Loving The Flame

Chapter Eleven

"I had a strong desire to stick to the planned dialogue. I step forward today to express my thoughts, although I must admit, it's a bit perplexing as this issue deeply resonates with me," I state, pausing briefly as I contemplate, my lower lip caught between my teeth. I clear my throat and look up to where Mr. Anderson is standing. “It is too late to ask the question now, but should I say what’s in this paper?” I gesture towards the speech paper I positioned in front of me on the podium. "And by the way, it's fantastic." I let out a chuckle and noticed a few members of the audience exchanging glances and beaming in my direction. "Or perhaps I should express the depths of my emotions?" I gesture towards my chest, using the four fingers of my right hand, and feel a heaviness in my eyes. I glance to my right, where Olivia and Isabel are looking at me with confusion and curiosity, while Jen watches me with concern, her lips forming a sad smile. "I guess I have to risk it all," I say, giving a single nod to Mr. Anderson.

I feel a lump in my throat and shut my eyes tightly, replaying the conversation I had with my mother on the phone. I informed her of my upcoming appearance on television, fully aware that she would be tuning in to watch me at this very moment. I am determined to impress her, and I refuse to rely on a pre-written message.

“I was only four when I met my mother, and according to her, all I cared about was a rag doll, which now I would describe as the creepy doll.” I moisten my lower lip and grin, clearing my throat. This elicits a gentle chuckle from the guests and the media personnel. “I was fortunate enough to have found parents that can offer me the entire world and raise me in an environment filled with true love. Three days earlier, I had to go to the orphanage centre, Safe Heaven, and had the chance to spend the day with the children.” I fill my chest with air, and I nod as I recall their laughter, the way they adored me, and the games we spent playing while running around. It was as if I were a child once again, and that exciting moment brought me a smile. “It felt as though I was once again a child, and then something hit me once again.”

Every subtle twitch and shift on my face seems to hold the audience in a hypnotic trance. The silence is deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the camera or the soft shuffling of the audience. Each time the camera clicks and cracks, it punctuates the eagerness of the audience to hear the story I am about to share. The taste of nervousness lingers on my tongue as I continue to share my story. My mind is racing with the weight of my words.

"On that particular day, I found myself engaged in a conversation with the psychologist at Safe Heaven." I observed her in the midst of the crowd, and she offered me a subtle smile and nod, as if acknowledging my progress. She also receives some attention as I direct others towards her. "Safe Haven is more than just an orphanage; it serves as a sanctuary for all those vulnerable children." I declare, and I maintain my composure. "It's interesting how my memories of childhood are centred around my parents, while I have no recollection of my time at the orphanage. Today, I discovered that there are children at Safe Heaven who have experienced unimaginable trauma within a system they once relied on. Safe Heaven is a place that offers children the security and protection they deserve from their community. If I hadn't been so lucky," I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as I contemplated the path my life might have taken without the support of my parents.

I stared up at the motion cameras and sobbed. "If you hadn't chosen me that day, mom, I'm uncertain about what lies ahead for me."

"Today, I am humbled to express my heartfelt gratitude to my parents and all those who have shown unwavering support to those who are like me. I would like to thank the Anderson Empire for their unwavering commitment to helping children in need."

Like a dancer on a stage, I glide away from the wooden panel and extend a sincere bow, my proud stance and smoothed hair exuding confidence as I make my way back to my rightful place behind the podium.

"This building is more than just a place for entertainment. It is an integral part of the project. This is a place where you can have a great time while also making a difference for the children at Safe Heaven. You'll be directly supporting the orphanage, as fifty percent of the income goes towards their care. A place where you can have a great time while also making a positive impact on children in need."

I finish my opening speech, scanning the room until my gaze lands on Mr. Anderson. However, uncertainty fills me as I notice him slipping out of the building without a trace. Out of nowhere, a journalist starts applauding for me, and as if encouragement is infectious, the whole crowd joins in, prompting me to acknowledge their support once again and gracefully exit the scene. I quickly make my way to the lobby and swiftly head towards the exit. I'm unsure about what I want to convey to him, but I desire to have a conversation with him. I quickly make my way to his car, which speeds out onto the main road. I remain motionless, observing his departure, as if my good fortune at work has suddenly vanished, plummeting out the window from the tenth floor.

