"No!" Rick said firmly to her unhinged request.
Diane raised a brow, sipping her coffee like she didn't just provoke him on purpose. "Just asking."
"You weren't asking," Rick said. "You were declaring."
She looked away, but the corner of her mouth twitched. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
They sat again in quiet, but the silence felt different now — lighter, almost like a truce… or the beginning of one. "I hope he sees this message in time?" Rick muttered as he dropped his phone.
Diane stared at him for a moment, swallowed, and asked, "Are you… also vicious like Llewellyn… the Bulldog?"
Rick raised his head, surprised at the question. "Vicious?" he echoed, processing her words.
"Yes… like him. The gang…" Diane said, her curiosity evident.
Rick only nodded, giving a subtle acknowledgment.
"So… he's also in a gang, huh?" she thought, remembering Llewellyn's cold expression earlier and Clara's description of him as ruthless. Diane scanned Rick with an almost teacher-like scrutiny, her eyes sharp, judging.
Rick noticed and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you staring at me like that?" His voice carried a playful edge, the caffeine starting to kick in.
"Nothing," she lied.
"Oh? Now you're throwing shade at me for telling you I'm in a gang?" Rick countered, teasing yet serious.
"How am I throwing shade?" Diane asked, trying to keep her cool.
Rick gestured toward her face. "Look at you… shady."
Silence fell between them, broken only by Rick typing on his phone. Diane's eyes flickered with curiosity. "What are you doing?" she finally asked.
"Making arrangements for the car that will pick you up tomorrow," Rick said casually.
"Pick me up… what do you mean?" she asked, widening her eyes.
"Llewellyn already asked you out, right?"
Diane's cheeks flushed slightly, and Rick caught it, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He didn't ask me out, he just said I should go to the party with him… that's all," Diane said awkwardly.
Rick remained focused on his phone. "Your personal chauffeur will be ready by 11 a.m. tomorrow," he said, finally lowering the phone. Diane glanced him up and down, thinking, "so he's the hint man?"
"All you need for the party, like make up, dress, and maybe emotional support, the driver will deliver," Rick added. "Don't worry about the location, you're in good hands."
"Emotional support? What do you mean?" she called after him, voice rising like a cat demanding attention.
He stood and left, leaving Diane seated on the rock, flustered and curious.
Far from coffee, another scene unfolds.
Do you really have to get our families involved in this, Ana?" Llewellyn asked softly, his voice low but edged with restraint.
"What do you expect me to do?" Ana shot back. "You barely look at me these days, you stopped me from kissing you, you're going out with different girls— and now you're taking someone else to the party instead of me?"
Llewellyn met her gaze. "Ana, you already know I have other girlfriends. You're the one who insisted on pushing this relationship further when I wanted it to stop."
"But I love you, Llewellyn!" she said, voice trembling.
"But love won't work this time," he replied, firm but quiet.
Silence settled between them.
He pulled the car to a stop in front of Ana's house. She didn't say another word. As she stepped out, her heel caught slightly, and her butler who had just returned from an errand, rushed to steady her. Llewellyn watched for a brief second, then looked away and drove off.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He drove faster, passing car after car. You could call it reckless; every turn was sharper, every press of the accelerator heavier.
The message replayed in his mind...
"Ana's brother will be joining your meeting with your father today."
That message only meant one thing.
Trouble.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his thoughts back into silence.
Moments later, he arrived at Skypower Corp, the towering glass empire that ruled the skyline. Even from the outside, it radiated pressure—cold, vast, and commanding, much like the man waiting for him inside.
He entered through the front glass doors, which slid open automatically, and ran a thumb through his hair, not that it itched, but as a reflex while he processed the storm waiting for him: his father and Ana's brother. He froze mid-motion as the elevator doors opened to his father's office.
Llewellyn's eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the secretary. Unfazed by his disheveled appearance, the secretary informed the CEO of Skypower Corp that Llewellyn was waiting. A simple nod from Llewellyn was enough.
"You may go in, sir," the secretary said politely but firmly.
