Lightning Strike (Billionaire Boys Club #3) | ongoing

Chapter 18

                      Alora:

My high from my earlier win with Madden did not last as long as I had hoped for.

Afterwards, I decided to reward myself with a trip to the mall. I bought some new shoes and a new bracelet, doing a little damage, along with a large boba to finish it off.

But when I returned home, I was greeted to the distinct sound of breaking glass.

Not again.

I glance to the maid who is currently sweeping the foyer floor and then back to the sound when it occurs for a second time.

I hand her my bags and then speed walk towards the informal dining room, finding my mother sat at the head of the table, a nearly empty bottle of wine in front of her and a mess of a spilled glass on the ground.

"Eomma!" (Mom!)

She tilts her head this way, eyes widening and arms reaching out drunkenly.

"My beautiful daughter!" She calls in Korean.

"Eomma." I walk towards her and quickly grab her hand when I see it's bleeding, only feeling slightly relieved when it's only a small cut. "dodaeche mwohaneun geoya?" (What on earth are you doing?)

"museun yaegileul haneun geongayo? nan geunyang hanjan masigo iss-eoyo. gin haluyeossseubnida." She waves off. (What are you talking about? I'm just having a small drink. It's been a long day)

"A small...?" I yank the bottle out of her hand when she tries to drink from the rim due to her unusable glass.

"Ya!" She attempts to get it back but I hold it away and turn to two maids loitering uselessly at the other side of the table.

"One of you clean this up and one of you take her and fix her hand. Pali!" (Hurry!)

They do so and I look at the ceiling, cheeks hot.

Why? Why? Why?

I need some air and then I'll check to make sure she's in bed.

I go to my room and take a quick shower, just cleaning my body, and then put on some comfy clothes, some soft pants, a plain white top and a warm cardigan. I then do my skincare routine, feeling my heartbeat slow down with every step. Once all of that is done, I let down my hair and brush it through before picking up a pair of shoes and then making my way back downstairs to the front door, where I slip the shoes on and exit the house.

It is only when I've crossed the area beyond the front door and closed the main gate behind me that I stop to feel the night breeze hit my face. I close my eyes briefly, breathing in a lungful of it.

That's the second time this week.

She wasn't like this before.

A walk. A short walk. That's what I need. The neighbourhood is safe and illuminated by enough street lamps and glowing house lights to not scare me into thinking there's a murderer behind me.

But just as I take two steps, a prickling runs across my skin. Awareness that someone is near, watching me.

I hesitate, not sure whether I want to turn around.

That choice is taken from me altogether.

"You."

I stand corrected.

I sigh, not needing this. Not wanting this.

"Go back to wherever it is that you spawned from." I take another step, prepared to ignore him entirely, even pushing down the curiosity of why he's even in my neighbourhood, but he clearly has other plans.

"You made my car your personal canvas."

"It was for your benefit, or did you not read my message?" Yeah, escaping is obviously not happening. I turn around and fold my arms over my chest.

He's dressed in black pants and a black jacket with a white shirt under it. His hair is tousled like he's been running his hand through it.

I hope something stresses him out enough to pull it out.

"Oh, I read it. You're a terrible artist, by the way."

"Thanks for the constructive criticism." I'm sure he's already gotten rid of it all, which brings a string of joy to my sunken mood. He must have rushed to get his car cleaned as soon as he noticed.

"Hm." He gives a sardonic smile. "Watch your back from now on, minx." His mocking tone morphs into something more threatening.

"Watch your car door." I mumble offhandedly.

He perks up. "What? So it was you who did that?"

"What?" I look back at him, playing it off. Not because I'm not proud of denting his car but because I have a feeling that it will propel him to retaliate even further and If I'm being completely honest, I'm sort of nervous to see how. The lipstick was one thing but though this can just as easily be fixed, I'm sure it's a bigger deal to him than a provoking Sanrio character.

"You dented my fucking car." He points an accusatory finger at me, mouth agape.

"I didn't even touch it!" I hold up my hands, denying it.

"Oh, you little-"

There's a commotion behind the gate and before I know it, my mother, still drunk, stumbles out.

"nae ttal-a, yeogi issguna!" (My daughter, there you are!)

Oh my god.

"Eomma." I grip her arms when she nearly trips over her own steps and she laughs lightly.

Where the hell is the maid I left her with?

She comes running after my mom, taking ahold of her and asking her to come back inside.

She argues weakly and keeps on trying to face me, urging me to come too but after an excruciatingly long minute, she's back through the gate.

What's the point of having staff if they don't do their freaking jobs properly? How did you lose a whole, drunk woman?

I run a hand through the top of my hair, letting it fall back down and then remember who's standing a mere four feet away from me.

"Go away." I glare.

This is your fault. I want to say but hold that one back.

His gaze is questioning. Calculating. But then it returns to being void of emotion.

"Gladly." He closes the space between us, leaving only a few inches of air. "But remember what I said. I'll do much worse than your little prank, bitch." And then he's past me, a gust of wind following him and brushing my shoulder like his own shadow did it.

So he wants to play? Fine.

I'm not afraid of him.

Bring it on, dick.