***

I'm unsure about the events that unfolded following the speech. I lacked the courage to remain and discover the truth, either. Witnessing Mr. Anderson's abrupt presence and departure has deeply unsettled me. It seems that any information I receive from this point forward will only bring negative tidings. I quickly hailed a cab and hurried back to my flat, seeking refuge in the bedroom, where I remained locked away for hours. Yes, I am seeking refuge here, as if this would provide me with a lasting answer.

Since the speech, my phone has been constantly buzzing, so I had to turn it off. I have no appetite for lunch, despite the constant attention from the housekeeper, Merry. I frequently switch between different spots—sometimes in bed and other times on the sofa in the bedroom. If I had the ability, I would conceal my own existence, even from myself.

I can't quite explain it, but time seems to pass at a snail's pace with each passing minute. I spend moments gazing out the window at the sky, hoping for a breakthrough, yet it remains elusive. After feeling fatigued, I make my way back to the bed and opt for a quick snooze.

I may have just what I needed, but I woke up at 7.30 p.m. after sleeping for hours. I stroll over to the dressing table, effortlessly fashion my hair into a casual bun, and gracefully exit the bedroom with a rumbling appetite. It's late, and Merry may have already departed. The flat atmosphere exudes a chilling aura, mirroring my current emotional state.

Oddly, the lights in the living room are on, so I sigh and walk over there to turn them off. She never left the lights on unless she was still around.

"I trust you're doing well, Alora." I am startled by a voice I recognise. I screech, and I quickly turn towards the sofa, feeling on edge.

Mr. Anderson has made himself at home in my flat, in my living room. Merry comes running towards me, clearly taken aback. "I wasn't aware that you were awake, Miss," she says as she comes closer to me. "You have a visitor," she informs me, and I acknowledge her with a nod, attempting to steady my nerves as I verify his presence in my flat.

"I thought you left," I remarked, and she nodded vigorously.

She responds, "I didn't want to leave you alone," and I'm surprised by the sincere concern in her eyes. "I'm getting something ready for our guests," she informs me. "I'll return," she declares.

“No need,” Mr. Anderson remarks, and I discreetly observe him, but I avert my gaze towards myself. I just realised that I'm dressed in a casual and comfortable outfit. After all, I had not anticipated having a visitor in my flat.

As I reflect on the events of today, my gaze falls to the floor while my fingers nervously toy with the edge of my sweater. "Earlier..."

“Get dressed and pack only what you need,” he commands, his voice exuding authority. He stands tall, his fit body cloathed in all black; the black shirt clings to his muscular frame, emphasising his broad shoulders and toned arms. The tailered trousers with a fine ironed line meet the deep black velvet loafers that complement the black wool chesterfield coat on his right arm. His perfectly styled black hair is streaked with rare strands of grey, making him appear even more distinguished. Even though there's a fair distance between us, an alluring and sophisticated fragrance swirls around—a blend of musk and expensive cologne that exudes luxury and charm.

"But, Mr. Anderson..."

"Christopher, please." He interrupts me and insists on being addressed differently. I couldn't help but crack a small smile, a sense of relief washing over me. I gather that's an indication I'm still within his favourable range.

"Are we going somewhere?" I inquire in a gentle tone, and she responds with a half-hearted smile.

"You'll see," he replies. “I’ll give you an hour, and make sure to pack lightly for a hot summer,” he informs me. I acknowledge his instructions with a nod. “Make sure to make her a sandwich, something light.” I hear him instructing Merry, and I smile, feeling calm.

I've only had the opportunity to venture out when my parents made the decision to move to Miami. I chose to stay in California to pursue my modelling career. This situation is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, considering his position as my superior. I'm not sure where we'd go, but I'm feeling a sudden urge to prepare and pack lightly for a summer getaway—or work, I don't know.

I quickly exit my room and walk alongside him to his car. I savour the delicious sandwich that was thoughtfully prepared for me as we make our way to the airport. With anticipation, we step out of the car and make our way towards a luxurious private jet. I am astounded by the way I am being treated following the chaotic day I caused at work.

"One more thing," he says, draping his coat over my shoulders. I feel a lump in my throat as I meet his piercing gaze, closer than ever before. "Don't ever allow tears in your eyes; I simply can't take it," he remarks, taking the lead and patiently waiting for me. He extends his hand, offering support as I step into the jet.

What does that mean? It can't be, can it?