Chapter 138
Chapter 138
Perfect. I needed to pick his brain about investments anyway. [Sure.]
His reply was a cheerful emoji.
The gate’s charging station was barely warm when my mother–in–law’s caller ID flashed. Yvonne’s petulant voice came through: “Mom, when are you coming home? I told Dad to tell you to buy me a present. Are you gonna get me one?”
“No.” Flat. Final.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” Her voice sharpened. “Do you even love me?”
“Love’s transactional, sweetheart. Even maternal affection has terms.” Ice crystallized in my veins.
“What did I do wrong? You’re being weird again. I don’t get it!” Classic Yvonne, playing dumb to evade accountability. She understood. She just refused to.
The call died abruptly. I didn’t redial. Some bridges deserved to burn.
By the time I landed in Hachester, it was past six in the evening. Straight from the airport, I headed to dinner. The taxi dropped me off at a secluded garden–style restaurant, its old–world charm accentuated by the rain–freshened air.
The parking lot, half–hidden beneath flowering trees, was nearly empty, except for one impossible–to–miss vehicle. Nathan’s Maybach gleamed under the soft glow of the lot lights, its sleek lines even more striking after the rain.
As I approached, he stepped out of the car–tall, lean, dressed in a crisp white long–sleeved shirt that gave him that quiet, academic aura. The kind of man who looked like he spent more time with equations than people.
Just then, a family emerged from the restaurant. A boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, zeroed in on the Maybach like a moth to a flame.
“Whoa!” He darted over, circling the car with wide–eyed awe before turning to Nathan. “Dude, is this yours?”
Nathan smiled. “Yeah.”
The kid’s face lit up like he’d just unlocked a cheat code for life. “If I study till my books fall apart… can I drive something like this someday?”
sing to
Maybe it was the way he radiated earnestness, like a man who’d never learned to armor himself against the world. And humans, myself included, couldn’t resist testing the softest targets.
“This way.” He led me to a private booth, its warm lighting at odds with the tension coiling in the air. When we sat, he slid the menu toward me, fingers lingering a second too long.
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