I hit hard the vehicle’s bonnet, my eyes burned with rage. Because of the tinted windscreen, I couldn’t see the driver. Still, I recognized the car. The famous red car almost knocked me down for like million times.

The alerting whistle triggered. The driver’s anger showed from the continuous repeating sound, satisfying my aggression. Since I didn’t take off my hands, the car started moving, causing my legs to retreat. I felt the speed accelerating, hence I lifted my arms and stepped aside.

Arousing my suspicions, the red car decelerated towards Jacob, then halted. The driver shifted its position so the door to the driver's side propped in front of Jacob.

Even with the dim light and this sophisticated piece of metal separating us, I could see Jacob opening the door. But before he rode, he said from over the car roof: “Do not take the new assignment to heart, think of it as guarding the life of Evelyn's fiancé.”

The next thing I heard was the car engine squeezing the trauma of my new-founded shock.

Evelyn's fiancé?

The noise grew far away in a blink of an eye, a complete darkness surrounded me anew. The silence shocked out my breath, my mind, and my beliefs.

Who is Evelyn's fiancé?

Whom he was referring to?

The cold returned nibbling at the periphery of my limbs, then a sneeze followed up. I felt strange fatigue emerging within my soul, turning my thoughts into a dance of fog. Wherever I search for a concept, it turned into a mirage.

My arms hugged my chest, shielding the last drops of warmth. I still have to walk to the nearest urban area. Maybe there, I will be lucky to catch a cap.

The world began to spin over my head with each step. The earth's gravity somehow became strong, pulling down my legs to the point it became so hard to walk. So hard to stand.

I approached the nearest wall, leaning on it. At the next moment, I couldn’t keep up the standing position. My back slid gradually over the wall until my body reached the sitting position.

It was the periphery of this industrial zone, outside of big transporter vehicles that pass now and then, there were no caps, no bus going by this highway at this late hour.

I checked my phone several times. Earlier, it was damaged by water. Each time, a glimmer of hope surged in my heart that it would work. However, even the faint screen won’t turn on.

Evelyn's fiancé… who is Evelyn's fiancé?

Who is Emery Cromwell?

The accumulating moments of lethargy and inertia cause my conscience a moment of drowning, one after another, then emerged again, albeit weaker and chaotic. In the end, the dullness reached its winning point, forcing me to resign and take a superficial nap sectioned by rambling nightmares.

How much time passed, I didn’t know… The faded calling voice merged with my dark dreams. In my imagination, it had no face, no name.

I felt a hand on my forehead, cold, and wet. The light touch alerted the survival instinct of mine. My head jerked away, avoiding it, yet my eyelids refused to open. They were so heavy.

The light touch changed position and transformed into light slaps on my cheek. Finally waking me up.

The obscurity still lingering in my vision, refusing to break out. The pain of cracked bones resurfaced into my awareness, leaving me wishing to stay unconscious forever.

“Kiran, are you with me? Can you get up?”

Despite the strange voice taking a clearer tone, its owner remained anonymous.

So much force was needed to lift my body, standing. Ache everywhere. one hand leaning on the wall the other, fending, keeping this stranger at a safe distance.

My balance fell apart in the first attempt to take a step. I was certain of my collapse. In letting my body under the mercy of air gave me such a relief. I didn’t need to make more effort to stand nonetheless to walk.

The next time I grew aware of my surroundings, I was in a warm place, lying in a comfortable place. The buzz of air seemed far away yet real, as if I were inside something moving at high speed.

My clothes were still damp, but not like the cold dripping wet kind of dampness of earlier, but rather the humid, soft one after an intense workout.

The fog kept control over my mind. A ray of clarity popped out questioning the unfamiliar circumstance, and in one click everything fall into a logical spot.

Where was I?

The same voice of earlier reached my ears before I could open my eyes. “You finally woke up?”

With a difficulty, my palm covered my face, hiding an alarming expression of anxiety and surprise. Perhaps I had never ridden in this car before, yet I identified it from the inside, the space, the speed. The familiar perfume.

From the corner of my eyes, I stole a glimpse at the driver's seat. The silhouette of a large frame filled most of the space. His head inclined to the right, meeting my gaze. Emery Cromwell's visage bordered a heavy aura of authority I never witnessed before. He looked like a different person, quite dignified and extra dangerous.

