Chapter 4 5

As the sun was setting over the city, Travis stood at the opulent study, sipping on a fine scotch as he prepared for his latest adventure. He slept well last night and he hasn't felt as strong as he was feeling that morning ever in a long while.

His sleek black helicopter, the "Midnight Eclipse", sat waiting on the helipad outside, its rotors spinning lazily in the gentle breeze. His personal pilot, a grizzled veteran named Jack, stood by the aircraft, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble.

Travis took a final sip of his drink, feeling the smooth liquid burn down his throat. He set the glass on the nearby bar and began to make his way out to the helicopter.

As he approached the aircraft, Jack nodded at him with a curt smile. "Ready when you are, sir," he said.

Travis grinned, feeling a thrill of excitement coursing through his veins. He loved this part of traveling – the sense of freedom and adventure that came with flying into his root.

He climbed aboard the helicopter and took his seat in the passenger compartment. Jack joined him moments later, settling into the pilot's seat and flipping switches to bring the engines to life.

The rotors whirred to life, growing louder as they began to spin up to speed. Travis felt a rush of adrenaline as he felt the helicopter lift off the ground, rising smoothly into the evening air.

As they cleared the city limits, Travis leaned back in his seat and gazed out at the breathtaking view. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, casting a golden glow over the landscape.

"Where are we headed sir?" Jack asked, his voice low and smooth.

Travis glanced over at him with a warm glint in his eye. "Home"

"Georgia, sir?"

"Yes Jack"

"Copy that sir"

He felt Jack was also glad he was going home seeing him smile like that.

Travis grinned, feeling a thrill of anticipation build inside him. He settled back in his seat, letting out a low whoop of excitement as the helicopter banked and turned towards their destination–south.

The wind rushed past them now, whipping through Travis hair as they soared into the morning sky. He felt alive, free, and ready for whatever adventure lay ahead.

His phone rang and he picked up.

"Hey gorgeous," he said, his deep voice dripping with seduction. "What's up?"

Flora, a blonde bombshell, giggled and replied, "Just wondering if you're available for dinner tonight, Travis?"

Travis chuckled. "Not today, beautiful, I'm out of town."

"Oh, when will you be back" Flora asked with a little disappointment in her voice.

"Soon honey, you hang in there"

"I hope you do not forget me"

Travis chuckled as he hung up. Ofcourse Flora was just another whore that warms his bed, nothing serious-nothing professional, so he was bound to forget her.

Travis couldn't help but think about all the women he'd slept with over the years. He was a master of seduction, always getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

But as he gazed out the window at the passing scenery, Travis felt a twinge of boredom. He was tired of the same old game, tired of the same old faces. Here he looked forward to what his hometown Georgia has to offer since it's been decades he last visited.

...And then there was the house.

Not just any house, but the old family estate Travis had poured millions into transforming. What once stood as a red-bricked Southern colonial now rose like something out of a dream-an architectural marvel of glass and steel. Travis had personally overseen the renovation, ensuring the structure embraced the past while reflecting the future.

The moment he stepped out of the helicopter, his eyes lifted toward it.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls gleamed beneath the soft Georgia sun, allowing a full, breathtaking view of the Atlanta city skyline far in the distance-especially stunning at night, when the stars above mirrored the shimmering lights below. The house stood proud on a gentle rise, surrounded by swaying cypress trees and trimmed hedges, yet it somehow felt open, vulnerable, as though it was built to make peace with the world rather than shut it out.

A winding stone path led from the helipad, curving through neatly landscaped gardens where lavender bushes swayed gently in the breeze and white roses bloomed like tiny ghosts. The air was filled with the scent of honeysuckle, and the distant sound of birdsong echoed between the trees. It was quiet, deceptively peaceful.

But just beyond the serenity lay the old pool.

Still and blue like glass, it had been restored as well, but Travis had kept the original stone edges. There was no avoiding the memory stitched into the soil around it-Lu. His little brother with the bright smile and the wild imagination. The one who had slipped beneath the surface while he had looked away for just one second too long. No matter how much time passed, that pool whispered the same story, and the wind always seemed to carry his name.

Travis paused there for a long moment, his gaze heavy, jaw tight. He ran a hand down his face and then continued toward the house.

Inside, the space was light, modern, and seamless-open-plan rooms flowed into one another. Polished wood floors gleamed under natural light, and soft, minimalist furniture was arranged with precision. Everything in its place. The kitchen, tucked to the side behind an artful glass divider, still held the same cast-iron pans his mother once used. The old blended with the new.

And yet, despite the elegance, despite the perfection-there was an ache here. A sense of absence. Travis knew it. Felt it. Carried it.

He set his briefcase down, walked to the glass wall facing the horizon, and placed a hand on the cool surface.

This house, this whole city beneath him-it wasn't just about business. It wasn't even about reclaiming roots. It was about finding something that might've been lost long ago. Peace, maybe. Or forgiveness.

His phone buzzed again.

More calls. More people wanting something.

But for now, he silenced it.

And just stood there.

Watching the city breathe.

The evening had grown deeper, and Travis was finally beginning to settle in. He'd stripped down to nothing but his tailored evening pants, lounging with a glass of bourbon in hand. The room was dimly lit, quiet except for the hum of distant traffic outside the balcony.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then answered.

"Hello?" His voice was groggy.

"Travis, it's Clarabelle," came her sultry tone from the other end.

There was a pause, brief but filled with implication. Then she said, "Can we meet tomorrow? I need to talk to you about something. It's urgent."

He smirked, already amused. "As long as we're talking money, why not, sweetie? But I'm down in Georgia."

Travis loved two things in life-money and women. And he'd learned early on that without the former, the latter weren't nearly as enchanted by his so-called charms. His looks were just a bonus; it was his wallet that got him through most doors.

"Well now," Clarabelle said, voice velvety and teasing, "don't you like this buttercup lying naked next to you? Men would kill to get what I'm offering on a platter of gold. And trust me-it doesn't come around often."

He chuckled to himself, or maybe at the image her voice conjured. He knew exactly what she was offering. He'd tasted it before-God, had he. Clarabelle wasn't just sex appeal wrapped in high heels and confidence; she was business, strategy, power. And she knew how to use all of it on him.

His body stirred at the thought. She had that effect.

"I hate what you do to me, Miss Belmont. You always know where to find me-right where you want me."

She laughed, low and wicked. "Let's meet tomorrow, Travis. I'll come down to Georgia. Sending kisses. By the way, text me the address"

The line went dead before he could respond.

Clarabelle loved to play. She knew exactly how to twist his thoughts, pull his strings. And damn, it worked every time.

He sighed, a hand brushing across the waistband of his pants, glancing down at the traitorous bulge stirring with regret.

Clarabelle never could get enough of him. He remembered their last night together-every gasp, every grip, every whispered curse. She had devoured his touch. And not to brag, but he knew how to leave a woman wanting more.

As he adjusted himself and leaned back with another sip of bourbon, a knowing grin spread across his face. This woman, Clarabelle Belmont, was trouble dressed in perfume and silk. And whatever tomorrow held-it was bound to be either a beautiful mess or a hell of a ride.