Chapter 4.
1689 Words
Chapter 4: Curtains Close and Clarity Comes.
Devon Drawson.
The morning after Mum's birthday bash felt like waking up from a champagne-soaked dream—and not the good kind. My head wasn't pounding, but something else was. A dull throb somewhere deeper. In my chest. My conscience.
I stood at the edge of my bedroom balcony, wrapped in a white robe, staring into the city’s skyline. From up here, the towers looked both majestic and fragile, glass teeth glinting in the early light. The sun was polite today—soft, forgiving, painting gold on the horizon like a gentle apology for last night. Unlike the silence that echoed between Ivay and me in the car on the ride back. That silence had been sharp, full of unspoken things.
My phone buzzed on the patio table, rattling against the glass. Leo.
Leo: "I already yelled at the florist. Just in case you were wondering."
Me: "Why?"
Leo: "Because yelling calms me, and I figured you'd be too emotionally congested to do it yourself."
I cracked a smile despite myself. Leo always knew when to lighten the load. He had a way of poking a hole in the balloon before it burst. And he was right. I was congested. Not from emotion—at least, not in the way poets describe it. It was more like emotional constipation. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t rage, couldn’t… react. I just stood there, replaying images: the red splash of wine blooming across Ivay’s pristine gown, her eyes narrowing into icy daggers, the way her temper had outpaced her poise in front of everyone.
And it wasn’t the first time.
“Sir?” Leo’s voice floated from behind me. I turned to see him in his usual crisp attire, holding a silver tray with tea and that gluten-free nonsense Mum insisted I try. Quinoa biscuits that tasted like cardboard.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the cup.
“You’re unusually quiet today,” he said, setting the tray down and eyeing me with mild suspicion. His brow furrowed like he was calculating something.
“Just reflecting.”
“On?”
“Choices.”
Leo gave a soft hum and raised a brow. “Ah. Girlfriend things. Should I prepare a crisis playlist or a prenup?”
I sighed. “Too early. Way too early.”
He chuckled, a low rumble, then straightened his cufflinks like he hadn’t just tossed a grenade. “Well, let me know. I keep a Spotify list titled ‘Breakup Recovery: Billionaire Edition’. Has everything from Sinatra to Taylor Swift.”
I shook my head, almost laughing. “Noted.”
Leo smirked, then left me with my tea and thoughts. But he wasn’t wrong. Something about last night had carved into me.
---
By noon, Mum had summoned me downstairs for brunch. In Drawson terms, “brunch” wasn’t avocado toast at a café. It meant a full sit-down with silverware fancier than necessary, crystal water goblets, and a table that sat sixteen though only three of us were eating.
The dining room stretched like a ballroom, high ceilings with chandeliers dripping light, walls lined with portraits of ancestors who looked like they’d invented stern expressions. The smell of butter, citrus, and freshly baked bread floated in the air, layered over the faint trace of Mum’s signature rose perfume.
Delly was already there, sprawled in his chair like brunch was a casual picnic, dunking croissants into his mimosa. Mum sat straight-backed, sipping from her porcelain cup like royalty. Even her posture was precise, every movement deliberate.
“Morning, Dammy,” Mum said with that warm tone that always meant she was about to bring up something I wouldn’t want to discuss.
“Hey,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from her.
Delly looked up, eyes assessing, his smirk already loaded. “Sleep well?”
“Well enough.”
“And the Ice Queen?” he asked lightly, voice dripping with brotherly provocation.
Mum gave him a look—the kind that said not now—but he ignored it, leaning back like a cat ready to pounce.
“Delly,” she warned.
“What? I’m just asking about the royal highness of silent tantrums.”
I frowned. “We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?” he shrugged innocently. “We’re not allowed to talk about your girlfriend?”
“Exactly.”
The table fell silent. The kind of silence that screams behind pressed lips. I focused on my plate, spreading butter across toast that suddenly felt like cardboard.
Mum reached for a slice of her own toast, perfectly calm. “You know we love you, right?”
I nodded, unsure where this was going.
“And we only want what’s best for you,” she added, cutting into her omelette with surgical precision, like even eggs had to respect her authority.
“This sounds like a build-up,” I muttered.
