Jeanette, a recently heartbroken entrepreneur meets famous English billionaire Daniel Hearst. Together, they ignite a fiery love affair built in power, ambition and passion.
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In the heels of a dead-end relationship, Jeanette meets Daniel - a pow...
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Cameras pointing at those holding cameras. That's what the paradox on the screen is right about now. Still congregating where they've been for the past three hours, these snoops never seem to get tired. Despite about a hundred floors separating us from them, they're still screaming their lungs away as though they'd get a hold of us. Though, in that few hours while their movement down there was kept stagnant, up here things kept rolling. Despite his hesitance, I forced myself out of their conversations. It wasn't my place to listen in on something I barely have a thought about. While Daniel was busy talking in frustration to a point where he had raised his voice at least once, I shunned myself into the sitting area in the dining room away from them. With the walls drowning out there talking and the TV turned on, I sat down and watched as every channel was talking about...us.
I don't know how long I've sat here watching outside as if I wasn't on those very steps that one of the reporters were standing on. Seeing it all from this perspective makes it seem almost surreal. As if I'm watching someone else's nightmare unfold. The chill in the room couldn't save me from the loud palpitations of my heart as anxiety filled me up. I tried to aid it. Drumming my fingers, biting my nails, bouncing my leg, and even pacing. Though none of them helped.
So I just sat. Lost in the lingering lights above me.
"You should stop watching that you know,"
Daniel. Standing at the doorway, leaning against it. I looked up for the first time in god knows how long. Though now, the deep sinking anxiety was filled with guilt. Despite the poor light I can see the lack of spark in his eyes. How they dropped or how the colour of his cheeks had paled. His shirt was half-tucked, half not. I can see he tried to fix his hair but instead left it even more dishevelled than it was. The voice in my head tells me I should find it hilarious how I manage to ruin such beautiful things—I shut it before it eats me.
He notices my silence but what was I supposed to say? Apologise for something both of us couldn't control? Tell him how guilty I am and make it seem like I'm the only one struggling? Whatever I say I'll just add insult to injury.
"Drink?" He asked with a sigh as the clinking of a glass whiskey bottle fills the gaps. I watched him pour two glasses despite my lack of an answer. I won't stop him.
He pulls a chair and sits beside me, handing me my glass and I force a smile but he misses it, turning his head to the television instead. News projecting on his face.
"When can I go home?" I asked spontaneously. Still, I didn't know how to talk after all that. A shock to the system doesn't exactly come with great small talk.
Finally, he turns to me, sorrowful eyes that I had never seen before. I feel a lump in my throat.
"Once they're gone." He said plainly, "we just have to make sure you get home safe."
He forces a smile. I took a breath.
"And you?"
"Jeanette, please—" he sighs, I see the glassiness of his eyes. "Don't worry about me. Between you and I it's you I'm worried about. You're scared."
