Arkan's main mansion stood out starkly, unlike any other house along the streets of the Arkan district. Its design wasn't the kind of modern mansion style typically found around the city. The towering structure looked more like someone had picked up a European building and dropped it straight into America, and the mansion had been there ever since Arkan's great-grandmother migrated to this country. It was as if they never wanted to let go of their identity, even after deciding to leave their homeland during war and settle here.
Every guest who stepped into the Arkan main mansion's grounds felt as if they were no longer in California. It felt more like a brief trip to Europe. Not that such a design couldn't be found here—it was just that the materials commonly used to build a classic-style mansion weren't exactly suited for California's warm climate. But of course, their ancestors had considered that too, which was why, even though the weather outside was warm, the temperature inside the mansion always remained stable.
Not to mention, because the building was so vast with its many corridors, finding someone could be difficult if they weren't in their usual spot. Just like Charles at this moment, who had been wandering around the mansion ever since he didn't find Logan in his room. The man wasn't in the study either, and no matter how many times Charles tried calling his number, it wouldn't connect.
Logan would sometimes wander far from the mansion to go to the park, where there were usually lots of children playing. But even though Charles had checked there too, Logan wasn't there, only the children greeted Charles with innocent laughter.
He was sweating a bit from walking too long, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair. Charles stood in the middle of the courtyard, his eyes scanning every corner of the surroundings, hoping that maybe Logan's head would suddenly pop into view.
Under the scorching sun, Charles found a bench and sat down, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He stared straight at the rows of trees one by one, and began to question his life choices.
Since yesterday— no, more accurately, since a long time ago— Charles had never really had enough time to sleep, spending his days working from morning till night. And after that, a man younger than him, who also happened to be someone he worked with in this current moment, ordered him to go to Australia.
With an overworked body, he spent the flight to Australia just to bring someone back here, but he failed. And so he returned, just to report it to the younger man. There was no pause for rest, and when he finally could rest, his mind wouldn't stay still because his job wasn't done.
He couldn't even bring himself to say, "Ah, maybe I shouldn't have worked with that bastard," because he was the one who chose this. And yes, because of that, Charles was starting to question his mentality.
Am I a masochist? Or am I just greedy? He bit the tip of his cigarette out of habit, then exhaled a puff of smoke while rubbing his forehead.
Yes, maybe Charles was a little greedy. From top to bottom, not a single piece of clothing he wore wasn't from a well-known high end brand, even down to the boxers. His hobbies included collecting rare wines from various countries, and he also had a particular fondness for attending antique auctions. Charles had expensive tastes, hobbies that demanded a lot of money with that lifestyle.
And as if that wasn't enough, his love life was a running joke. No matter who he pursued, it always turned out they were more interested in his bank account than in him.
Or, they're more interested in Logan.
For instance, just a few days ago on a Sunday, which was a rare day off for him— Charles decided to visit a bar. It had been a while since he last felt the touch of a woman, and he smiled to himself when he saw a beautiful woman with sweet, tan skin glowing under the lights, her skin so smooth it seemed to shine. Her jet-black curls reminded him of the graceful waves of the sea. She greeted him with a sweet, inviting smile.
They drank and ate together, and Charles even offered her an expensive bottle of wine. They chatted casually, and it seemed they shared the same interests. Charles found himself talking with her for quite a while. They joked, they laughed, and for a moment, he thought there was a genuine connection, until her wine glass was nearly empty, and she suddenly asked,
'I heard there's an Alpha Prime, the soon to be successor of Arkan. Do you happen to know the number of that man from your family? That Alpha Prime guy… or does he have social media? I'm really interested in him. My friends said he's incredibly handsome.'
And in that instant, Charles realized the woman had been playing sweet all along. She hadn't been interested in him in the slightest, just pretending, charming him enough to get what she wanted. Not that he could really blame her, he thought. Honestly, if Charles had known there was a woman more beautiful than her around, he probably would've done the same, ditched her in hopes of chasing the other.
'Ah, sorry. Logan doesn't use social media, and he only has a number for business. He's a busy man.'
'Ah, that's too bad,' she said. And then, without so much as a pause, she stood up from her seat, grabbed her purse, and walked away, waving back at Charles. 'Thanks for the lovely wine.'
Charles could only let out a bitter laugh after that. He told himself maybe it was better not to approach women for a while. That day, he ended up spending his time alone in bed. Something that had been happening more often ever since he got busier working with Logan.
When Charles looked at himself in the mirror, he wasn't blind, he knew he wasn't unattractive. His deep blue eyes, dirty blonde hair with a still-full hairline, tanned skin, and sharp jawline— he was a handsome man. But the family name he carried made people instantly associate him with the Arkan Corporation, and within that name, Logan, the Alpha Prime— always outshone him. Always more striking in comparison.
He took a deep drag of his cigarette, so hard that it burned down quickly. As he exhaled the smoke, he rubbed his forehead, a gesture that had turned into something of a habit lately.
In the distance, he spotted a familiar figure pushing a woman in a wheelchair.
His uncle, Henry— accompanied by his wife in the wheelchair. They seemed to have just come back from the garden behind the west side of Arkan street. The woman, whom his uncle loved deeply, was smiling, and the two of them appeared to be laughing about something. Though her age could easily be called old, his uncle's wife was still very beautiful— her face, her hair color, everything about her bore a strong resemblance to the man Charles had tried, and failed, to bring back here. Nathaniel.
Of course they looked alike. They were mother and son afterall.