Learning to Love | ✓

Chapter 30

[ZEUS]

I went through the back door this time. I didn't have the guts to face the media at the front. The cleaners at the back gave me a questioning look as I passed them to the door to the lobby. I sneaked out to the main stairs, catching a glimpse of what the doormen and guards were handling up front.

My lawyer had advised me to avoid being seen for now, at least until he was sure when and if my appeal would even be granted.

I walked into my office sighing. I hated this all this unwanted attention. I took off my blazer and rolled up the sleeves of my long-sleeved button-up shirts. I let the tie stay; Julian had knotted it if anything. I smiled, all the frustration being washed away for a moment. I had Julian no matter what happened next, he had promised me that.

I pulped myself at my desk, getting to work immediately, there were tons of meetings I had to postpone, business projects I had to put on hold. I wasn't going to let all that's happened to get to me — to mess up everything I had worked so hard to build.

I was working when my phone buzzed on my table. Reaching for it I raised my brow in question at the unknown face time request.

It could be a reporter. I thought, dropping the phone and returning to my work. It continued buzzing for a while then died down. I was about to let out a sigh of relief when it started buzzing again.

"Really?" I groaned, waiting for the buzzing to die down. It did but started all over again. Gritting my teeth I reached for the phone. Obviously ignoring whoever was calling wasn't working.

I eventually tapped the accept button out of irritation. I watched the screen with a blank look as the video chat loaded. Whoever it was should better make it worth it.

"Hello, son."

I froze at the voice and the face of the woman I vividly remember. She had her hair up in a stylish bun,  the center of her hair had turned pale white, the side remaining black with specks of grey, her face was now that of a woman who'd undergone so may face lifts she couldn't remember. I grimaced at the small smile at the side of her lips.

"Mrs. Parthoropeons," I said as my lips trembled. It was odd not referring to her as my mother. As much I despised whatever she had done to me in the past, a part of me still wanted to hop into her arms and cry—be the child I hadn't had time to be—the child my parents wouldn't let me be.

"Now, that's very rude," my mother said looking down. The distinguishing birthmark at the side of her left eye added to her very 'Parthoropeons' look. Her skin was a shade or two darker than mine, and as much I would hate to admit it to anybody, I looked more like her than my father.

I felt a lump on my throat, the last time I'd seen him he'd been terribly sick.

"Look at you. I'm not sure if I'm meant to be terribly angry or proud..." my mother trailed, smiling.

The lump in my throat grew bigger. Was she mocking me?

"Once a Parthoropeons always a Parthoropeons, look at you running from wealth and falling back right into it," my mother said looking me right in the eye this time. I hadn't inherited her dark brown eyes, but I looked enough like her to be irritated by her mere sight.

"Don't frown, boy, you'll get wrinkles marks."

Oh, like she's the one to talk.

"Anyway," my mother started, looking down again.

"I didn't call you to catch up. I called you because your problem is now my problem considering I labeled you dead a good twelve years ago and I now have the bother of flying all the way to America for a trial," my mother said in a bored tone.