chapter two
1070 Words
"Boss, you called for me?" A man asked as he entered the room where Edward sat.
"Where's the artist I asked you to find?" Edward replied, taking a sip from his coffee.
"He says he’s unavailable. He’s traveling at noon," The man answered, stepping back, wary of his boss’s reaction.
"He turned me down? Who does he think he is? Get him to my studio by noon," Edward snapped, standing up to reveal his tall, slender frame. The man couldn’t muster the courage to speak; instead, he swallowed hard and left in a hurry. Edward Marion wasn't just anyone—he was the biggest artist in the music industry, one of Forbes’ top three youngest billionaires, and sole heir to the vast Marion enterprise. His name carried weight everywhere, and if the artist refused, Edward’s men would gladly drag him in, no matter the consequences.
Later, at the studio, Edward had barely picked up his headset to record when a commotion erupted in the corridor. Distracted, he tossed the headset on the chair and snapped his fingers twice. Two men in black suits dragged in a man—on his knees, bleeding from the nose.
Edward took his seat, regarding the man writhing in pain.
"Where are his tools? The board and ink? I brought him here to paint, not to whine like a child," Edward barked at his men. One scurried off, returning moments later with a drawing board, brushes, and ink, which he tossed at the artist.
"So…" Edward paused, feigning politeness. "No need for disrespect. Grab a seat, Wayne."
Wayne staggered to his feet, settling shakily across from Edward, glaring defiantly.
"I heard you’re supposed to be on some cheap flight about now, but you can’t turn me down, Wayne. Not now," Edward said, his lips curling into a smile.
"I only got your request this morning. I booked my ticket last month—my mom has surgery today. I wanted to be there for her," Wayne replied, dabbing at the blood on his nose.
"Oops—my bad. But let’s get to business," Edward said, leaning forward. "I’ve been plagued by a recurring nightmare, always seeing a certain woman. I need you to sketch her. Who is she?" He signaled for the others to leave the room.
After a series of descriptions and sketches, Wayne finally produced a painting—Amanda, the woman from Edward’s nightmares. It was a side profile, her face half hidden but unmistakable.
" Yes! This will help me find her," Edward said, examining the painting. "I knew only you could pull this off." He called for his men to return. " Take this," he ordered, handing over the artwork. **"Find this woman." The men glanced at the painting, then tucked it away.
"And Wayne—use my private jet. Get him wherever he needs to be," Edward added, signaling them to leave.
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Riya returned home to an atmosphere heavy with tension. The dim apartment felt warm yet tainted by memories of her last fight with James, her husband. It had been a week since she’d seen him, and now he was back—just as he did after every fight, always disappearing for days.
James sat slumped on the worn couch, head down and fingers nervously fidgeting. The children slept soundly nearby. The air was thick with unspoken words. Riya braced herself, painfully aware of the physical and emotional bruises from their last encounter.
She walked to her wardrobe, beginning to unzip her dress. James stood and approached, as if to help. She brushed him off, turning to face him with guarded eyes.
He looked back, guilt and remorse etched across his features. “Riya, I’m sorry about last time. I never meant to hurt you.” His voice shook as he reached for her hand. She pulled away, knowing what would come next.
"I don't want to hear your excuses, James," she said, trying to steady her voice. "What you did... it’s not okay."
"I’m sorry," he whispered, tears threatening to fall.
" Sorry isn’t enough" Riya replied, setting her earrings on the small table. "You can’t think everything’s fine just because you apologize."
"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair. " I messed up. I’m trying to change."
"I hope so, James. Because this is tearing us apart," she said, her concern clear.
"After this, I promise things will be different. I swear on my late parents..."
"What problem now? James, you haven’t done something stupid again, have you?" Worry crept into her voice as she stepped closer.
He hesitated, then confessed, "I need help. Ben’s boys are after me".
"Ben’s boys? James, what did you do this time?" Panic surged in Riya.
"I took a loan. I thought I could win it back by gambling—but I lost everything," he admitted, tears running down his face. "It’s been two months, and I haven’t saved enough to pay it back."
"You gambled Ben’s money? Are you insane, James?"
"Please, Riya. I have two weeks to pay him back. If I can’t, our lives are at stake."
"Your life, James—not ours. You brought this on yourself!" The hurt rose in Riya’s throat.
"Are you abandoning me? We’re family, Riya!" His voice was desperate.
"Family?" she echoed, pain in her words. "You abandoned me every time things got hard. Where was your support when I needed it?" She took a shaky breath. "I get that life is hard, but you can’t keep making the same mistakes and expect me to fix them."
"I’m trying, I swear!" James cried, sobs wracking his frame.
"I can’t, James," she said quietly. "I’m already working double shifts. I can’t do more."
" Don’t leave me, Riya" he begged, dropping to his knees and clutching her leg. Riya stared down at him, heart aching, tears streaming down her cheeks. He was drowning her, again and again, and there was nothing left to give. But without her, he was lost.
"How much is it?" she asked softly.
"Fifty bucks," he whispered, hope flickering in his eyes.
"Fine," she replied, freeing herself from his grip and moving toward the bathroom. "But I won’t keep cleaning up your messes, James."
" Thank you, Riya. I love you," he called after her as she shut the bathroom door behind her. She heard the front door slam moments later. He was leaving once again.
- Writer
