Chasing

KIAN’S POV

Another week passes but not in a flash like most people would say. I have never liked the saying anyway because no, weeks and days don’t just flash by. For a business man like me, every single day is significant. and meaningful. My days are characterized by meetings, strenuous office work, travels and too many important events that I get invited to so it feels offensive to have them tagged as a week that went by with barely any memories.

With grief, it is just the same. Everyone else moves on because ample time has passed but you remember every single thing like it’s yesterday. I dare say that it is even worse with grief. I remember every single day since Leslie’s death, I remember the taste of my tears that I didn’t let anyone see and the smell of her empty room.

I remember the hours I spent in bed tossing and turning because I can’t seem to close my eyes without seeing Leslie behind the close lids. I remember the times I actually get to sleep and have dreams that seem s

so much like reality only to be shattered when I open my eyes and I’m back in a world without

Leslie.

I remember how I couldn’t seem to focus on work and because of this, I stopped going to work and even canceled meetings that were set up months before now.

I remember how I lost my appetite and how the sight of any other coffee than the one Leslie used to make irritated me. I remember how each day dragged on in an endless cycle and how I am constantly forced to move on from the death of a woman that has wrecked me beyond repair.

Fremember it all and it’s only been a week.

The first two days of her death were the most memorable, characterized by me going from one police station to the other to find out which division is in control of her case because nothing from the news made sense. Why the hell was she in a deserted warehouse in the first place? I was prepared to use everything in my capability to investigate her death but for the first time in my entire life, my influence did nothing.

The police refused to release statements despite my threats, not to mention how my connections in the higher places of the police force ghosted all of a sudden until I started suspecting that there was a bigger power in play.

I was her only guardian left but was denied the right to see her body, at least what’s left of it. I am used to always getting my way and so the kind of frustration that has filled me in the past week is one I haven’t felt in a long time.

My uncle seems to have disappeared without a trace too. Thus, my only link to finding out what happened to her has gotten severed as well. Everything seems to be falling apart at once and I lose a piece of my mind with each day that passes.

I realize I am lost in thought again when someone places a knock on the door of my study where I spend half of the day cooped up in.

desperately hope it isn’t my mother because I am in no mood for her nagging this afternoon since that’s all she has done since Leslie’s death. She doesn’t show remorse, not even the fakest one and only goes on and on about marriage.

1/2

“Come in.”

The door opens and Peter steps in. I clearly told him that I would be taking an indefinite leave from work since the company can run just fine without me for a few more weeks and that means he also gets to enjoy a break from work. However, he has been here every single day of the past week to feed me information regarding the situation at the company even when I never asked for it.

Seeing him now, I can only wonder what other uninteresting news he has come with.

“What do you want, Peter?” I ask, showing my disinterest even before he even speaks.

He clears his throat and places and wordlessly places a small envelope on my table. It is blue and streaked with lines of gold as design with a single familiar lettering–H–in the middle. It seems like an invitation.

“This was sent to the office this morning.” He says quietly.

I pull the card out of the envelope and read through. I’m used to designs like this so I know it is a gala, the kind that is usually organized for charities or something. What actually catches my eye for a brief second is the name of the one who had sent the invite.

“Hanson Group?” I say out loud. Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.