Revenge of The Furtive Billionaire Heir

Chapter 6

I don’t want to go there…

My father and I didn’t talk much that night. The level of awkwardness between us was embarrassing. I knew that he was nearly bursting with all the questions he wanted to ask me and all the things he wanted to tell me. Our relationship was never the best, but I don’t think it’s been this strained. Father tells me that we both need to handle this carefully, so he will be giving me enough space.

Fine by me. I am in no hurry to venture through this particular no-man’s land.

***

The next morning, I’m mildly startled by the unfamiliar surrounding as I wake up but before I can panic the memories of the night before flood my mind. I sit silently on the bed as I go through them, one by one as not to overwhelm myself. The hurt I feel is significantly less, but not enough to be called faded.

I really don’t want to go to school today. I don’t want to face whatever awaited me there. Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

But the other choice was to stay here in this house and face my father.

The choice is easy when comparing the options.

Dressing up in my normal university clothes, I silently collect my bag to slip out of the house. The mansion is far more beautiful in the morning light than in the night, and I feel a pang as it brings forth past memories that I’d rather keep buried.

My plan to sneak out of the house is, however, crushed by Gerald, who stands near the front doors, shooting me knowing glances.

I sigh, “It’s too early for this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Young Master,” Gerald replies haughtily, “I’m just here to give you a ride to school.”

“College,” I correct him automatically, “And I can use the bus.”

“At this hour? Good luck,” he snorts, “come along, now.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks away. I walk to follow him, but suddenly, my phone starts to ring.

Curious, I take it out. Who is calling me at this hour? The number is unknown.

“Hello, this is Jace Greyson,” I answer.

“Hello, Jace!” A perky voice chirps, “My name is Lucinda, and I don’t know if you recognize me, but we went to the same high school and I was the President of the Student Council!”

She is right, I can’t really place a face for that name. Nonetheless, reply politely.

“Hello, there. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was calling you to notify you of the Annual Alumni Association meeting happening later this afternoon. You failed to make an appearance last year, which was regrettable.”

“Oh, crap,” I mutter, remembering the call from last year, “I’m sorry about that. I was so busy.”

“No worries. Please try to make it this year, there are a lot of people looking forward to reconnecting with you!”

I highly doubt that, but whatever helps Lucinda sleep at night. She rattles off the address of the venue and makes me promise that I would try to make it. I agree half-heartedly although I don’t believe I would attend.

My high school period was tumultuous. I never did have a good time or the dream school life there, especially after the death of my mother in my junior year. I was a right mess after her passing, from which I still haven’t recovered. Regrettably, I’ve turned to numbing my feelings in order to function properly. I try not to think about how fricking unfair it was because I’m afraid once I get in there, I won’t find my way back.

After mom’s death, I was so angry at everything and everyone. My father reached out to me, but I lashed out. I protested any of his attempts to help, and eventually broke contact with him. I did not want him or his family to be associated with me. I tried to do the same with Gerald, but that was for naught. Nothing I said ever affected Gerald; he was there in my corner trying to help me, even if it was just a phone call.

I don’t really want to attend the dinner and meeting, but I am quite curious about my former classmates. With my job gone, there’s really nothing for me to do in the evening.

Oh, what the hell, I think, what’s the worst that could happen?

***

I ditch Gerald’s attempts to drive me to the venue in the evening in favor of my rusty old bike. The restaurant is not far from the house, and I’m pretty sure that I won’t be partaking in any alcohol so riding back home isn’t an issue.

As I am riding down the main road, suddenly, a large BMW car behind me starts to honk like crazy. I try to ignore him and be on my way because there is a whole other lane next to me which he can take unlike me in my lane, but the insistent vehicle keeps on coming behind me, honking repeatedly.

By the time I wonder if the car is going to run over me, it takes me to the other lane, and the window rolls down, revealing the angry face of a man about my age, with gelled black hair slicked over his head

and a sneer on his lips.

“The hell is wrong with you?! If you can’t pump your legs faster, get off the road and let others drive in peace! I hate goddamn slowpokes like you!”

The voice, the face, the attitude…it all rings a bell in me, and as soon as we reach the restaurant he gets out of his car, shrugging on a sports coat. I’ve seen that gesture a million times in the past, and the screamer’s identity suddenly clicks in me.

“Wait, Jon?!” I question, “Jonathon Drake?”

Jonathon Drake, the former varsity football captain of our high school glances at me, his lips turning down, “Do I know you?”

“We were in the same grade,” I remind him with a polite smile, “I’m Jace Greyson.”

He looks me up and down, “Hmm,” he says, “Nope, don’t remember you.”

With that, he turns and leaves without a word ignoring me entirely.

Oh, well, so much for hoping for the better. As I predict, everyone rocks around him as soon as we enter the reception booked for the meeting to welcome him gratuitously. Nobody even notices that I had arrived. I try not to let it hurt.

“Well, then, now that everybody’s here,” A woman who I’m sure is Lucinda announces, “Let’s get started!