The Tenth Explosion

Chapter 7: Gold and grief

Rain in the city always made people look smaller than they really were. Everybody rushing under tiny umbrellas, shoes splashing through dirty water, drivers cursing through rolled-down windows like the storm personally offended them. Covalen Tower stood in the middle of all that chaos looking untouchable. Forty floors of glass, money, and symbol of wealth.

Inside the building, everything smelled expensive. Marble floors polished so clean you could practically see your sins reflected back at you. Men in fitted suits walking around with tablets and fake smiles. Women in heels sharp enough to kill a man emotionally. And somewhere at the center of all that noise was Kate.

By 4:30 PM she was exhausted. Not the dramatic kind of exhaustion people post online. Real exhaustion. The type that sits behind your eyes and makes every sound irritating. Her back hurt from sitting too long. Her coffee had gone cold three hours ago. One of her coworkers had spent the afternoon chewing gum loudly like a cow with personal issues. She just wanted to go home.

The elevator dinged softly as she stepped out into the lobby, fixing her bag on her shoulder while checking her phone for the fifth time. No new messages. No miracle alert saying adulthood had been cancelled. Then suddenly the atmosphere changed. You could always tell when powerful people entered a room. Not because they were special, honestly. Mostly because everyone around them started behaving weirdly.

Security men appeared first. Tall. Alert. Black suits. Wired earpieces. Then came older executives walking with nervous smiles. Behind them, finally, was Mr. James. Well… now officially James Arthur. CEO of Covalen Group. The same man she had shared an umbrella with that morning.

Kate blinked once. Seriously? The guy looked completely different now compared to earlier. This morning he had looked almost ordinary standing beside her in the heavy rain, his white shirt soaked around the shoulders while he was there standing helplessly. “Mind if you walk with me?” she had asked then. Simple. Calm. Human. And he smiled lightly: "Thanks so much for your kindness.”

Now look at him. Custom charcoal suit. Cold expression. Security surrounding him like he was the president of a small angry country. His father walked beside him proudly while executives practically floated around him. Kate waited. At least wave, she thought. At least acknowledge me. James looked directly at her for half a second. Then turned his face away completely. No smile. No nod. Nothing. The man walked past her like she was invisible.

Kate stood there stunned for exactly three seconds before irritation exploded inside her chest. “All this men,” she muttered under her breath while walking toward the exit. “Once they become rich, they become rude.”

The rain outside had reduced to a thin annoying drizzle, the kind that didn’t fully wet you but somehow still ruined your mood. By the time she entered her Uber, she was already angry. Then the driver started talking. That was mistake number one. “Hello ma.” Kate closed her eyes slowly. Not today. The man kept complaining about fuel prices, traffic, politicians, women who don’t appreciate hardworking men, and somehow football too. His voice just kept going. Every red light felt personal.

By the time she got home, she wanted to fight the universe itself. Her dog came running excitedly toward her. Normally she adored him. Today? “Bruno please,” she groaned as the dog jumped against her jeans with muddy paws. Then her kitchen door jammed. Of course it did. She shoved it harder than necessary. The groceries nearly fell from her hands. A plate slipped from the counter and shattered. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She stared at the broken plate for a long moment before laughing bitterly to herself. “You know what, Kate? Maybe you’re the problem.”

Meanwhile, across the city, James sat silently in the backseat of a black armored Mercedes while the city lights moved past the tinted windows. His father kept talking. Proud talking. The kind fathers do when they finally get the son they wanted. “You handled yourself well today,” Mr. Arthur said calmly. “The board respects strength.”

James nodded faintly. His shoulder still hurt underneath the expensive suit. The bullet wound had mostly healed, but not completely. His father looked at him again, this time more seriously. “Son… why did you get yourself shot?” James exhaled slowly. Here we go. “I thought I warned you not to go to that protest,” his father continued. “You are not an ordinary man. You can’t move carelessly in public like students carrying signs on the street.”

“It wasn’t like that.” James. “You almost died.” Mr Arthur. The older man’s voice cracked slightly there. That changed everything. James turned to look at him. Mr. Arthur stared ahead quietly before speaking again, softer now. “When I saw you at the office today…” he said slowly, “I thought my heart stopped. Your mother was already gone. If I lost you too…” He swallowed hard. “I would have killed myself.”

Silence filled the car. Heavy silence. James looked away toward the window. People feared his father. Business magazines called the man ruthless. Competitors called him dangerous. Employees lowered their voices when he entered rooms. But grief changes people strangely. Since Mrs. Arthur died almost two years earlier, the old man had become quieter. Sometimes colder. Sometimes lonely in ways that money couldn’t fix.

Still, James said nothing. The mansion gates opened automatically as the car drove in. Huge fountains sparkled near the entrance. White stone walls. Perfect gardens. Luxury everywhere you looked. Yet somehow the place always felt empty now. His mother used to fill it with noise.

James headed straight upstairs after arriving. His bedroom alone was larger than most apartments in the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the estate. Dark wooden shelves lined one wall. Minimalist furniture. Expensive whiskey untouched near the bar counter. He showered slowly, letting hot water run over his skin while his mind drifted back to the lobby earlier.

