Anastasia Lewandowski fell in love with a criminal at the age of 10. But it was almost impossible to tame him. Neither by her, nor by the government. He was a mastermind, living a two-faced life.
Even after a distance of 9 years, her obsession with...
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𓇢𓆸IT WAS NEARLY THE END of the night. Despite the storm-stricken atmosphere, with the sky swathed in onyx clouds and faint drizzle sprinkling from the old-fashioned windows, the bleak dawn was thinly breaking out. The heavy mahogany shutters rattled against the partition of the window.
The lights of the room at the end of the balcony were on—dim yellow lights illuminating polished furniture that shimmered in a rich array of lines. The desk was littered with empty teacups, and barely soaked roses sat in a glass jar by the window. A cigarette ashtray was half-crammed with ashes. The rest of the room appeared well-organized.
He was sitting there, near the balcony, staring out toward the hills with an almost-done cigarette, while waiting for the next cup of coffee.
Ahmer Ilyas had come to him, with a softer demeanor now than before and talked aimlessly for an hour—the reason behind it was indirectly simply; apology. He didn't even let them leave for the hotel, saying it was hitting past three-thirty, way too late at night. This was true as well, along with the safety issue, especially since Samantha was pregnant. Irvin had to keep it in mind—Dominic had been pleading him for three days straight.
Their house was quite large, and they opened up the entire third floor for them. So, he decided to wait a few hours until sunrise. But he didn't sleep, even though both women had fallen asleep.
It was six a.m.; Arbaas sat on the opposite couch, trying to accompany for the tea though he'd been more keen to understand his mood, although Irvin's face was blank, barely giving any signs of his thoughts.
"I'm extremely sorry for what happened there!"
Instead of answering it, Irvin lifted his head slightly. Seemingly as if he was belittling, Arbaas.
"You know, there is a term called 'echolalia' in medical language. Any idea, what's that?"
Arbaas creased brows in confusion. "I do not."
"Thought so." Irvin smiled, leaning comfortably against the couch. "Well, it's the primary symptom of autism. A tendency to repeat words. But don't fret, I know a neurologist, if you want I can inform him about you."
Arbaas bit back his tongue, swallowing the bitter taste.
"I think you should rest." He said, ignoring the fury that was blabbing up.
"Sure," Irvin said nanochantly.
When Arbaas didn't get up, he raised his head and then glanced down at his watch, which was the cue to let him alone.
He helplessly looked behind Irvin, where Annie was peeking from the window and gesturing him to not leave.
"By the way, I hope you're not returning to the hotel today."
"I am." He answered briskly, but his attention was now on his phone, while typing something. "Our flight is in five hours. Since there is no wedding, I don't see the point of staying any longer."
