Chapter 5 05: Cupid's Bow

Azazel~

Her face was a punch to my heart.

It was feeble but strong enough to leave its mark even after 24 hours of endless work and 2 hours of ruthless boxing.

Seeing her in person, so close, so fucking close that it almost felt felonious to stare at her for too long. Her choice of dress was no coincidence. I knew because I saw it in her eyes.

She was giving me a taste of my own medicine for meddling with her picture-perfect life.

Words aren't sufficient to summarize the spell she had cast on me but what I did know was that looking the way she did should be a sin.

Ruelle Farrington knows when to dress like a saint and when to array a fit that'd bring saints to their knees.

The touch of velvet on her lips was clear as day in my mind. Every time she spoke, the cupid's bow moved like a siren's call.

A frustrated sound was heard across the place and that made me hit the punching bag harder. The intensity of my punches increased and so did the pain in my hands. Hitting the punching bag until it had fallen and broken and my hands bruised enough to hurt for a while, I left the gym and headed upstairs to my room.

Getting under the shower head, I cleaned my knuckles, wincing once or twice when I scraped too hard on the damaged skin. Wrapping a towel around my waist with my left hand and drying my hair with another towel, my eyes found the burnt candle beside my bed.

It was a pathetic realization that held me by a chain every second I breathed in this room.

The room smelt like lavender.

A scent that had become synonymous with solace for my body and soul before I could get hold of my self-control. Years have gone by and the stash of these fucking candles was restocked before the last one was used.

Thinking of the events that occurred the past week, I could well recall my father's words at my sudden decision to buy Grandeur. He didn't question further after I said simple words about testing the modeling agency's waters.

But something in his eyes told me that he didn't entirely trust my words.

Buying Grandeur was never on my list, that is, until I was invited to the elite club along with a few other known businessmen and there Jasper Wilson sat, visibly drunk but all too cocky.

"The bitch thinks she is all high and mighty. Pftt, in the end, she's just a woman and everyone knows how weak they are. Not even halfway through this Goddamn contract, I'll make sure to have her wrapped around my fingers and my d-"

His words were silenced when by mistake, a waiter dumped a tray carrying a good number of glasses on him. Fortunately, one or two broke right atop of him, scratching the skin of his face. Sadly, the drops of blood were too little for my liking, the reason why he ended up getting into a fight for bumping into someone.

By the end of the night, Jasper repulsive Wilson went to the hospital before home with a broken arm, broken nose, bruised cheeks, and satisfying bloody scrapes on his face.

I'd like to think of it as my mutual respect towards women because lying to myself has become an autonomous forte of mine.

Ruffling my hair to get rid of the excess water droplets, I brought my thoughts to a halt to start my day. Living alone and away from everyone and everything was a serenity I was luckily bestowed with on weekends and from night to dawn.

Putting on a white button-down shirt and Castleton-colored Brioni suit, I combed through my hair styling it to obedience. Tying the black Panerai watch around my wrist, I replied to the message from my mom before tucking it in my pants pocket.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Ron. Today's schedule?"

I got in the car and so did he in the passenger seat. He summed my schedule for the day and I held back a sigh, finding it less hectic than the previous day.

"Oh, and Enarm magazine wants to take your interview on the new success. They hinted about questioning about Grandeur and if there will be any changes in its working style and relations with other brands. Should I give them a green signal?"

Giving interviews was something I didn't personally like. They did have the habit of swallowing half of my words and copy-pasting only what they think will bring readers to their doorstep. It's a business strategy, I agree, but half information could bring unannounced trouble for me.

"Ask them to forward the questions in advance."

Ron gave me a nod, getting busy typing the email.

Vandeleur. A surname I wasn't given the choice of choosing but was simply given as a gift the day I was born into the family. The power it held had nothing to do with me until I stepped into the business world and to think it was the day I'll never forget, not because of its magnificence but because of its ugly recollections.

Sighing to myself, I spoke and thought of nothing else apart from the upcoming interview. Vandeleur owned multiple businesses and many more known brands had a good share of our investment. It was an ordeal for a never-ending flow of money- money that at times was the cause of my suffocation.

"Sir."

Getting down from the car, I gave a nod to the driver and paved my way into the glass tower bustling with people.

A chorus of 'Good morning' was heard and giving a curt nod in reply to the collective greeting, I reached my cabin on the top floor.

"Your meeting with Enarm interviewer, Jean Paul, is fixed for today at 4 p.m. You're free after that for the day."

"Hmm, get me a cup of coffee please."

I hadn't finished speaking when a cup of steaming coffee was kept in front of me. Giving a small smile to Ron who beamed at the smallest show of gratitude, I tuned out for the rest of the day, focusing solely on the files and upgrade reports submitted by different companies.

