Steamy Deals on the Billionaire's Island

At times, such incredibly unfortunate things happen as if the heavens ordained them by accident. They're so awful, you think, God couldn't possibly have wished this for me.

Besides, I'm a good person. I agree I don't pray much but I don't sin much either; except the occasional lies I tell my aunt. My aunt, who thinks it's okay to bug a twenty-five-year-old woman on her whereabouts. And, newsflash, we don't even live together. All my faith's in God and I'm doing my best going through life as quietly and peacefully as he'd want so WHAT is this?

What is this?

I watch, shocked to my very blood cells. The rhythmic movements of his back can't be what it looks like, can it? But what else would it be then? A lock of blond hair comes in view just as he moans, and it feels like a vein in my heart has just snapped apart.

Still, I shake my head. I'm probably seeing things. Perhaps it's the grief of losing grandpa that has settled in my brain and is now messing with my eyesight. Perhaps. Hopefully.

Another moan, this time from the girl.

God.

"Is this what I think it is? Is this really what it looks like?" I hear the pain in my voice and I hate it. I hate that tears are streaming down my cheeks right now.

The two of them were so invested in what they were doing that they didn't notice me standing here for minutes. On hearing me, they turn. Then sharply withdraw from eachother once recognition dawns on their faces.

To achieve what exactly?

"It is what I think it is," I confirm, turning to leave immediately. I grab my handbag on the couch and storm out of the suite.

Inside the elevator, as it goes down, I keep wiping off tears that won't stop coming. I stare stubbornly at the grey doors, willing my heart to not break. To not break over that fool. And the doors, they seem to chuckle and sneer at me in pity.

Pitiful Mae.

I make to kick the door, unfortunately realising at the last moment that it is coming open. I end up falling on all fours, my knees and forearms colliding with the floor. It feels as though I must've gotten the skin in those areas bruised, but I know this pain isn't coming from there. I refuse to acknowledge where it's coming from. I get up and continue storming out. At a point, I start running. I'm almost out of the building when someone grabs my arm. I push the person backwards as I free my arm, thinking it to be Justin. It turns out to be an attendant who looks concerned about me.

My heart falls.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I tho- I thought it was someone else."

"Oh, I'm fine, there's no need to apologise," she smiles kindly before holding both my arms, "What's the problem, ma'am?"

For a second, I consider telling her. She looks caring. She would probably sweep me into her arms and offer every word of consolation in the world. She might be able to help with the rapidly growing ache in my chest. An ache that I fear will swallow me anytime.

But it's embarrassing. It's so embarrassing. Imagining telling her that I caught my fiancé with another woman, crushes my esteem. She must be one of the waiters I flaunted my ring at. Not in a way meant to offend, but in an 'I'm-really-happy-about-this' way. And now that ring feels like a disgrace.

Something starts to itch on my left hand's fourth finger. I snatch the ring off, hurting myself a little in the process, and throw it at the closest wall, which happens to be the reception counter.

I force a smile at the lady and start to storm off. It occurs to me after taking like three steps that the ring I just threw away is a pure diamond ring. I first shrug the thought off, because, honestly I couldn't care less about its worth. I already have more than enough money to spare, as it is. Thinking about how it cost something though, I retrace my steps. I don't mind not having it, but he would definitely mind spending that amount of money on a ring for a wedding the bride-to-be backed out of. It would be a loss on his part. And I can't resist the thought of causing him a loss.

As I pick up the ring, I look around at the faces. At the receptionists at the counter, the people leaving the lift, and those seated in the waiting area. He didn't even run after me. He didn't even follow me, 'cause I bet if he did, even if he crawled, he would be here by now.

The bastard.

Funny how that was the first impression I had of him. And somehow I still found myself in this situation, back to the first conclusion I made of him. Nothing but a killjoy bastard.

He is not someone to cry about. Not at all. With that, I leave.

In minutes, I find myself back at the airport. I took one of the rides the hotel provides for its leaving customers. I step out of the car rather calmly. Sometime along the ride, my breathing became laborious. I had come here to rest, for fucks sake.

I came here to grieve.

After shattering revelations of what was to come with Grandpa's death, and an even more shattering funeral which I left after giving a very teary eulogy, I needed to fall into someone's arms and cry. I needed to be babied. Needed to be loved. Grandpa's death destroyed me, and Justin knew. I was at my lowest, and all he was thinking of was getting laid.

I was about to marry that person?

"Yes, Ma'am," someone says, and I realise I'm standing at the ticket counter.

"Excuse me," I say, moving away and towards the ticket kiosk.

Approaching the guy behind, I put on my most desperate look. "What's the quickest flight I can catch? I don't care where it goes, I just really need to leave here."

He stares at me blankly for a few seconds before moving into action. "This leaves in about one hour, I could fix you up before it gets late."

"I would love that," I say, my voice thick with appreciation.

When it's time for me to pay, I give him double and tell him to keep the other half as a tip. He's happy, I'm happy too -about this, at least.

After waiting for ten hours, which is what the twenty minutes wait time felt like, I board the plane and the journey begins.

Something in me calms as the plane ascends. My mind is literally jumping in happiness about not being on the same land as that loser. I twirl the ring in my hand, bring it closer to my face, and laugh afterwards.

Isn't life funny?

About two weeks ago, I had just gotten engaged to the 'love of my life' and my Grandpa was alive. Today, I have none. Not my grandpa or the supposed love of my life. Somehow, in the space of two weeks, I've lost it all.

Isn't life great?

People at the funeral were looking at me in envy. I heard whispers.

'She inherits everything.'

'What a lucky girl.'

'She's pretending to be sad.'

I had to leave as soon as I could. I had to run away. I would've puked or fainted if I stayed a minute more there. So I left to the place I thought I would find peace, to a person I thought would understand if everyone didn't.

Here I am, on my second flight of the day, running away from the place I thought I would find peace.

Funny? Sure. Great? Sure. Absolutely.

I close my eyes. I should be able to sleep, at least. A violent jerk sends my eyes open. I at first think it's my body giving up under the weight of all the pain it's experienced today. But it jerks again, and seeing the people around get shook in their seats too, I know it's not just me. My seatbelts are strapped in, but I grip them still.

The plane jerks again and a welp escapes my mouth. No, please. Please. No. This isn't happening.

The Fasten seatbelt sign turns on just as an announcement is made. "Everyone use your seatbelts, flight attendants please be seated. It appears our plane has just been shot."

My eyes almost pop out of their sockets, a mixture of fright and shock dancing in them.

Shot?? Did a world war start while I was reeling in pain?

"Please keep your belts on-"

What will that do at this point???

It's like a nightmare. No, it is a nightmare. Palpitations rock my chest, and soon, the darkness that's threatened to take over me all day finally wins.