinds, but the sun’s light eludes him, the joy others claim comes with being alive feels distant and offers him no comfort. Being completely alone while alive is torment, as the deceased at least have a valid reason for their solitude.
The stream of light pouring through the opened blinds interrupted David's slumber first. He ducked beneath the comforting blackness of his duvet, but his retreat was short-lived as the second disruption came from the butler, whose persistence was, this morning, particularly relentless.
“Rise and shine, Master David! It’s a glorious morning, and the birds are performing their finest symphony yet,” he announced, yanking the blanket off his young master. “Come on, now. I explained how important this meeting is yesterday, and”—he glanced at his watch—"you’re already late.”
David sighed, holding up his phone for Bennet to see. "I'm not," he said. "It's 8:37. The meeting isn’t for another twenty-three minutes, man."
Bennet, already halfway to the bathroom, paid no mind to his master’s reply. He turned on the shower, adjusting the faucet with the practiced precision of years spent in service. "The problem with you young bucks," Bennet said, his tone gentle but firm, "or rather, one of the problems is your complete lack of time management skills." He tested the water with his hand, nodding in approval. ‘Not quite as hot as I'd prefer for a winter morning,’ he mused, ‘but suitable enough for an autumn chill.’
“The water’s ready, my boy. Do get dressed; your driver will be waiting.” With a final glance back, Bennet exited the room.
David stared at the ceiling, his body unwilling to move. The day ahead loomed large and tedious. The alarm had blared some thirty minutes ago, but he'd chosen to ignore it. Last night, Bennet had gone over the details of the Mayor’s Conference yet again, hammering home its significance. Because he was the last surviving member of the illustrious De Cruse family, his presence was mandatory. No exceptions.
He knew all this—every word Bennet had said—but it didn't matter. He had decided he would be late—on purpose. Maybe then they would finally get the hint. It should’ve been obvious by now.
He doesn't want to be involved.
How hard can this be to understand? He thought, frustration gnawing at him. At the very least, he deserved a reprieve from this particular event. His sense of duty was ever-present, but the sheer weight of it was starting to chafe at him. It hadn’t even been a week since the funeral—where people had donned their sorrowful masks, offering hollow promises and rehearsed condolences.
David shook his head, reaching for the joint on his bedside table. He lit it, taking a long drag as he exhaled slowly, letting the smoke linger in the air for a while before heading into his walk-in closet. The maid, as always, laid out his suit with precise care—neatly folded, impeccable, waiting for him.
Ten minutes later, David was downstairs, dressed and ready. He ignored the puzzled look Bennet gave him as he walked straight past, stepping into the waiting vehicle without a word.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, the memory as vivid as if she were standing beside him: "Never wear your difficulties on your face, my lovely cub. A lion's pride is nothing compared to a Cruse's."
Her words had been etched into him, like markings in wet cement that had long since dried. No matter how he felt inside, David knew one thing for certain—he was a De Cruse, and he would act like it.
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The screech of the door and the brisk entrance of the cedar-haired heir brought an abrupt halt to Mayor Corleone Brown’s opening speech. The elite members of the town—men and women with distinguished achievements and influence—turned in unison to witness the young, bereaved man.
David had never set foot inside City Hall before, but he could tell at once that it was the most extravagant place in the entire city. Despite his efforts to conceal it, the look of astonishment crept onto his face. The ceiling was an illusionistic masterpiece, adorned with breath-taking frescoes that rivalled the grandeur of the Sistine Chapel—better even than what he remembered from his summer trip to Italy with his parents. Rays of light, vibrant and colourful, danced across the hall, filtering through windows stained with intricate works of art, as if competing with the ceiling above.
With each step, David’s breath seemed to grow colder. They had engineered the air itself for luxury. He instinctively knew the cooling system must have cost a fortune. The scent of the room was almost overwhelming—a blend of expensive perfumes layered over one another. As he moved closer to the gathering, he could feel the whispers from the polished crowd prickling at his skin, but he held firm, maintaining perfect posture.
Some of the faces were vaguely familiar—people he'd seen at the funeral or out and about in town. Others he knew well from his mother’s annual picnics, though today they were mere nodding figures in a sea of cold formality. As his gaze swept the room, a few offered brief, sympathetic nods.
“Lovely of you to finally join us, David.” Mayor Brown greeted him with a grin.
David returned a respectful nod, scanning for an empty seat. He chose the one closest to the window, his back straight as he lowered himself into it, wondering fleetingly why some of the council members had chosen to wear colourful wigs. The gardens outside, once a playground for him whenever he’d accompanied his father to the hall as a child, now seemed washed-out and grey to his eyes. He stared at them, silently praying for the day he might heal from the insurmountable sadness that weighed on his soul.
As the mayor resumed his speech, David’s attention drifted. Uninterested in the formalities, he absentmindedly watched two sparrows darting through the air, playfully chasing each other beyond the window. If there was one constant in David’s life, it was his vivid imagination. When reality became too dull or burdensome, his mind became a sanctuary. He could travel to places he had never set foot in and witness marvels he was certain didn't exist anywhere but within the confines of his own mind.
His imagination never failed him. It was his escape—a door to worlds more beautiful and strange than anything the real world could offer.
David felt himself slipping away from the strange hall, retreating into a familiar vision. An endless field of vibrant green stretched before him, the blades of grass swaying gently in the breeze. Since arriving two days after the disaster, this place had become his refuge. Here, the sun seemed to melt the cold ache in his heart, warming him in a way the real world could not.
A petite waterfall bubbled nearby, its edges adorned with glowing golden flowers. The soft, melodic sound of the water lulled him, and as he lay in the grass, everything felt right—if only for a little while.
David was jolted from his fantasy and dragged unceremoniously back into the hall. He quickly realised the room’s attention had shifted back to him. Muttering a curse under his breath, he straightened up in his seat.
“First off…” Mayor Corleone spoke, pausing to take a sip from his water bottle. “Let me begin by once again extending our condolences. We, the council, sincerely sympathise with your plight. We will sorely miss your parents, who were esteemed members of this community.
“Uh, thanks,” David replied, his voice flat, devoid of enthusiasm.
Mayor Corleone had been a long-time family friend of the Cruses. David couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t mayor. Over the years, he’d seen three different presidents come and go, but there had always been only one Mayor Brown. The man’s gaze softened as he looked at David, his heart heavy. No one deserves such an Atlas-like burden, especially at such a young age. Yet, despite his years of experience, Corleone knew there were forces shaping David’s life far beyond his expertise.
The mayor cleared his throat, shifting the tone of the conversation. “So, onto more pressing matters... Just how much do you know about our little town, young man?”
“Excuse me?” David blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
For the first time, someone other than Mayor Brown spoke. “You telling me Stephan didn’t mention anything to you, boy?”
David’s eyes narrowed at the man who had interrupted. Instantly, he disliked him. The stranger had that arrogant, old-money look about him—oil tycoon written all over, complete with a white hat and a polished walking stick. It was so meticulously put together that David couldn’t help but think the man had chosen this appearance deliberately. He reminded David of the Monopoly Man, but unlike the game, this was far from fun.
“What’s there to tell?” David shot back, irritation creeping into his voice. “I’ve lived in this town my entire life. I could probably map it out blindfolded. So, I’ll ask again—what exactly don’t I understand?”