"Mr Baron, sir, could you prove that what you said on national TV was true? About your being a true son of your father? We are all aware that Max, your younger brother, is the only one recognized by the media as legitimate."
"Do you have any legal documents to support your claims, Mr Baron?"
"How do you intend to appease the masses who have been triggered by your false claims?"
"It's no longer news that the stock prices are plummeting faster than a wrecking ball at the mercy of gravity. How do you intend to redeem the company?"
Questions bombarded him from every angle of the press room. The sneer on the last speaker's face was the last straw that broke his already shattered camel's back. His hand fisted and squeezed the speech that his aide had so carefully prepared for him.
The familiar itch in his armpits which only accompanied catastrophe was the last signal that something was about to go wrong. He only knew he had begun to tremble when his aide placed a palm on his quivering hand.
The aide, being at least three inches below him, stood on tiptoe to whisper something calming to his ears. That was where he went nuts.
A devastating blow sent Cruz sprawling on the ground. He stormed out of the press room, fuming.
A familiar figure stood just at the door with the look he had seen so many times, a look he had done every single thing to change, a look he dreaded seeing.
"Again, you have successfully exposed yourself to the world."
"And it is all your fault for forcing me to speak on that stupid TV and then this… this press conference…" His voice shook emotion.
"I gave you the chance to show the world that you could be a good head for the group when I retire."
He didn't need to look at the face of the older man as he spoke with irritation. He stormed out, leaving the older man standing by the door, the look of spite replaced by another that seemed to say "I didn't expect too much from you."
Mr Cruz, the aide whom he had sent sprawling to the ground came limping after him with a lacerated lip.
Baron drove off, leaving Mr Cruz limping after the car which tore down the driveway with a vengeful spirit. Baron's hands gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles turning pale against his clenched fists. With each swerve and sharp turn, he defied the traffic lights and left a long trail of commotion after him.
The air around the car crackled with tension as he navigated the asphalt, loudly releasing every swear word he knew, his tires screeching as he did.
The accelerator groaned under the merciless press of his foot. Just as the speedometer inched dangerously towards the close limit, he swerved dangerously to the verge and the tires protesting to a halt, sending gravel flying in his wake. His still quivering hands shivered even more violently as he shut off the engine.
The outside world blurred as he struggled to breathe, gasping desperately for air. His adrenaline-fueled frenzy had given way to defeat and he was about to be the little boy he once was again.
The little seven-year-old who so desperately wanted the approval of his father, who did everything his stepmother told him to do no matter how much his own mind kicked against it. The little boy who took all the blame for his younger brother's misdeeds and suffered the consequences in his stead no matter how grave they were.
His shoulders were shaking so much under the weight of his emotions. Until he felt a wet warmness on his face, he didn't know he had been crying.
His phone began to vibrate but the mood was just not right to speak to anyone. On the third ring, He picked it up and a feminine voice came through the receiver.
"Don't move from where you are. I am coming for you."
In less than 20 minutes, a sleek black car veered sharply and parked just behind him.
Betty Lopez emerged from the car, the woman his father had touted as the "perfect" companion for the public eye. Her hair tumbled in messy curls which framed her face with wild elegance. Her red lipstick, bold and unapologetic, seemed to have weathered the night clinging to her lips with stubborn determination. She looked like she was dressed up, ready for yet another navigation of the media world with the grace and effortlessness with which she did it. They had shared a high school and college, both grappling with personal struggles along the way. Her own father's descent into alcoholism had left her to fend for herself from a young age, shaping her into the strong, independent woman she is today.
"Open the door," she said, rapping gently on the window with poised elegance.
He hesitated for a moment before unlocking the door, allowing her to enter. The air was immediately filled with the sweet scent of her chocolaty perfume as she enveloped him in her arms, whispering soothing words. At that moment, any comfort was welcome, whether it came from his media-savvy girlfriend or the unexpected solace of a near stranger. He melted into her embrace, inhaling her scent and finding solace in her presence.
"Let's go to my place. Home might not be the best option for you right now," she suggested, taking the keys from his trembling hands.
As they drove home, a swarm of reporters were camping outside her house. Betty skillfully maneuvered through the chaos, shielding him from the probing eyes and guiding him safely into her home.
The architecture of the house was an ancient one. He had spent so many nights in the house and had to have a personal room in her house which contained a few of his personal effects.
As soon as he stepped into the room, he roared, hurling the flower vase and the bedside lamp across the room, the duo shattering in a mash of shambles.
