“When are you going to leave for Pa’s house?” I ask Wen at the dinner table.
She slides the spoon out of her mouth, watching me. “Don’t know. But not now.”
“Why? You were only here for your concert, which was three days ago.”
She nods. “But I still want to stay here.” I raise my brows. She sighs. “Okay… I’m staying because I’m afraid to leave you alone in this state.”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not fine. Not even close. When I check on you before going to sleep, I find you in your study. When I check on you around 2 a.m., I still find you in your study. When I wake up at 6 a.m., I find you downstairs. I don’t know when you are sleeping. Then you leave for the office at 7 a.m. and come back at 9 p.m., you’re working more than machines. And I wouldn’t have a problem with it if I didn’t know about Karoshi. And besides that, you’ve lost your arrogant, cocky side completely. Now you look like a lost puppy, and I’m soft-hearted when it comes to animals.”
“Whatever. Stay here for as long as you want.” I get up and leave the dining room.
I resume working once I settle into my chair in my study. Work keeps my head busy, and that’s the only solution to not think about the useless thing people call a heart. How good it would have been if I had never known about it. How good it would have been if I hadn’t attended that party seven years ago and had never met that twelve-year-old girl.
But then, how would I have experienced the precious gift of her shy smiles for four years? And then, after another four years, kissing her sweet lips, sleeping with so much peace and fulfillment while holding her to my chest?
What I got was worth everything. It was worth it even when everything was taken away and I’m left feeling this hollowness, as if life itself has been ripped out of me.
It was worth it.
My study door opens, and Zo enters. He comes inside and sits on the chair in front of me.
“Vince was saying you’re making everyone work from seven to nine.” Vince is my chief secretary.
“I didn’t ask them to do overtime. It’s their fault they don’t have reports from the past five years of every one of my businesses.”
“Give them time,” he says, “and give yourself time as well. You need rest.”
“I’m not able to.”
He gets up from the chair and walks around the table. I watch him with a frown. “What?”
He takes out a syringe. “You need rest.”
I get up and lunge at him to snatch the injection from his hand. He moves his hand up rapidly. I hold back mid-attack when I remember he’s still recovering, and he takes the leverage, plunging the injection into my bicep.
I push his hand away along with the injection, but the contents are already inside my body.
“What was that?” I grit out.
“Sedative,” he says calmly. “It’s very mild, but it’ll help you relax.”
“I didn’t need it.”
“You did. And now, if you don’t want me to carry you to your room, walk yourself. You only have time to change and lie down.”
“I’ll beat your ass tomorrow,” I spit, heading for the door. I can already feel it taking effect in my body, heavy, slow, creeping through my veins.
I reach my room, and by the time I remove my clothes, dizziness washes over me. I fall onto the bed in nothing but my underwear and close my eyes.
I need to call her.
I call her only once a day—at three a.m. every night, just before she goes to bed. I don’t know if I’m allowed to call her at other times or not.What if she gets irritated and stops answering that one call as well?
My thoughts start falling apart. Memories of her come in fragments, like pictures on a broken television, flickering, disjointed, painfully vivid.
The twelve-year-old girl. She’s smiling. “I’m Iselyn Mikhailov. Don’t forget my name.”