Kate. He remembered the irritation in her eyes when he ignored her. Truth was, he wanted to acknowledge her. But Covalen’s board members had spent the entire week warning him about appearances. A CEO couldn’t casually greet employees in public. Familiarity created gossip. Gossip created weakness. Corporate people loved stupid rules. Still… he felt slightly guilty.

By 5 PM he finally stepped out of his room wearing black sweatpants and a loose shirt, laptop in one hand while reviewing documents. Then he froze. Near the swimming pool downstairs sat his father. And on his father’s lap was one of the housemaids. Young woman. Maybe late twenties. Her dress straps hung loosely against her shoulders while she giggled softly into the older man’s ear. One hand rested against his chest. His father’s fingers slowly moved along her thigh while she kissed his neck lazily.

“Sir…” she whispered seductively. “You stress too much.” Mr. Arthur chuckled quietly, pulling her closer. “Maybe you should distract me more often.”

James stared in disbelief. For one second he honestly thought he was hallucinating. Then rage hit him so fast it almost felt physical. His jaw tightened. Without saying a word, he grabbed a large bucket sitting beside the pool, filled it quickly with water, walked forward—and dumped the entire thing over both of them.

The scream that followed nearly echoed across the mansion. “What the f**k!” his father shouted, jumping violently from the chair. The maid gasped, soaked completely, mascara running down her face while water dripped from her hair.

James stood there breathing hard. “Dad,” he said coldly, “are you seriously doing this?”

“James—”

“No. Don’t even start.”

His father looked furious now. “You have completely lost your mind!”

“And you haven’t?” James snapped back. “Mom has not even been dead for two years and you’re here playing teenage romance beside the pool with a maid?”

The young woman quickly stepped back nervously. “Sir, I think I should—”

“You,” James interrupted sharply while pointing toward the house, “go pack your things.”

“James!” his father barked.

“She leaves tonight.”

The maid looked between both men anxiously. Mr. Arthur stepped forward. “You don’t get to control my life.”

James laughed bitterly. “Your life?” he repeated. “That woman practically has her tongue in your mouth beside my mother’s swimming pool.”

“Watch your tone.”

“No, you watch yours.”

The tension between them became dangerous instantly. Years of frustration sat underneath that moment. Years of unspoken anger. Grief. Expectations. James looked toward the frightened maid again. “Get your things and leave.”

“Stop, James,” his father warned.

Then James stepped closer, voice dropping low enough to sound genuinely threatening. “Don’t make me do to this maid exactly what the two of you were doing here,” he said darkly, “and worse… right in front of you.”

The silence afterward felt sharp enough to cut skin. The maid immediately grabbed her shoes and hurried inside the house trembling slightly. Mr. Arthur stared at his son carefully now. Because he realized something important in that moment. James was not bluffing. Not completely. The older man exhaled heavily, anger slowly draining from his face.

“You’re becoming too aggressive,” he muttered.

“And you’re becoming pathetic.”

That one landed hard. His father looked away first. A few minutes later the maid quietly left the mansion with her bags. No dramatic goodbye. No argument. Just humiliation hanging in the air behind her.

The poolside became silent afterward except for soft water sounds and distant thunder. James sat down finally, rubbing his forehead tiredly. His father remained standing for a while before lowering himself slowly into the chair opposite him. Neither spoke immediately. Honestly, both men looked exhausted.

Mr. Arthur poured himself a drink with unsteady hands. “I loved your mother,” he said quietly after some time. James didn’t answer. “I still love her.” The older man stared into his glass. “You think grief disappears because time passes? It doesn’t.” He laughed softly to himself. “Sometimes it actually gets worse. The house becomes quieter. Her side of the bed stays cold. You start talking to photographs like an idiot.”

James listened silently. “She used to wait for me every night,” his father continued. “Even when I came home late. Your mother hated eating alone.”

The anger inside James softened slightly. Just slightly. His father looked older tonight. Not weak exactly. Just human. “I know what I did looked terrible,” the old man admitted. “Maybe it was terrible. But loneliness can make people stupid, son.”

James leaned back slowly. The city lights reflected against the pool water while night settled quietly around them. “I just…” James sighed. “I don’t want her memory disrespected.”

Mr. Arthur nodded immediately. “I know.”

For a moment both men simply sat there listening to the soft wind moving through the trees. Then unexpectedly, his father smiled faintly. “You inherited her temper by the way.”

James scoffed lightly despite himself. “No. I inherited yours.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

That finally pulled a reluctant laugh from James. Small laugh. Brief. But real. The tension eased little by little after that. His father poured another drink, though this time slower. “You know,” he said casually, “most sons would ignore their father’s personal life.”

“Most fathers don’t flirt beside swimming pools like university students.”

Mr. Arthur chuckled despite himself. “Fair point.”

Another silence came, though warmer now. Then James suddenly remembered Kate again. The umbrella. The irritation on her face. The way she looked disappointed when he ignored her. Funny how that bothered him more than it should.

His father noticed the distant expression immediately. “What?” James shook his head. “Nothing.” “A woman?” “No.” “That means yes.” James rolled his eyes while standing up. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re avoiding the question.”

James started walking back toward the house. Behind him, his father smiled for the first time that entire day. Maybe things weren’t completely broken after all. But James had not finished mourning for his late fiancee "melony".