Each crash shattered, raining splintered everywhere in the room. The mirror was not exempted in the fit of frenzied despair. He sobbed loudly, for the repeated failure that gnawed at him and threatened to replace his name.
As the storm of his emotions subsided, the wreckage of his outburst lay strewn across the room; shards of glass glinted on the floor, remnants of cherished collectibles from various art tours reduced to fragments. The thud of his pounding heart echoed in the silence, punctuated by nothing else but his own breath.
"What do you want?" He rasped as soon as he heard Betty at the door. I don't think you should stay there." Her voice filled with concern which he had never known her to show.
"Open the door."
"Go away, Betty."
"I have my own key if you won't let me in."
She turned her key in the lock and let herself inside.
"Go away."
He was sitting amidst the chaos with his back turned to her.
"Let's go to my room or the living room if that's how much you can't stand being in the same space as me."
He let her drag and lead him out of the mess.
Natural light hit him as he stepped into her room, casting a serene ambiance over the luxury-screaming space; from the plush rugs to more art collections and antiques, even though he had never been there before, he expected no less from her. The windows were so wide, giving a panoramic view of the meadows below which were dotted with wildflowers. A few butterflies skittered from flower to flower, their bloom delicate wings shimmering in the sunlight.
He felt Betty come up behind him, her breath hot against his neck. Her arms slithered around, wrapping him around her naked breasts which he felt against his back.
"This could be our first time, you know. I need you, Baron. I need you to release all your frustration into me." Her breath fanned his neck as she stood on a tiptoe to plant a kiss.
His hand went to hers and he tried to pry him away from her.
"This won't work," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. "You know we're just going through the motions here. There's no real connection between us."
Betty's coy smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she turned and sauntered towards the bathroom, her words lingering in the air like a seductive whisper.
Over the last six months since his father's match-making, he had become increasingly disillusioned with the charade of their relationship. The only thing that grew for this woman who so shamelessly threw herself at him at every opportunity was indifference. She was beautiful no doubt and any man would do anything to call her his. She was tall, with beautiful green eyes and a slim pair of lips. Her head was a mass full of dark flowing hair which she always let fall around in glorious cascades. She had a charm that captured even the attention of the media and the love of the masses. The moment they had been announced as a couple, the stock prices that week had shot up like an edifice and his father had thrown a party to celebrate the new blessing that had joined the family.
As she luxuriated in her long bath, her voice floated in, inviting him to come to join her in "heaven". The smell of scented candles and roses permeated the atmosphere as he wandered around the expansive room. The ceilings were so high that he wondered why it was not the first thing he noticed. She had a surprisingly feminine taste in colors as rose gold and mint green lent an air of sophistication. He soon began to admire the soft yellow lights that lit the shelves. Amidst the lavish decor, his eyes caught a conspicuously hidden file.
Curiosity surged within him and he cautiously retrieved the file. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes were riveted to his brother's name emblazoned on the file labeled: "DNA Test".
"Baron! This place is heaven! You need to come join me here!" His eyes darted toward the gigantic glass door of the bathroom. He could see her but not the other way around because her back was turned to him in the bathtub. Later, as he wandered through her room, his eyes fell upon a file labeled "DNA Test."
She started to step out of the tub, and he became jittery. But he wouldn't miss an opportunity to gather crucial information. He swiftly retrieved his phone and discreetly snapped photos of the documents.
Before she turned toward him to see him through the frosted glass, he was back at the window where he had been standing when she got into the bathroom, hands pocketed as though he was deep in thoughts.
As she toweled down and applied ointment after ointment, he decided that it was time to live.
"I don't think those bees will be outside. It's been over three hours," he remarked casually, masking the intensity of his thoughts. "I need to get out of here," he declared, his tone authoritative as he strode towards the door.
"I need to get out here." He said as he took long strides towards the door.
Betty's gaze followed him, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the shifted document on the table. She made no attempts to stop him as he exited the room.
Alone in his car, Baron studied the documents with a critical eye.
Two things stood out to him.
"Child's name: Max Sinclair Alleged Father's name: Mr Walter Sinclair
Percentage of paternity: 0.00%. The alleged father is not the father of the child."
The revelation shook him to his core, but he refused to be a pawn in someone else's game.
"How could the brother he had known, the one who was favored over him at any point in time not even be a member of his family?"
With a newfound clarity, Baron understood the motivations behind his stepmother's actions and his father's favoritism. The truth laid bare before him, he knew he had to act decisively.
"I need to get out of here."