Healing Melody (Very Slow Updates)

7. New Species

Forget client-people and people-people, I've just discovered a whole new species.

It's called Galan.

Effing.

Craig.

After Malcolm rushed in with a broom thinking that I saw a cockroach, I finally shared with him the full and uncensored story at the wedding, the club, and also my findings from the internet.

"Wow," he breathes out with a faraway look.

"Wow!? What the fuck does 'wow' mean?!"

"I'm sorry, you lost me at the making babies part," he chortles, completely missing out the main points.

I crumple onto my bed which sheets have never been tainted even by a speck of dust before, too rattled to care that I'm breaking my number one rule.

Fisting my hair, I try to absorb everything even as a million and one questions run through my now very scrambled, very much malfunctioning brain.

How?

That sexy, gorgeous, drool-worthy man is the CEO of one of the biggest conglomerate companies in the world?

Aren't CEOs of this calibre always sporting a bald head, a big belly, and like, 50 years old?

And yet, the news stated otherwise.

34 year-old CEO of Craig Corporation was spotted attending Jessica and Will Samson's wedding ceremony.

Wondering why the hell a man like him even bothered to attend both the wedding and the after-party, I snatch up my phone again and type away like I've gone completely loco—maybe I have— to search for more information. Soon, I find an insider news article.

Turns out, the recording company Will works at—Saturn Music Entertainment—is one of the subsidiaries of Craig Corporation.

Jessica will even be starring in a movie produced by Saturn Pictures, a film production subsidiary of Craig Corporation.

Galan is not only drop dead gorgeous, but is also immensely capable, and apparently, he's feared among all—commoners and CEOs alike.

And I made a complete fool out of myself in front of him.

Not once, but twice.

"Mal?" I drop my phone onto the bed and look at nothing in particular.

"Huh?" He shifts in the chair by my vanity table to look at me.

"I hope you have all-black clothes."

"Why?"

"For my funeral."

Then I pick my phone up again to look for an undertaker.

*******

Malcolm persuaded me out of the idea to bury myself alive and suggested sweating my stress out.

So here we are at the gym on a Sunday night.

"–and then, out of nowhere she says she has a boyfriend." Malcolm lets out a grunt, "She was the one who was grinding against me and looking at me with those fuck-me eyes."

"Mmm." I reply with a mere syllable.

"I know right?!" He places the barbell back onto the rack and sits up from his bench press position. "Women." His eye-rolling skills surpasses even my own.

I stand there in silence, only half listening to him rambling about the night before as I stare off into the distance, allowing the everything around me to fade.