𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

51 - Revelations (EP. 02)

Her blood burned. He just had to say her name first. She could have pretended that he was a mere stranger, or maybe a little less of a familiar face just so she could have something to reason out with because of how deep his eyes were scavenging hers on purpose, in hopes of finally getting something out of her right on the spot.

And it was rightful torture.

Helena was too unsure to even trust her voice. Her heart wanted to break past her ribs, run away and hide somewhere awful coincidences like this wouldn’t dare to happen. But her chances of dodging the war zone were short at this point.

“Mom? Um... Mister Storms, do you two know each other?”

And Aiden finally pulled the trigger, unaware that he was to be the future casualty.

Pierre’s shock extended—mother. Helena was this young man’s mother, he just called her his mother. Everything was making sense now as piece by piece, the aftershocks of Helena’s departure resurfaced excruciatingly enough to make the past flood back into his vision.

It was as if he was actually back in there in his father’s office—enduring almost every faint detail of the room that clouded over his senses, like the vicious Gurkha his father smoked and the smell seemed to seep straight into his lungs and it felt harder to breathe than it already was. Lavender was the color his mother wore that night, as she and whimsical Henry mocked him and told him that the woman he fell for went up to them herself to unveil what they had, what they shared, which meant everything to him.

For a minute, for a while–

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t smile wider than she should whenever she’s around him, and he thought of what she said by how she wanted things to be. Maybe it wasn’t him she wanted, because nothing could ever be simple between them as long as she’s still head over the heels for him, and him to her.

‘Pierre Alarie Storms, heir to a chunky gold mine and whatever else is in store, kissing me? The sacred, married gardener? Something to stir up the tabloids, huh?’

And that was his cue to tell her that he found her way more captivating than the beds of Peonies she tended to every day, as he would take off his favorite coat to wrap it around her since she easily gets cold whenever they would secretly meet in a chilly midnight.

And it occurred to him that Helena would actually think he wouldn’t look into their transition.

It wasn’t possible that Helena stopped... loving him, in a week or two even though she seemed a little distant to him then. There was fire in her eyes whenever she would declare she won’t ever give up on what was left keeping her smiling like a fool—a lunatic whenever he squeaks if he finds a worm in the soil he just stuffed in the pot. He loved helping her around.

It must have been something that got in the way of that, them.

So he thought of any crazy idea, and he considered only one that was truly possible, which lead to him cornering one of the maids Helena has gifted her trust upon if she knew why the woman left him as a wreck because of god knows why.

Now, he knew why. Completely.

He remembers; he dwells on that night. They were clinking reckless Romaneé’s, thanks to the premium bottle he stole from his father’s collection, and things got willingly out of hand when they lost all control after a few heated moments.

Soon but unexpected—he was shoved into business in France, and of course his parents would flash a fine paycheck filled with a number among a lot of zeros to a quartet of bodyguards to ensure he had no way out of their wishes. Paychecks weren’t the only fine papers involved, but the settled French citizenship documents were also showed to him while they were out of his reach.