THE PERFECT DECEPTION

Chapter 18 (Part 1)

Jonathan King

I despise three things in my life as much as I despise a tardy worker. First: Anuj Kapadia, who believes a few tears can win Anupama back. Second: Kegan Torrance, who refuses to go down without a fight. Third: Her tears, as beautiful as diamonds, yet they no longer belong on her face. The dark circles under her eyes bear witness to the exhaustion of her life. She needs rest, and when her gaze met mine, I understood she needed someone to help her shield herself from the past.

I yearn to revere her, to sense her body unwind within my embrace for as long as necessary. I wish for her to find solace in my arms as her concerns fade away. My intention isn't to shatter her heart but to safeguard it within my calloused hands, even if I may not be worthy of such a treasure. This doesn't imply she's fragile or incapable of moving forward. In fact, I'm the one seeking guidance on love and its perfect execution. Every person deserves the opportunity to be embraced by another, whether they're a foe or a friend.

As she grins at Anuj, seemingly at peace with closing a cherished chapter of her life, my heart sheds its icy shell in a shower of sparks. A shadow crosses my eyes at the thought that she might never regard me with that same affection, even if I eradicated every Kegan Torrance to ensure her safety. She might look upon me with scorn, even if I were to construct the sanctuary I've contemplated. Observing her skin shimmer like stardust under the light as she bids farewell to what may have been the pinnacle of her life, I ponder if I could ever hold such significance to her, becoming a memory she cherishes.

My body trembles slightly as she slips from my grasp, and I hurry after her. She seems so engrossed in her thoughts that she likely doesn't hear my calls. I maintain a careful distance, not wanting to alarm her. As she disappears through the door, I ensure we're not followed, and the photographers remain distracted by the distraught couple on stage. The sound of thunder clashes with the patter of rain overhead.

I stop in my tracks, mindful of the Armani suit tailored just for me. I've never been fond of rain, nor the humid gusts it brings in some lands. To me, rain is no more beautiful than the beach is a marvel. It brings back memories of my father's passing and the cruel laughter that haunted my mother's tearful eyes.

Yet, my gaze softens, and my heart pounds at the sight of Anupama. The rain clings to her dress, sculpting it to her form like a garment fit for a deity. I silently pray that Zeus spares her from his lightning. Water cascades down her arms, sanctifying her skin, while droplets adorn her lips like fine art.

Her cheeks rise in a subtle smile. She revels in this moment, standing as a magnificent work of art, and my most cherished one at that. I step forward, the rain planting gentle kisses on shoes worth a month's rent. But it's not the rain that concerns me—it's the fear that she might fall ill or be harmed by some unforeseen force. Compelled by worry, I move swiftly towards the woman who holds my heart captive.

I shed my blazer as my breath cascades down the crook of her neck, settling on her shoulder. Her body tenses slightly, a reaction to my proximity or the unnamed emotions stirring within me. She glances back, her eyes brimming with vulnerability as she grapples with her own feelings. I carefully grasp her arm, ensuring my touch is gentle enough not to cause pain. A shiver courses through her, and her gaze lowers as she turns to face me. I tenderly lift her chin, guiding her eyes to meet mine.

Rain trickles over my face, each droplet tracing a deliberate path down my skin. My shirt clings to me, the rain's patter mirroring the sensation on her own skin. I move closer, closing any distance between us, her breathing becomes labored, matching the shallowness of my breaths. My face hovers near hers, raindrops lingering on her eyelashes. In my expression, flickers of fatigue, sorrow, and a trace of relief can be seen.