Paint Me Saved ✓ Book 1

18. I know trouble when I see it

Leonardo

Every day since I rejoined work, I peeled myself off the bed in the morning. My body wanted to hide behind the comfort of my place while my mind convinced me to move out and start the day. 

Whoever quoted that being a Brenton had its perks, was only talking about Dad. For me, having the family name was nothing but a curse.

From trying to stay in the comfort of my home or stepping out for work, everything I did was marred with the fear of being watched. 

Sure, celebrities had a tough life but so did the lives of industrialists, especially the ones like us where our puppet master father acted only in the interest of inflating company stocks.

Since rejoining the office, I had survived uncountable meetings and unimaginable interactions with vapid men. Antonio never displayed any disinterest in work, so the burden fell upon my shoulders too. 

Being an elder brother came with many unsaid responsibilities, one of which was to groom Antonio to take over.

Somewhere around noon, when I wanted to give up on reading about the Ford merger, a knock on the door came to my rescue. 

Antonio peeked through the translucent glass door and walked in.

Unlike Zemira, his demeanor hadn't changed the slightest even though his life was splashed across news channels. For him, it was a matter of publicity. 

In light of everything, it seemed that my brother received the better end of the deal while Zemira suffered the ordeal.

Antonio plopped on the grey couch, crossing his legs. His arms stretched across the sides while he closed his eyes and huffed long dragged breaths.

"Tired already?" I asked, checking the clock for time. My brother portrayed signs of exhaustion as if he worked overnight.

"You've no idea." He rubbed his face hard, a fresh coat of redness covered his tan-toned skin. "Anyways, you wanted to see me, brother?"

I walked over and sat next to him, trying to bead my words carefully. "I wanted to know about the deal you had with Zemira."

With a flushed face and crooked eyebrows trying to escape into his hairline, Antonio eyed me as if I asked him a deep-seated secret. He placed both his elbows over his knees, bending forward.

"I don't understand. Why are you asking me this? Do you want to compare notes or something?"

I dismissively waved my arm in the air. Laughing at him in a loud, absurd manner, I looked around my office before I began.

"It's more to do with where I should start."

"You mean to say that whatever you said during that interview, it was all unscripted?" Antonio placed his stubble chin over his knuckles and nodded to his sides. "You wanted to play the hero, didn't you? But ended up dying like a sidekick."

The day of the interview rose in my mind but was quickly replaced with an image of Zemira's despair-driven eyes. Those held the power to make a calculated man toss away his strategies. 

That day, I did what I felt was necessary.

Clearing my throat, I bobbed my head. My answer was followed by Antonio clapping his hands and tossing back his body onto the couch, cackling like a villain in the movies.

"You're in so much trouble, dear brother."

He rose on his feet, eying me from above as if he was judging me for being weak. Antonio scratched his stubble jaw and stared into the distance.