Assuming an act of calmness, I perceived his eagerness hungry for a surprising response or better, a shock. My lips sealed down the many questions roaming at their entrance. My body relaxed back to the seat, focusing upfront, on the road, on the unknown destination I was taken to.

From time to time, I noticed his gaze scrutinized my side, subtly as only his eyes moved. The gamble between us right now summed up a game of patience, the first who will speak, the first who will expose his intentions and vulnerabilities.

In this wordless battle, I let my mind wonder the deep pit of memories, uncovering it, a layer by a layer in search of rationalization.

The first time I acquainted Emery Cromwell was across Evelyn encoded letters.

Her earlier writing never singled a name, never gave an explicit description. Just hints of infatuation, dispersed here and there for my brain to make a connection.

The first time she disclosed a name was also for my sake, a helping hand for her lonely little brother in an unfamiliar place, pursuing an implausible goal.

It was I who affiliated the previous hints under this name, given the awe and respect in her words, carried the same besotted gist.

This nameless mane quietly took a shape in my imagination. The perfect hero for the perfect legend. However, the legends named legends because they couldn’t be real. There was always a scrap of deceit clinging to the back of my throat after each tale of his accomplishments. Can such a perfect person exist in such an unperfect world?

I saw him for the first time at the cursed Olvera dinner party. Finally, that shiny name and aspiring deeds of courage and generosity took a shape and crowned a face. Back then, my worldview of Evelyn crumbled. I wasn’t her primary priority anymore. Somebody else took my place, somebody I didn’t even know. A sense of loss mushroomed out of childish selfishness that the people who were mine will be always mine, no matter how much time will pass. But because this was the cruel way in the world, I gobbled up my insecurities for the greater good. For Evelyn’s happiness.

The second time I met Emery Cromwell was on a much more intimate level. A face-to-face conversation, longer than the ones I had with my friends. He wanted to solidify his position in Evelyn's heart exploiting my unfortunate circumstance, or so I have guessed… After a while, this belief changed to something entirely different, something rather absurd, for an unknown purpose, he wanted to be for me the hero he was to my sister. Such an unfathomable hero complex.

Still, if August Olvera is Evelyn's fiancé, then who is Emery Cromwell?

The car speed stayed steady, and the sequential passage of light bulbs illuminating the road worked a hypnotic influence on my tired body. Despite the drowsiness fighting its way to my eyes, fervently, my mind kept its liveliness, floating high and low in the murky valleys of thoughts. Half dead, I appeared to the spectator. However, Mr. Cromwell showed a craftiness I didn’t foresee he would be capable of.

Instead of acting as I intended for him, a trick to play half dead, so it forced him to start the conversation. He rather caused the car a swift deceleration. The mass of sudden pressure pushed not just my body forward, but also some items. An item that it rather not appeared in my sightline.

My eyes opened at a sort of a firearm after the impact, loosely tucked among other trivial objects.

Was it intentional? I had already lost faith in his supposed innocence.

Instead of following what he intended me to be the first one to start the conversation about the abrupt deceleration. I profited from the collision, pretending to hit my head hard.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Ouch…”

I swear, it wasn’t an act. The pain was real.

The side glance landing I won from his direction sealed the pact of my win as it soon followed by the hero complex top of list favorite question, “Are you Ok?”

Ah, and don’t forget the irresistible rule of self-proclaimed gentlemen. I knew because I am one of them.

He sounded the same as I remembered him. The timbre of his voice carried the merry facade of virtuous motive.

After the initiated sentence seeped out of his control, the dialogue poured down, except for the caution shreds under the slyness cover governing the exchange.

“Were you enjoying a night bath in the sea in this kind of weather?”

“Were you enjoying the night sceneries of the industrial zone?”

A yawn forged its way atop my mouth, feigning disinterest in the extensive sidelong glance he soaked me in.

The underneath significance entombed within the passive sarcasm of those questions, both of us succeeded in extracting an uncommon translation out of it. He was digging up my motive behind visiting the Olvera industrial zone while I sought his method of knowing my whereabouts.

The time, the place, even my state deemed unfavorable for a challenge, I was completely, mercilessly under his grasp. For a greater self-interest and personal wellbeing, my all raging beast of pride and skepticism earned a sleeping pile. Hence, I surrendered. “I went to investigate something?” My voice as detached as dejected as a dry leaf on a dusky autumn day.