Without a second thought, Llewellyn stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, untouched by the need to soften it for appearances.
Inside, he noticed the instructor who had paired him with Diane for their project, standing with his father. The instructor bowed and excused himself, leaving Llewellyn alone with Mr. Blackwood. For a moment, Llewellyn wondered why the instructor was even there—but there were bigger matters demanding his focus.
His father's head was down, eyes fixed on the documents before him, brows knitted in clear frustration. Stocks dropping? Delays in the Energy Tower project? Whatever it was, Llewellyn knew he would bear the brunt of it.
"Father!" Llewellyn announced, his voice steady, demanding recognition he hadn't received in years.
Mr. Blackwood slammed the documents onto the desk, a sharp proclamation of his anger.
"You're slacking off, aren't you?" His voice was deep, cold, devoid of affection.
Llewellyn felt a shiver, a remnant of years of intimidation, but he did not flinch.
"Where the hell were you yesterday?" his father demanded, folding his arms and leaning in, eyes piercing. The sheer intensity of Mr. Blackwood's stare could unnerve anyone—it was designed to instill fear.
"You weren't planning on overruling me, were you?" Mr. Blackwood asked, his voice low and threatening. He tilted his head, studying Llewellyn's every reaction, waiting for any sign of defiance.
The question came with a bitter history, because Mr. Blackwood himself had overruled his own father, "Blackwood the Third," when he was Llewellyn's age. That was the kind of ruthlessness that ran through their bloodline. And it was why Mr. Blackwood insisted on controlling every aspect of Llewellyn's life, even down to the smallest detail, like always making sure Llewellyn followed his driver back to the mansion.
Mr. Blackwood wasn't just any powerful CEO; he was a man feared across governments and boardrooms alike, because his company held the keys to shaping the future. The stakes were high, and no one dared challenge him—at least, no one who valued their position in the world.
Llewellyn took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I was at my house." His words were firm, but his father's presence threatened to crush them.
"At your house?" and everything in the company is falling apart!" Mr. Blackwood roared, flinging the document across the room. It slapped against Llewellyn's chest as if to punish him.
Llewellyn's eyes flickered to the paper as it landed, his jaw tightening. His whole body tensed, his fists clenching, but his expression remained controlled. His father's anger would not break him.
"But I didn't cause the stock price to flatline," Llewellyn said, locking eyes with his father. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge.
Mr. Blackwood leaned in, his eyes darkening with fury. "What did you say?" His words were a growl. Every step he took toward Llewellyn was deliberate, calculated.
"You think this is some kind of gang game?" Mr. Blackwood yelled, his voice loud enough to make the secretary outside flinch. "No ideas are coming from your institute, and..." He stopped mid-sentence, pointing a trembling finger at Llewellyn. "If the board rejects our offer on the Energy Tower, you will be dealt with."
The last sentence hung in the air like a threat of violence. Llewellyn's mind flashed back to his high school days—his father's violent outbursts in the mansion. Back then, Mr. Blackwood would often use a bat to vent his frustration, taking out his anger on his own son when things went wrong. If the company faltered, it was Llewellyn who paid the price.
No one ever intervened. His mother had been gone for years, and his stepmother—well, she was no better. Llewellyn had learned long ago that his pain was his own to carry.
Just as the weight of those memories began to settle in, the door to the office opened.
The secretary, bowing slightly, announced, "Sir, Mr. Austin is here to see you."
Llewellyn smirked. Ana's nitpicking older brother. He had assumed this meeting with his father would be the hardest part—but no, more misery awaited.
In the conference room, Mr. Blackwood smiled. "Oh, Mr. Austin!" He extended his hand, and the two men shook firmly, laughing like seasoned tyrants of the business world. Mr. Blackwood then gestured toward the seats. His secretary sat down, followed by Mr. Austin's own assistant.
Llewellyn entered next, his expression darker, more dangerous than before. He didn't greet Mr. Austin; he simply sat, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Wow! My sister's future husband is… charismatic," Mr. Austin said, teasing, though his tone carried offense at Llewellyn's arrogance. Mr. Blackwood laughed, masking his son's defiance.