“It’s brunch, darling. Everything sounds like a build-up,” she replied with a smile too tight, too polished.
Delly snorted into his drink.
Before I could respond, the front doors opened, and I strolled Ivay.
Perfect makeup. Sleek ponytail. White midi dress, spotless, like last night hadn’t left a scar on her composure. Her heels clicked across the marble with a rhythm that commanded attention.
“Good morning,” she sang, dropping a kiss on my cheek as if nothing had happened. Her lips lingered half a second too long, her perfume deliberately sweet, cloying almost.
“Morning,” I murmured.
She sat beside me, all elegance and effort, crossing her legs neatly, arranging her napkin just so.
“Dariela, the party was lovely,” she said to Mum with flawless politeness.
“Thank you, dear.”
They smiled at each other like two predators circling, sniffing for weakness. Compliments sharpened like knives.
Delly stood abruptly. “I have a call. Be right back.”
He left faster than anyone could object, and I didn’t miss the smirk on his way out. He lived for this kind of theater.
Ivay turned to me, her fingers brushing mine like silk. “Are we still on for dinner with the Grants tonight?”
I blinked. My stomach dipped. I had forgotten.
“We could reschedule,” I offered carefully.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, just a twitch at the corner. “But we’ve already confirmed.”
“Right. Just making sure you’re still up for it.”
She tilted her head, her earrings catching the light. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I had no answer. Not one that wouldn’t spark another fire.
Mum dabbed her lips with a napkin. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a call.”
She walked out gracefully, her heels soft against the rug, but I caught the sweep of her eyes across Ivay one last time—sharp, assessing, a silent verdict.
The moment she was gone, Ivay leaned in closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper sharp enough to cut. “Is your mother always that… careful with her words?”
“She’s diplomatic.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“She’s just protective.”
She stared at me, lips curling like a question mark. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you protective?”
I hesitated. “Of course.”
She nodded once, then reached into her designer bag and pulled out a small black envelope. Sleek. Deliberate. She handed it to me like a magician unveiling a trick.
“Then wear this.”
I opened it. A lapel pin.
Silver. Sleek. Shaped like a serpent eating its own tail.
“What is this?” I asked, though I already knew it wasn’t just a gift. It was a mark.
“Just a little symbol of us,” she said smoothly. “Cycles. Eternity. Unity.”
I forced a smile and pinned it on, letting the cold metal rest against my robe.
But it felt heavy. Too heavy for something so small.
---
That evening, I canceled dinner.
I told Ivay I had a migraine.
I didn’t. I just needed space.
The balcony called to me again. Same spot. Same robe. Same wind licking across the cityscape, tugging at me like it knew I was unraveling.
Leo appeared behind me, steps quiet but steady, as if he’d been expecting me here. He held two glasses of something amber, the kind of drink that warms the throat and fogs the edges of your thoughts.
“Dinner didn’t happen?” he asked casually, though his eyes scanned my face like he already knew the answer.
“Postponed.”
“Want me to tell Mum you’re fasting for spiritual reasons?”
I chuckled, a dry sound. “Not necessary.”
He handed me a glass, clinked his lightly against mine. The city lights blinked below, restless and alive, while we stood still.
“You ever think about what love really looks like?” I asked suddenly.
Leo paused mid-sip. “Every time I see a couple screaming in public.”
I gave him a look.
“Seriously,” he amended, leaning on the balcony rail. “Yeah. I think about it. Why?”
“Because… Ivay. She’s everything I thought I wanted. Beautiful. Sharp. Ambitious. But…” My words tangled in my chest.
“But?” he prompted gently.
“She makes me feel like I’m always defending myself. Even when I’m not under attack.”
Leo nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Sounds exhausting.”
I turned the glass in my hand, watching the liquid catch the light. “Is it bad if I say I miss not feeling… monitored?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s human.”
We stood in silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full.
Somewhere in the distance, the city blinked. A thousand windows lit, a thousand lives unfolding, none of them mine. And deep inside me, something shifted. A curtain began to fall.
I wasn’t sure what scene was ending.
But something had definitely ended.
Curtains were closing.
And clarity was, finally coming.
- Writer