This frankness earned me a quite display. I never saw him miss control over his facial expressions, the upright, stupidly merry, well-crafted expressions. A ghost of his true person flickered behind the heavy curtains. And to my surprise, I couldn’t judge it.

“You think the Olvera had something to do with the murder story?”

“Yes. I thought.”

“Did you find something?”

“No,” I answered while watching his profile. From the upward corner of his lips, my response didn’t hit the mark. In my mind, two sides wrestled with the message of my next words. Should I add a lie, or should I speak a fact? Should I shut up?

“No, I think I was searching in the wrong direction all along.” It startled me the moment his head whirled to the side, towards me. Our gaze met, briefly. The ghost of his true character emerged anew before it sank into the stream of a quick alternation of the road shadows and dim lights.

The car speed decreased, the trajectory swerved left, then he drove away from the main road. The sudden change of path escalated the doubts symphony, halting my effort to maintain an alertness bearing.

My patience withered along with the growing distance, my persistent wait for a clarification condensed with the entangled trees bordering this side road.

“How did you find me?” It was a question it long kept grazing the roof of my throat, if something bad was going to happen, at least, I deserved an answer.

“Certainly, I was looking for you.”

“Yes, I guessed that much. I mean, how exactly did you see me while driving at the speed of light, on the highway, at the night?” No chance I won’t be vigilant If he sent someone to stalk after me.

The purpose behind this question extended larger than obtaining a false reply. It tested the scope of his wit. Provided he understood much that no matter the response, I will not believe in it.

“I told you, I was looking for you.”

Absolutely, there must be some truth in this phrase. Yet it didn’t contain a justification, even an erroneous argument. Either he lacked the eloquent skill, which I doubted was the case, or he found it a waste coming clean to someone insignificant, such as myself.

I gave up the conversation warfare in favor of relaxation. The earlier fever relapsed, generating a vague but an imposing lethargy. My head leaned back in the seat, allowing me a narrow field of vision. Doubtless, Emery's profile erred through its boundary. The sceneries before my eyes kept the gloomy touch of darkness, artificial light here as scarce as the stars in a cloudy sky. From time to time, my gaze spied the location of the firearm.

Every kind of thought roved my mind earlier mingled amidst the fragmented memories of that day, giving birth to a mild nightmare.

The invitation, The Olvera dinner party, the explosion, August's public fiancée's death… The next time I woke up, the car was halting in front of a big residence. The architecture resembled the French neoclassical style, from the dramatic columns and the triangular pediments to the symmetrical concepts of simplicity and flat roofs with a central dome.

The generous light sources uncovered a surprising gathering of what appeared at first glance, an aristocratic soiree.

Through the blurry glass, my almost shut eyes encompassed a familiar stage. Young men and young women in formal attire welcomed the arriving cars, one by one. Greeting the guests courteously before guiding them to the gateway.

Likewise, upon its arrival, Emery’s car received the same treatment. One young man and one young female, one in black and the other in a white suit approached. Emery quickened the process. Before the attendant could reach the car door, he jumped out of his seat. In my case, I took my time observing what could reach my five senses.

My first priority summed up in pursuing Emery’s endeavor. The head of the young man bounced up and down as he accepted instructions from him. Afterward, the latter gaze hindered mine in a wary style.

The door next to me was opened, the night breeze launched an attack, and the damp clothes above my skin sucked out the newfound warmth. I chased the fatigue and prepared for the exit.

The drop in temperature-induced successive sneezes, as well as a general shudder across my whole body. However, my ears operated at full capacity while my eyes betrayed me.

"Oh… Kiran? What happened to you?" All concern, this feminine voice sounded familiar.

"Let's get you inside before your condition turns worse."

A soft touch supported my back and elegant fingers held my arm, walking me inside. Slowly, carefully. I heard the other young man say something, but it all faded into the background of my consciousness.

Once inside a warm room, the same voice echoed again, "You can take a bath, I have some work now, I will send someone to deliver new clothes for you and there are painkillers in the cabinet. "

"Thank you." I said before she left, "Anna." My head turned to observe her reaction. She seemed unmindful of the nickname, "I mean Annabel, I hope you don't mind. I call you Anna for short."

She giggled, her palm covering her lips, "well, this is so new. At first it took you so long to call me by my name, and now you are giving me a short name."

"I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, I finally can consider ourselves friends." A beep came from the notifier fastened on her belt. "Sorry, I am really busy now. Russ will kill me if I slack off. I will find you later."

