The Rich Life

21

Amara POV

I kept up a good defence every day. The night was a different story. I cried into my pillow, muffling the sound so no one could hear me. My chest squeezing and aching with the pain of heartbreak. I performed all my tasks like clockwork, robotic.

I watched as Tony hugged Adam, knowing that his pure heart was in ecstasy. I watched as the taxi drove away from my window which had Adam and Anthony in there. I also watched as Adam Dervishi climbed to number 1 on trending on Twitter. There were videos of Caeser, Tony, my Dad and even Katrina, beating this arrogant billionaire for his infidelity. TeamAmara and TeamCaeser were trending after my true story surfaced about my parents and a fuzzy CCTV video of Caeser bringing Adam to his knees in front of his secretary and some lecture about her being barely legal went viral. Adam's reputation was in tatters. I watched as he was lead to Halima's house by Caesar.

I watched as the internet continued seething, especially when he was sighted with Bija and Viktoriya. That was clearly going to be a Menage e Trois. You see, under ordinary circumstances, I would care. But I don't. So I'm resorting to desperate, obsessive stalking online. Adam was smiling most of the time, despite the brilliant blue and purple bruises on his face. But no one could see the eyebags I could see. Or the bloodshot eyes.

Even his jet-black hair had lost its glossy sheen. And certainly, he lost a few kilos. 

"I feel kind of dead without you. I can't do anything without you," He told me

 He deserves it. I hope that every person that loves him receives a platter of roses with pointy, sharp, jagged, painful thorns and arrows of sorrow to show how bitter his love is.

 I seemed emotionless in contrast. Photos of me showing a blank face, lips coloured ruby red, in Hamleys, buying my nieces and nephews toys and teddys, their faces in utter delight. All my brother's had told their wives to keep themselves away from me because I might infect them with my ideas of independence and freedom. And they kept their children from me. That was until Mehmed was hit by his father for simply hugging me. That's when my Dad intervened, forcing the entire family to bend to his will. 

They love giving me daggers. But I would stab myself with my daggers if it meant that I could have my brothers back again. 

🗲

I wasn't hiding. I preferred to call it a strategic retreat. 

In a little jewellery shop in Covent Garden, I crouched on the floor as Araminta Kapoor shut the shutters in her window. 

It was hidden far away from the designer boutiques of Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Gucci. But Kapoor and Co Jewels held their own title of prestige that rivalled any Tiffany's store. They possessed some of the rarest gemstones in existence, as well as vintage trinkets. Things that an ordinary auction house didn't have. Everyone who was a somebody came here. But by private invitation. 

It was a favourite of the Arabs and anyone who didn't want to be caught buying gaudy and expensive items at a regular store. A couture piece by Kapoor and Co could cost you hundreds of thousands.

The Khan's were long friends of the Kapoors, one of the very few exceptions of the "No Indians policy" and this where they all bought my wedding gold. I had been far too broke to afford one of these pieces myself before America. But now, I could buy whatever I wanted to, thanks to Tony and his smart investing. 

Araminta, known affectionately by her friends as "Minty" was one year below at me school. A happy, bubbly girl who was the youngest of 4 and my closest girl friend. Her siblings were all some big-shot banker and whatnot. Minty was always the one who was being prepped and primed to take over the family business. She was awfully kind to me too.