"I am willing to support Llewellyn's institute with all the materials needed for the project," Mr. Austin declared, a hint of pride in his voice.
"That's generous of you, Mr. Austin," Mr. Blackwood said, chuckling along.
"It's nothing," Mr. Austin replied. "I'm only doing it for my sister."
The statement shifted the atmosphere. "She insisted I invest in your project because she said you loved her," he added, his eyes locking with Llewellyn's. But Llewellyn remained calm, his golden-dark gaze steady and unreadable.
"So tell me, Llewellyn," Mr. Austin said, his face stern though his voice softened, "when are you going to start loving her the way she deserves?"
A renowned CEO in his thirties, Mr. Austin was respected for his engineering expertise and tech ventures, making Skypower Corp eager for an alliance. But he was equally known for his devotion to his little sister, Ana. Any slight against her was, in his eyes, a direct challenge.
"When will I start to love her?" Llewellyn asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have always loved her… just not in the way you think."
Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat, giving Llewellyn a stern glance, signaling that even his father was watching this exchange closely.
Mr. Austin didn't smile at Llewellyn's words. His sister was too precious for amusement, and though he masked it, his eyes betrayed the sting of the statement. He leaned forward, resting his jaw on his folded knuckles. "You really think you're clever, huh… playing with my sister?" he said, each word sharp, deliberate.
Llewellyn remained still, his composure almost an insult. "I'm not playing with her," he replied calmly. "She doesn't want to leave me," his voice steady, signaling the truth of their breakup.
Mr. Austin's knuckles tensed as he chewed his teeth, then a dangerous smile crept across his face. He tapped his nails on the table in a staccato rhythm, each strike echoing like a warning. The air thickened between them. "I have other meetings to attend to," he said finally, rising, and left the room with his secretary trailing behind.
"Mr. Austin, let me see you out," Mr. Blackwood called, following him to the door with his secretary. He stopped at the threshold, leaving Llewellyn seated, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the file before him.
"You bastard," Mr. Blackwood growled, rage lacing every word. "You broke up with Ana? Who gave you permission to do that?"
"Father," Llewellyn said, his voice steady, "the institute belongs to me."
"What nonsense are you spitting?" Mr. Blackwood barked, interrupting sharply.
"Grandfather placed the institute in my name," Llewellyn continued, meeting his father's glare without flinching. "That means I have full rights over it." He straightened his posture, his gaze locking with his father's. "From now on, I call the shots. That includes choosing my business partners."
Mr. Blackwood opened his mouth, but no words came. The truth was undeniable, the institute had been handed to Llewellyn, and there was nothing he could do to reverse it.
Llewellyn stood, his eyes unwavering. "I hope you understand," he said, before turning and exiting the meeting room, leaving his father standing there—unguarded, silent, and confused.
He walked out of the company as if he were just another passerby, yet each step carried the weight of his anger and frustration. Outside, he exhaled deeply, letting the tension roll off him in a long sigh. His gaze remained unfocused, thoughts tangled and heavy. He slid into his car, gripping the steering wheel as his heart throbbed with pain, and drove off into the city, trying to make sense of the storm inside him.
*****
"What happened, huh? How did it go? Did he accept your apology?" Clara didn't even let Diane sit down in the living room before peppering her with questions. "Or did you mess things up? How long did you kneel? Huh?"
"Calm down, Clara. I didn't mess things up. I'm almost… fixing things," Diane replied, trying to steady her voice.
"Almost? What does that mean?" Clara pressed.
"Well… I planned on apologizing, like you told me to…" Diane trailed off, but Clara was already giving her that sharp, side-eye glare that could cut glass.
"…But he didn't let me talk. He got angry for no reason and ordered the door closed when I tried to leave," Diane continued, her words tumbling out.
Clara blinked, incredulous.
"Yeah, and… he… almost kissed me," Diane admitted, feeling a warmth rise in her chest.
Clara froze, her mouth barely moving. "What?!" she whispered, almost shocked out of her usual sass.
