SHIMMER'S POV
When my son informed me that he requested to see me, my stomach tightened and rumbled. He wanted to see me? Why? What did he want? He was my son, yes; and although it was not his first time to request to see me, that particular visit made me seriously uncomfortable.
"Mum," he peeped through the door before pushing it and coming in.
"Sit on the bed or chair, whichever is more comfortable for you," I said in a low tone. "Don't you have work to attend to? What's so important that you had to see me now?"
"If I didn't know any better, I would swear you're trying to get rid of me, mum" he gave me a cold smile.
Oh; was I selling myself out already? I just laughed it away and asked him to tell me what he wanted to say. Dylan fumbled in his pocket and fished out a piece of paper.
"I have too many things to discuss with you. They are issues from years back, which, due to my young age and naivety back then, I never found reason to ask you about. You may want to read that note." He said.
I opened it. It was a letter written to Anisha, from D de Milo. I slowly read through it and looked at him, feigning confusion,
"What? What is this supposed to mean?" my voice sounded clueless.
"Does that note look familiar, mum? It was handed to Anisha as soon as she woke up at the hospital" he asked in a serious tone.
"Why would I know about it? It was written by you, to Anisha. Why, and how on earth would I be familiar with it?" if only he was able to see how much my heart was pounding, he would have had mercy on me and just left the whole matter.
"Ok, I won't ask any further about that. Let's move forward. I only realised now that I don't know you, and I am scared of who you are." My son spoke, his eyes squarely on me.
"Drop the act, Dylan! If you have nothing meaningful to say to me, get out and go waste your time with that useless, low-life peasant.!" My anger was rising rapidly, and as much as I hated to admit, I was failing to control it.
"Useless low-life peasant," Dylan repeated my words. "She is so useless and meaningless to you, yet she drove you, all those years back, to stop the children's home donations and watch the place shutting down, while you could have helped?" he raised his brows at me.
"We were building Roderick Eye Centre, for crying out loud! The de Milo Group was unable to continue with the donations. I did it all for your future. I wanted to build something for my daughter, because I knew that she was working hard to become an optician; and now I am being blamed for it? Isn't Ciera the CEO of that hospital now? And I am blamed for that?" I pretended to be very upset.
It seemed like my acting was not working on Dylan. While I expected him to have a face full of guilt, he did not show any signs of remorse. Instead, he looked me straight in the eyes and continued,
"Mum, you might not know this, but when Olga was closed, Pete and I went there several times, trying to find out where Anisha was. And I know that you remember mum, how one day you called me into this very same room, and told me that you had received news of Anisha's death. You made me believe that she was dead. I was young, and I believed you. But then, when I spoke to dad about it, he said he did not know anything about Anisha's death. Now mum, on the day that you told me, you had said that the death was notified to both you and dad…"
"Maybe Roderick just forgot about it, he's a busy man." I defended myself.
"No mum," he shook his head. "The truth is no-one ever informed you of Anisha's death. It was your way of trying to make me forget about her. And when dad said that was not the case, I began to realise that something was wrong. You wanted me to forget about her."
"It was true. Someone did inform me that she was dead."
"Who informed you of that, if I may ask?" his eyes pierced into mine.
"Do you really think I would recall events of so many years ago?" I was starting to get seriously angry at my son. "She was reported dead, that's all I can recall."
"But she is alive, mum. She was alive back then. You only wanted me to believe that she was dead." He fixed his eyes on me.
I was silent and I reached out for a bottle of water. I was not thirsty, but I just badly needed something to distract Dylan. The situation was too tense, and my son was not making it any easy for me. Why in the world did he want to talk about all that history; and how much more did he know? Was he simply building up his case so that he could start talking about the rape attempt?
Using all my strength to twist the cap off, I pretended as if it was way tougher than how it was. Dylan stretched his hand to me, gesturing for me to hand over the bottle to him. I gave him, and he opened it and handed the water back to me.
"Thanks," I mumbled and he just nodded his head.
"Logan? Logan, the cleaner at the hospital." He said softly. This son of mine! What was he talking about again? How much did he know?
"Do you by any chance know anything about him and his actions? How he got access to the manor, and the rape attempt?" he creased his brows, his eyes never leaving mine.
I almost choked on my water. I spat some of it in shock, and avoiding his stare, I said, "Are you now going to blame me for the attempted rape?"
"I don't know, mum. I am just asking if you have any idea. How did Logan know the manor so well? He even knew the escape routes. And the CCTV was off. The control room was not guarded and there were no security guards at the western exit points that he used."
"What does that have to do with me?" I spat in fury.
"I am just wondering, mum, how all that could have been a coincidence. And all of that happening on the night of the handover ceremony makes it even more confusing."
"And I am the suspect in your crazy little theory?" My hand was truly itching to slap my only son.
Dylan looked at me for a long time and he stood up, walked towards the door that led to the balcony and softly slid it shut.
"It's getting cold in here," he said in a low tone.
I dared not respond. I just wanted him to leave. I just wanted him…
"The fights that you and I ever had during my childhood," he carried on, "were all to do with Anisha. You hated her mum, you hate her with your entire being!"
"I do not hate her!" I snapped. "She is just not good enough for you!"
"She is what my heart wants! My heart is content with her. It's either her or I die single!"
"These things have nothing to do with the heart, Dylan! I thought you were smart enough to have realised that by now! You use your brain, and you also look at what the other person is bringing to the table. That girl brings nothing! She adds no value to the de Milo family. Instead she drains us, because she comes in with claws ready to harvest where she did not sow!" I seethed in resentment.
My whole body was shaking. Part of my mind wanted to slap Dylan in order to open his eyes, but he was not a little boy any more. He was looking at me, and unlike before, there was no fear in his eyes. Not even a trace. He was calm, and that angered me all the more.
"Harper Hill is from a very rich family. She is a decent girl, good looking and her family is very respectable!" I reminded my son.
"I do not love her, mum," he stated firmly.
"Love will grow! You dated her twice, and you tell me you don't love her?"
"The reason why I broke up with her was because I was not in love with her. And the only reason why we got back together was because she begged me for another chance, and you were too involved in that relationship, making sure that no matter what, I remained in it with her! I never loved her. Mum, you surely know who I love…"
"You don't love that dismal orphan! You're just infatuated by her beauty!" I bellowed at my son.
He remained silent. The silence was scary. What was he thinking? Why was he not responding? Was he angry at me?
"Besides her beauty, what else does she have to offer?" I needed to get him to talk, at all costs. Dylan walked to the water dispenser and poured himself a glass of water. He slowly drank from it, and placed it down.
"What does she have?" my voice screeched so loud that for a moment I thought it was not mine.
He looked casually at me and smiled, "why don't you get to know her, and then you will see for yourself what else she has to offer."
I was very angry at my son, and more so at that dim-witted orphan! I wanted to shake some sense into Dylan, but it seemed to me like the years of making him do what I wanted were over.
"Did it ever cross your mind," he began to talk again "that you could go to jail for the attempted rape?"
I pointed to the door with a shaking finger and hissed, "get out of here this instant!"
He gave me a long unreadable stare before marching out.