Coffee did little to soothe the uneasiness I was experiencing since early in the morning. The scraped knuckles burned now and then and I made sure to add the disinfectant cream, hoping to get rid of the redness around it to minimize the chances of it being seen easily.

After going through a good number of files, I decided to take a break for a few minutes. My eyes caught sight of a flimsy book sitting by the edge of my desk. Confused, I took hold of it only to breathe in annoyance at what I was met with.

Annoyance towards myself or at the woman staring back at me from the cover was a mystery but what I did know was that Ruelle Farrington in black was synonymous with the elite moon wrapped in the arms of night.

Regal, confident, and lethally beautiful is what she looked like as she smiled at the camera while her lips blew a kiss.

It was from the day of Ardor's 63rd grand opening celebration and I'll be damned to say that I had bought this just to check the designs the company has officially launched for the public's eyes to feast on.

The first half of the catalog focused only on Ardor and its CEO, the person who was the mortal enemy of my heart and soul.

But enemies weren't supposed to be the reason for one's survival.

Grievance clawed at my heart on seeing her smile the way she did at the camera. Her lips were pulled in a bow meant to hit directly at a man's heart and the simple known fact fueled something akin to ugly in my being.

A knock on the door startled me enough to stuff the magazine without another glance into the last drawer of my desk. A drawer that held a ton more of these ridiculous books with her on its cover page.

It was deplorable from my end, albeit, I could not find it in myself to ignore her existence-

Not when I had once been on the receiving end of something surreal.

"Come in."

Ron peeked in, smiling politely as he informed me that it was time for the interview. Giving him a nod, I gulped down my third cup of coffee since the morning and followed him to the meeting area.

A man dressed formally greeted me once I arrived. Besides, he looked nervous- like he should be and started the interview shortly after without any delays or unnecessary introduction.

After a few warming-up questions, he finally got to the one that surely got people curious.

"You've recently bought Grandeur modeling agency. It's different from the businesses you usually invest in. Is it a business strategy to widen the Vandeleur empire or something more?

"I'd say it's the former assumption. Trading with hotels, imports, and exports, pharma has surely been interesting. Nothing goes in testing the modeling world too."

I saw him giving me the faintest skeptical look, as though not completely satisfied with my answer.

Too bad, this was all he was getting from my side.

"Well, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in the country as of now, any plans of announcing a plausible relationship or someone special?"

I had read that question on the pdf Ron sent me. Again, no matter how piteous it was for my heart, the only reaction to that question was a memory far from forgotten.

Blazing hazel eyes admiring the shy rose that was yet to bloom. Lips bare of any paint apart from their natural allure were pulled in a tranquil smile and as the sun dimmed behind her, her eyes met mine through the ordeal, brightening as if to balance the glow of light for the upcoming darkness.

It was a memory I didn't know I still held onto but alas, aren't there many caskets buried in one's mind, opened only when they let go of the control they hold over their thoughts?

"Mr. Vandeleur?"

The interviewer's call made me blink away the civil war raging inside me. Clearing my throat, I spoke in the most unfazed manner, hoping to convey it with a nonchalance that was an antagonist to my heart's pleas.

"I plan to remain a bachelor as far as the present is concerned."

A few more prodding questions were asked, all of which I diverted or answered in subtle ways. By the end of it, I could see traces of defeat in the man's eyes, possibly due to the lack of drama in my words and commitment.

He left not too late and the moment the doors closed behind him, I sagged back on the couch, massaging my temple as I did so since the way he fired those questions had started getting on my nerves.

"Nothing else for the day, right?"

Ron gave me a quick nod at the question and I took that as my universal sign to get some much-needed rest.

Busy days didn't tire me but today for some reason was an exception.

Was it the work that tired me or the constant war in my head that was beyond my comprehension?

Driving back to the two-story villa I had bought a few years prior, situated amidst high trees and a place that offered utmost privacy along with the rawest view of nature with its beauty, I was close to calling the place home.

Close because even after 5 years, something still felt missing.

Just like the lost piece of my heart.

Wanting something more comfortable than the suit, I rummaged through the closet and pulled out trousers. Something else fell alongside it onto the ground and looking down, with a frown I picked the olive-colored tee up.

All it took was one glance at it and the fading scent that was engraved in my heart better than the back of my palm to know the significance of this piece of clothing I owned.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, pretty Isla. But why olive?"

"It makes your eyes stand out and yes, it's cliche but don't you dare laugh!"

I remember vividly laughing right after she asked me not to. I laughed not because I found it cliche, instead, I laughed to suppress the overwhelming fondness for her that was close to submerging the whole of my heart.

That night, I slept engulfed in a warmth my body had been yearning for so long. Wrapped in the olive-colored tee with lavender torturing my senses, the part of me that longed for something unreachable held out its hand for the first time after many empty nights.

Ruelle Farrington has done a good job at clouding my sane mind, for who else could make Azazel Vandeleur question his wits?