The room door glided unhurriedly, shutting down Annabel’s outline as it drifted away. My hand froze on the door handle, refusing to let go, as though I was going to lose something by allowing the door to close. Where was I, and why Emery had brought me here? Two frustrating questions, sunk into a muddled head, resonated beneath rationality.

In the end, I waived to reality, fastening the door lock via the offered multiple levels of security.

Like a charm, the hot water washed the thick layer of dust, obstructing my thinking process. Clouds of indolent steam melted the heavy chain restricting my limbs. Akin to a white feather floating in an endless void, an overwhelming state of tranquility unrolled inside, then outside my being, scrubbing the frost away in craving touches.

In the new set of clothes, I chose to dress in a black suit. Similar to the one worn by the attendants. But this one was accompanied by a black carnival mask. In front of the mirror, I placed the mask above my eyes, observing the resulting image. The reflection looked like me, yet it seemed as if I was watching somebody else.

In no time, I identified my way through the hallways and entrances. The underground auditorium concluded my journey. There, between the disguised faces and the ongoing murmurs, I searched for a well-known companion. Albeit my guided focus and my fevered pursuit of the designed goal, multiple fast stares spilled out here and there, surveying the place.

From the left, a soft tap on my shoulder interrupted this obsessive-compulsive disorder of mine. Although I had yet to retrieve my full perception, a heartfelt smile overcame the solemn air, hugging my entire presence.

“Thank goddess… It’s good seeing you not disoriented in this maze of a building.” Annabel commented, holding a chuckle, half of her face concealed under a white butterfly mask. “I was racing against time to check on you, but it seems that you know your way.”

“It’s hard to not memorize the building map when I see it, practically every day,” I said while I received a drink from her hand.

“You look very good in this outfit. You should have accepted the job when the boss had offered it. It also pays very well, especially for stony-broke students.”

The pips from her notifier restarted anew. She covered the tiny device in her fist and giggled. “Oh! They are not letting me relax this time.” She lifted her eyes, winking, “See you later…” Then slithered a passage amidst the crowd.

If I have to compare Hanna Marchetti and Annabel Harmon, they were two characters who inhabited the opposite end of the spectrum. Annabel was awfully cheerful, quite the optimist and social butterfly. She never lacked a subject for a conversation. In contrast, Hanna Marchetti represented the reserved, cold queen, the silent dove carrying a hundred messages. While under the calm surface resided a shy spirit.

“I thought that you already have a girlfriend?”

I didn’t need a head confrontation to identify the speaker. “She is the one hitting on me.”

“Haha,” an unreserved smirk retained an ambiguous essence, pierced through my back.

“That’s right. Who could resist Evelyn’s younger twin brother?”

At this moment, I turned around, the majority of my frowns confiscated beneath the black mask, whereas my mouth mirrored even an awful smirk. “Thank you, boss. If it weren’t for you, I may have frozen to death.”

“Glad to see you recuperating quickly. But I rather preferred your lethargic stance.”

The air that started to stagnate harbored the scent of smoke, unbeknownst to our entourage, however, acknowledged by both of us. This nefarious burning smell sowed prior to my grasp of Mr. Emery Cromwell's actual place in Evelyn’s life.

Would she mind if anything bad will descend upon this man?

An acute voice resonated from a man using a hand-mic while standing in the middle of the main stage. “Dear ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, tonight auction will start soon.”

To maintain the aggressive enthusiasm, I sat right next to Mr. Cromwell. Our shoulders almost touched. This blatant provocation on my part met with extreme aloofness from his side. Neither angry nor critical, he watched the unfolding stage bearing a keen interest. There were no significant changes in his countenances.

Brazenly, I leaned forward, elbow on knee, head tilted, resting on my hand. I examined his posture. From head to toe. He changed clothes. The double-breasted suit he modeled matched the one he wore at the dinner party and wildly clashed with his usual attire. The way he sat oozed arrogance and imposed some sort of dominance.

“What? Displeased because I forced you in here? Afraid you will stain your reputation when showing your covered face in outlawed events?” The merry humor and the mischievous tone stayed unchangeable.

All at once, I drenched in the glacial breeze, my onset flame to harass him cooled into ash. The irritating pose I adopted dissolved into a polite etiquette. “I have left no reputation to speak of.”