August Whodunit : A Billionaire Ordeal

Prologue: Don't Read What Comes In The Mail

It sat there, ripping at his soul and mind. An ominous item of shallow darkness and perfected horrendous feelings covered with his very blood. The dark claret red added a rustic abliss to the boastful black of the cold metal and he couldn't help but admire it. He instantly felt a sickening punch at his gut, how could he admire an object that caused such a ghastly disgrace to his name and family?

He heard the footsteps of Sandra heels and exhaled the cuban cigar he had been smoking. oh, she's home early he thought, his mind in a blissful sleepy state of peace. Synthetic peace of course, true peace couldn't come from a pill or a puff of smoke. He knew this well, he had been searching for true peace all his life and all he ever got was moments.

He felt Sandra cool touch before he saw her face. He quickly slipped the object back in his safe and turned to greet her. Her hand on his shoulder as she dashed a kiss at his cheek bought fore the same rush of warmth it always did it. Her touch had forever been addictive to him, it was better than any synthetic peace he had dreamt of and so he pulled her into a deep kiss that seemed to last for minutes. But he didn't care, he rather have her than air.

" What's wrong?" She asked after they broke apart,"You look stressed." She observed concernedly and pressed her hand against his face gently.

He brushed away her touch and moved to pour himself a drink of whiskey. He didn't want to talk about the pang in his heart, he barely wanted to think of it. "Now is hardly the time, dearest." He said to her, already half way through the glass.

"Why? what ails you?" She questioned, as she moved to take a seat on their cream coloured couch. He watched her as she slipped off her heels and picked the book she left on the hand rest.

But the question had his mind in trembles. What ails you? she had asked, how could he answer ? Everything? Nothing? the fact that you or I could die and no one would really remember our existence in decade. Or maybe it was that he kept his mom murder weapon in his safe

No.

A better question would be; What ails you today?

The answer speeded into his mind so fast, his reply was instantiate. "We received an invitation." He said with a dead voice. He poured another glass, another hope for peace.

" What sort of invitation?" She arched a brow in curiosity and flicked her blonde hair back, the book laid forgotten in her hands for the a moment."Is it the investor?"

He shook his head, not as a reply but as a reaction to the sting of the alcohol as it hit the back of his throat."No, Vincent is only throwing his dinner party next month." He poured another shot, knowing his next words would leave a bitter after taste in his mouth.

"It's from you know who."

A realization played over her features and she let out a tiny, "oh," of surprise. A slient moment claimed them, both remembering past meetings with the man. "Well," Sandra sighed heavily, "This isn't fun." She cracked a small laugh, trying shift the dark cloud that seemed hang over them.

He paid her words no mind, now too in memories and rage. That man, whom he had once called a brother, had taken so much from him. Made him hate who he was, hate his life, hate his own blood, a person like that shouldn't be allowed to live.

"That cursed man- I swear-" He broke off in anger, feeling the need to throw something." Everytime I feel an inch of happiness he just-"

Steals it away.

He couldn't finish his sentence because he turned to see Sandra slipping off her dress and wrapping herself in a thin sheet. Her body clearly outlined, and suddenly his blood was boiling for another reason. Still, after all this time together, she could take away his breath with a glance.