Clandestine love of the Elite

Alexander Cole stood by the well-designed, floor-to-ceiling expansive glass window of his penthouse in an exclusive location, staring out vividly at the sprawling cityscape below. The view was one of endless skyscrapers due to the prime properties around—a sea of lights twinkling against the shade of blue in the evening sky. From his vantage point, it was a beautiful world. While introspecting, the world seemed small, manageable in a way—even conquerable. In many ways, he had conquered it decisively. At thirty-three, Alexander Cole had built a worldwide dominion from scratch. His reputable company, Cole Industries, was a household name, dominating sectors from tech to real estate. But despite the billions in his bank account, luxury real estate, private islands, private jets, and the influence he wielded with a single phone call, there was a void inside him that even his greatest success couldn't fill. He turned gently from the window, walking across the austere space of his penthouse. It was all clean lines, cool tones, and subtle luxury—much like the man who owned it. Everything in his life was meticulously organized, calculated, and devoid of unnecessary clutter, both in material and emotional terms. Alexander had found out from a young age that feelings were a liability to him when it comes to sports. The young man’s mother used to work two jobs to make ends meet, while his father, apart from being a jobless man who intermittently got arrested, only worsened the troubles that the family was going through. It is his mother’s weakness trusting people, her optimism that the world will turn for the better for them, that had seen her being let down by family and friends time and time again. Alexander however had set his mind that nobody would be depended on not even himself. By sheer passion, commitment and purpose, he rose from the level of low income earners and turned a college experiment into a multi-billion company. But achieved success was expensive. Over the years he had put up barriers that surrounded him like fortresses so high no one including the ones he loved knew the real man. This silence was further broken by a ringing tone of his phone. Looking at the screen he received a message from his assistant Margot. Margot: Good day, Mr. Alexander. Don’t forget, you’re expected at the Davenport Charity Gala tomorrow evening at 8PM sharp. Dress code: Black tie. Alexander’s forehead creased. The Davenport Charity Gala was one of those events that drew everyone from his world—a prime opportunity for the rich and influential to showcase their wealth under the pretense of philanthropy. Typically, Alexander avoided these kinds of gatherings. He didn’t care for the idle chatter, the superficial smiles, and certainly not for the attention they attracted. But this gala was different. Margot had been adamant, vividly reminding him that several potential investors would be in attendance. Networking, as tedious as it was, had its benefits. Alexander just shook his head and tossed the phone on the couch, which is white and has no signs of use. He would, however the best effort would only be a cameo appearance. Again he had no passion for any form of socialization or idle chitter chatter with fans’ who wished to associate with him simply because of his wealth. The next morning unfolded like any other for Alexander: business lunches with managers, an important negotiation with the head of a European IT company that wanted to merge with ours, and much incoming mail that required an immediate response. Just like every iconic business, each task was well coated with glorious touch that superbly reflected his mechanical efficiency. Late in the evening, he went back to his penthouse, grudgingly getting ready for the gala for which he had no special enthusiasm. Tying the cuffs of his designer black tuxedo, he glanced at the mirror and saw a perfect man, he was. The man staring back at him was impeccably dressed, every inch the billionaire who commanded respect and a blend of fear. But there was a coldness in his expression, an air of detachment. He adjusted his tie, ignoring the fleeting thought that perhaps the life he had built had come at too high a personal cost. A knock on the door indicated the arrival of his driver. With one last look in the mirror, Alexander left the penthouse; his expression became rigid, turning into the mask he wore so well. The Davenport Charity Gala was hosted at one of the most prime venues in the city, a grand estate with sprawling green gardens, beautiful chandeliers, high-quality furnishings, elegant lighting, and stylish design elements. As Alexander stepped out of the car, he was welcomed by the flashing lights of photographers taking photos and the murmur of elite conversation alongside greetings. The gala was in full swing, with guests in glamorous gowns and designer suits fraternizing over champagne. He entered the venue, instantly capturing attention. Heads turned as he walked through the crowd, his presence commanding even in silence. People approached him, eager to make casual conversation and share in his aura of success, but Alexander barely registered them. His mind was already on the business at hand—the investors he needed to speak to and the potential deals that could possibly be made. Whilst walking around, he had his eyes roving across the area. There, amidst the sea of glittering elites, his eyes landed on someone who momentarily disrupted his cool detachment: a woman. She was just to the side of the room, interacting with a few people. She was rigorous in an intellectual capacity that he could not have expected. Her long black hair fell down to her shoulders, she sported perfect hair, and her dress, it was dark green and virtually clung to her body. She had an unblemished face, with rosy cheeks and pretty neat features of the classically beautiful. Beauty was, however, not the only thing that drew him to her. He has seen the difference between her mannerisms and the other girls – there was something quiet about her strength which set her apart from the fake optimism. For a second or two their gazes crossed in the middle of the room. Alexander received a kind of electric shock; something that he would probably not have described as curiosity or interest. But before he could think deeply about it, she looked back at her friends and resumed the discussion and the chance seized was lost. “ Alexander Cole, I was hoping to run into you.” The interruption came from a man in his fifties, one of the investors Maggot had mentioned. Alexander changed gears, his mind immediately snapping back to business. The next hour passed in a blur of strategic conversations, each one carefully navigated as he laid the groundwork for future deals. His focus never faltered, but every now and then, his thoughts drifted back to the woman in green. Who was she? And why, after all these years, did he sense the beginnings of an interest that had nothing to do with business? As the night progressed, Alexander’s patience for the gala began to grow weary. He had done what he came to do—networked, secured potential investments, and maintained the image everyone expected of him. Now, he was ready to leave. He headed toward the exit, but just as he arrived at the grand staircase leading out of the dance hall, he met her again. This time, she was alone with a glass of champagne, standing by a designed pillar. Her expression was thoughtful as she gazed into the darkness of the night. Without fully understanding why, Alexander found himself walking toward her. “Enjoying the evening?” he asked, his voice smooth but distant, as always. She looked at him full face; she had no fear in her eyes. Close-up, she was even more beautiful, her eyes – green as bottle – matched her gown. Picking up slowly from the chair, for a moment she posed unemotionally as if trying to feel him out to see the kind of man he was. “It’s a wonderful event,” she finally replied, her voice cool but with some touches of irony. “Though I suppose these things are more about appearances than anything else.” Alexander lifted his face, surprised by her candor. “In our world, appearances seem to be everything, don't they?” “Maybe to some,” she replied, a faint smile on her lips, “but that’s not the case for me.” Her response caught him off guard. Most people in their circles embraced the superficiality and the pretense, but there was something different about her—something real. Before he could say anything, a business partner called her name from across the room. She turned her gaze towards the source of the voice and then back at Alexander. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Alexander.” And with that, she was gone, leaving Alexander standing there, more intrigued than he had been in a very long time.