"He al… almost kissed you? Why does he have an eye problem?" Clara asked, still flustered but teasing despite herself.
"What do you mean?" Diane touched her face nervously.
"I mean… you… but… huh!" Clara stammered, clearly thrown off.
"Are you okay?" Diane asked softly.
"Mmm," Clara muttered, still stunned.
Clara paced back and forth, trying to process. "Wait… is he playing you?"
Diane felt a sting in her chest. She looked down, rubbing her arm, unsure how to answer.
"I… I don't know," she said quietly.
Clara sank back into the sofa, curiosity written all over her face. "What happened then?"
"I asked him if he was going to hurt me for slapping him…" Diane began.
"You mean… us?" Clara interjected.
"Yes. And if he was really the so-called Bulldog, he said he wouldn't hurt me, but he acknowledged that he is the Bulldog," Diane explained.
"He's not going to hurt us… right?" Clara asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips.
"Actually…" Diane hesitated.
"Actually what?" Clara leaned forward, nearly on the edge of panic.
"I tried, but he insisted I go to the party with him as his date, if I wanted you guys to be safe," Diane said, her voice trembling like a scared cat.
"What nonsense is he talking about? Or… you didn't kneel to plead?" Clara yelled.
"I told you, he didn't give me a chance," Diane replied firmly.
"Ha… from apology… to almost a kiss… to a date?" Clara muttered, still confused.
"He's a player. A rich one at that. So… what did you expect?" Diane said.
Clara gestured wildly. "A player… but you're going to that party to save us because you caused all this mess… right?"
"Yeah. What other choice do I have? My driver comes by tomorrow!" Diane said, finally walking toward her room, leaving Clara in the living room, hand on her chin, trying to piece it all together.
******
In a domain where pain lingered like a shadow, Llewellyn stepped out of the sprawling fashion house. Night was falling, and the city lights began to flicker to life. "Drive safe, big brother! We'll be right back soon!" Elsa's voice called from behind him.
He made his way toward his parked car, mind clouded with the weight of his father's wrath, when someone suddenly bumped into him. His car keys clattered to the ground. A spark of anger ignited in him, sharp and immediate, fueled by years of mistreatment.
Llewllellyn looked up, eyes burning, and met the gaze of the man who had collided with him. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you there," the man stammered.
Llewellyn tried to mask his fury, but the man's next words pushed him over the edge. "It's just a bump… I don't know why he's angry… what a weirdo."
Without another word, Llewellyn grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him to the ground. "Hey! What's your problem?" the man gasped, struggling for breath.
A whisper floated through the crowd. "It's the Bulldog!"
The name spread like wildfire. Some murmured in awe, some in disbelief. To many, he was a scion of a prestigious family, untouchable—but those who knew the truth understood: the cruelty he endured at home had forged him into a beast.
Later, he returned to the family mansion. The weight of his father's words pressed against him like stones. His footsteps echoed through the grand hallway, heavy, purposeless. Tonight, he had faced his father, Elsa, and Michelle—but there was one he needed to make amends with: his little sister, Lila.
He approached her door quietly. "Lila…" he whispered, fearing she might already be asleep.
At the same moment, his stepmother opened the door, guiding Lila inside. "I already read her bedtime story. Leave her to sleep," she said sharply, meeting his glare without flinching. But she couldn't stand his cold glare, she left with her chin high.
Llewellyn leaned against the door frame, chest tight, ready to retreat but Lila's small hand caught his.
"Don't go. Mum doesn't read the story well," she said, smiling.
Llewellyn knelt beside her, unable to resist her earnest little face. He read, slowly, softly, until her eyes no longer fluttered with sleep but stayed fixed on him.
"Are you okay?" she asked in her sleepy voice.
"I'm… I'm sorry I couldn't read your stories," he whispered, voice breaking.
"It's okay," she replied simply.
The sting of his father's cruelty threatened to consume him, but in that moment, with her tiny hands pressed to his forehead, he whispered over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" as though saying it enough times could ease the deep, gnawing pain he carried inside.