Chapter 2
666 Words
The boardroom was suffocating. Hours of numbers, graphs, and monotonous voices had stretched Drake’s patience thin. When the meeting finally adjourned, he loosened his tie, sank into his leather chair, and allowed himself a single deep breath.
Just as silence began to settle, his phone buzzed. The name flashing on the screen made him sigh: Leandro. His best friend, partner in crime, and occasional headache.
“Yo, bro,” Drake greeted, voice low and tired. “What’s up?”
The line went quiet for a beat before Leandro exhaled heavily. “Bro… I want to propose to Maureen.”
Drake’s brows shot up. “Again?!” He leaned back, amused. “And what if she says no? Are you planning to make rejection a hobby?”
He remembered the first proposal vividly. He’d even been there to witness it, an awkward restaurant scene where Maureen had looked at Leandro with pity before saying no. The kind of memory that made even Drake, a man who’d seen plenty of heartbreaks, wince.
But he knew the weight behind his friend’s desperation. Leandro’s grandfather had given him an ultimatum: marry soon or kiss his inheritance goodbye. Cruel, but powerful men rarely played fair.
“I don’t have time for doubts, bro,” Leandro muttered, tension sharp in his voice. “I need to get married as soon as possible.”
Drake chuckled, shaking his head. “Best of luck then. Goodbye, bachelorhood.”
Leandro groaned, but Drake ended the call before his friend could launch into a full rant.
For Drake, Leandro’s problem only reinforced what he already believed: marriage was a trap.
Once upon a time, he might have considered it. But a year ago, life had taught him a lesson too cruel to forget. Love, he’d learned, wasn’t a miracle. It was a wound. And his hadn’t healed.
Now, he filled the hollow spaces of his life with work and women, two things he controlled. Women adored him. They always had. And Drake enjoyed their attention, their beauty, the thrill of conquest. But that was all it was: thrill. No strings. No promises.
He was picky, too. He didn’t like loud, clingy types. He wanted women with elegance, poise, the kind who knew how to carry themselves without demanding more than he was willing to give.
And when he was done, he walked away. Simple. Clean. No one got hurt.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
By the time he drove through the iron gates of his private subdivision, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. The guards saluted as he passed. Inside, the modern house felt too big, too empty. He tossed his bag onto the couch and sank into it, rubbing his temples.
Finally, peace.
Or so he thought.
His phone rang again. He groaned. This time, the caller ID read: Cheska. One of his casual flings.
He swiped to answer. “What is it?”
“Babe,” came her sugary, flirtatious voice, “I’m free tonight. Wanna hang out?”
Drake smirked lazily, though fatigue tugged at him. “Not tonight, Cheska. I’m beat from work. Maybe tomorrow. You can have me all you want then.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Alright, babe. I’ll swing by your office tomorrow then. Maybe we can play there again.”
Drake didn’t bother answering. He ended the call and tossed the phone aside, shutting his eyes.
The world knew him as Drake Ammadeus Anderson, heir to the Anderson empire, COO of their marketing conglomerate, and the charming bachelor who lived for excitement.
And he played that role perfectly.
But when the lights were off, when the women were gone, when silence pressed in, he knew the truth.
The charm, the arrogance, the endless flings, it was all armor.
Because deep down, beneath the perfectly tailored suits and the devil-may-care smirk, was a man still haunted by a past he never spoke about.
And though no one could see it, the wound remained.
- Writer
