CHAPTER 4.
Dylan.
"Sheila…" I called as I followed her back to the car. I was already scared and not just about the idea of her being angry with me. I was sure that if I fuck this up, my grandmother will never forgive me and we'll be back to square one: the possibility of my inheritance passing over me.
As I made my way back to the limousine, an angry barrage of cameras and photographers followed behind me, definitely wanting to record the moment first hand.
Normally I'm used to photographers hounding me at every event because of my reputation and wealth, but at that moment, as one of them shoved a microphone into my face, all I could see was red.
"Mr Knight, who was the lady in your arms tonight? Another of your conquests? And what's so special about her that would make you bring her as your date to this event?" A reporter asked.
Without sparing a glance at him, I continued on. But instead of relenting, he just pressed on, pushing his way through the sea of people until he finally came to stand in front of me.
Without a second thought, I grabbed the microphone along with his camera and threw them to the ground. Then I fisted the front of his shirt and tugged him closer to me.
"Listen to me and listen good," I started, my hand shaking from fits of anger, "When you see someone avoiding your stupid microphone, it means the person doesn't want to talk, understand?"
And with that, I pushed him away and continued to the limousine. The confrontation with the reporter served as a deterrent to the rest and they didn't come close anymore. Huddled at my back, they continued shouting questions but none was brave enough to come ask me in my face.
I tried to open the door to the limousine but it didn't budge. Did Sheila really lock me out?
Since the windows were tinted, I couldn't see inside the car. As if sensing my predicament, the horde of photographers and reporters at my back started surging forward with a renewed boldness.
Not wanting to get caught up in the mess, I moved to the front and signaled the driver from outside, hoping he was looking at me and would be able to understand my signals.
Heaven smiled at me when I tried the door again and this time, it slid right back. I closed it with immediate effect after entering, not wanting them to get a close up of the van.
Sighing deeply as I took my seat, it felt like I had run a marathon. My gaze quickly flickered to where Sheila was sitting and I found her looking at me, her eyes boring holes into mine while she whirled a glass of champagne in her hand.
"Did you really have to lock me out, Sheila?" I demanded as soon as I was composed. Instead of giving me a reply, Sheila just twirled her glass in her hand before gulping it down.
My patience was already running thin at that moment. Yes, I know she was annoyed with the turn of events. Well, so was I. That didn't mean I was going to take my frustration out on her.
When she finally spoke, she said, "Take me home, Dylan."
It took everything in me not to gape at her open mouthed. The event we were here to attend had not even started. Scratch that, we hadn't even made it into the hall. And all of sudden, she wanted to go back home?
If that wasn't the most absurd thing I've ever heard.
I fisted my hands on my thighs and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the minibar beside me. Opening it, I took a tumbler from the top shelf as well and poured myself a generous amount of liquor. I tilted my head and drank it in one gulp.
All these while, Sheila's eyes were still trained on me, hard and unforgiving. "I said you should take me home," she repeated.
Finally feeling my tension erasing and being sureI could talk to her without losing my shit, I replied, "I can't do that, Sheila. We still need to make an appearance at the party."
She laughed out loud and for a minute, I thought she had lost her mind. "I was planning on that earlier, even though you fucked me up along with my father, did you hear me complain?"
I furrowed my brows at her statement. If there was one thing I would never do, it is to stoop so low by collaborating with Michael Keith.
Before Sheila could continue on, I interrupted, "What do you mean by 'I fucked you up along with your father'? I dont understand."
She looked at me for a long minute, like she couldn't wrap her head along the fact that I was asking the question.
"I have caught you in the act, Dylan. Don't you see that there is no use denying your involvement? Weren't you there when I refused to be your wife? Didn't you see me standing up to my father about the situation? But you guys still went ahead with your plans, even without my approval." She threw her head back and laughed in a pained way.
Confused by her actions, I just kept staring at her. What the hell was going on?
"Sheila…" I whispered, trying my best to be gentle. She raised her brows in my direction and the unshed tears I saw in them almost knocked me out, "I have no idea about what you're talking about. After the meeting with your father, we never talked again. Promise."
She was skeptical when she asked, "Then what am I doing here?"
"You signed the contract, Sheila. Or, at least that was what I was led to believe. It was delivered to my office today with your signature on it. Imagine my happened that you've finally changed your mind. Now it seems like we've both been played."
I almost laughed out loud when the pieces finally connected in my brain. Michael Keith, you despicable human, very clever of you. Very clever.