23 | His Best Friend

____ 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍

I stepped inside the club and went up a flight of staircases to meet with my friend. He owns this club; the club where it all started. I knocked three times in his door before he responded, "Come in." 

I opened the door and he was busily typing on his laptop with a stack of papers beside him. 

"Diana, what do you think of building another club in Maine?" he asked, not glancing away from the screen in front of him. 

"I don't know, Sir," I mocked, making my voice higher so as to mimic a female's voice. 

He flinched at the voice and turned to glare at me. "You son of a bitch." 

"Why did you confuse me with your secretary?" I asked, laughing. 

"I sent her on an errand and she still hasn't come back yet, it's been twelve minutes." He stood up and approached me, patting me on the back as I smiled at him. 

"She might have encountered a few problems, just be patient, Lance." I sat on his seat. 

He groaned and tapped his foot on the floor. "That's my seat, get your own." 

I shook my head and spun the chair around. He rolled his eyes and dragged a chair from the corner of his office and placed it in front of me. He pointed to it."There." 

I stood and sat on the chair he gave and he sat back down. "Man, you're married now," he said. "How is it?" 

"Why does everyone keep asking how we are–" Right, he's one of the few people who doesn't know about the forced marriage. "We argue...a lot but I guess we're doing fine," I lied. 

"You guys will get over it," he said. "Just shower her with affection and sweet stuff and definitely romance. Girls love that." 

I sighed. I can't handle this. I'll have to tell him. "Dude, I don't even love the girl," I told him. "This was all a forced marriage. Dad forced it on the both of us, hence the arguing. We hate each other." 

His eyes widened but shook his head afterwards. "Hate is a strong word." He looked me up and down and his eyebrows furrowed. "But you're beginning to trust her." 

"How–" 

"Amarra told me," he answered before I got to ask my question. "And it's written all over your face. Don't act like I don't know you, Seb." 

"How the hell? Kind of makes me feel embarrassed," I replied. 

"Don't be," he stated. "There's nothing to be ashamed about." 

"Speaking of which, last night, Adrianne had this sort of nervous breakdown. Do you know any reports of a girl being kidnapped around ten years ago?" I asked. 

Everything began to play out in my mind again. How she screamed as lightning struck and the sound of a thud resonated around the room. I navigated my way through the darkness, unlocking my phone to try and turn on the flashlight but it wouldn't. Feeling for her in the pitch black ballroom and when I found her, she panicked and began pushing me. Like I'm some sort of predator or monster who's going to hurt her. But I'm not. I wasn't going to hurt her. She trembled and cried in my arms like a little child. She could barely breathe. So I told her to breathe…for me. Then I thought of ways to enlighten the mood despite the blackout and invited her to dance with me. Not only did it lift a weight off her shoulders, but it also lifted some of mine too. I felt entranced and locked into the moment. I never knew I'd enjoy dancing with her. Even more without the music or light. 

"There's a ton of girls getting kidnapped each year, be more specific." His voice ripped through my thoughts. 

"Adrianne Chanelle." 

He seemed to be deep in thought and began typing on his laptop. "I'll search about that, what's it got to do with her breakdown?" 

"She said she was kidnapped when she was a child." I peeked at the laptop screen. 

"I could guess that much," he muttered.

He opened a tab that read: DAUGHTER OF LOUIS CHANELLE FOUND AFTER BEING KIDNAPPED FOR THREE DAYS. 

He scrolled down some more and there was a report about it. It is stated that she was captured by four masked men and was taken to an abandoned building far away from New York. She had been kept there for three days and according to the hospital she was taken to, there have been some things done to her mental health. The mastermind behind the kidnapping hasn't been found and they don't have one suspect. Whoever this was, they planned it but sucked at executing it. 

"Dang," Lance whispered. 

She was found with several bruises and cuts on her arms, legs, and chest. She was isolated in a dark room with no windows. These men were ordered by a man that has yet to be identified. Whoever this guy was, he's got some money and power to order people to torture a child like that. 

"I can't continue reading dude, you know how I am about stuff like this." He shuddered. 

"No wonder she seemed terrified," I thought to myself. 

"What happened last night?" Lance questioned, turning his attention to me. 

"Adrianne and I went to the Plaza Hotel for the fashion show preparations. While she was dancing around on the ramp, the power was cut. I heard her scream and when I got to her, she was trembling and crying. She was begging me not to leave her and I knew I just couldn't..." I trailed off, remembering everything that happened that night. 

Lance smiled. "Your caring side always resurfaces no matter how much you try and bury it." I raised an eyebrow at him. "What? You made a promise to yourself that you'd never trust anyone, let alone care for them." He raised his hands in the air, "I know what's going to happen next." 

"What?" 

"You'd trust her, become friends, fall, then you'd be scared of getting left."

I was overcome with silence. They were right; I am beginning to become comfortable with her. And I can't stop it. I don't know what to do next. What if she leaves like the others? What if she hurts me like...him? What if she'll never accept me for who I am? I know that she'll run away after knowing the truth. I know that she won't be able to bear the thought of me. Besides, she already hates me–

"Dude, stop overthinking." He interrupted my thoughts and placed a hand on top of mine. 

My eyes widened at the sight of my hands trembling. A cold drop of sweat dripped from the side of my forehead. 

"We both hate each other," I mumbled. 

He snorted. "You two are like those hate-to-love couples." 

"You're such a dork."

"You two kind of remind me of Lizzie Bennet and Mr Darcy–" 

"First off, we're nothing like them. Second, we won't be falling for each other," I cut him off. 

"What makes you so sure?" 

"I just know that she won't fall for me, she made that clear." I peered down at my hands. "But I hope that we at least become friends," I said more to myself than to him.

"Then talk to her, get to know her but you have to prepare yourself if something comes," he said. "Something you'll like or dislike." 

I nodded. "Which is exactly why I don't want to talk to her." 

"Dude, she's not your…she's not him."

"You're one to talk, you don't even know her," I said to him.

He laughed. "Want to have a drink with me? My treat."

He pulled me out of my seat and brought me downstairs to have a drink or two. We had a long chat about the past months. He has been busy. And our conversation drifted back to when we first met. It was the time when I ran away from home due to certain situations. 

I was sixteen-years-old when I attempted to run away from home. It was past midnight when everything happened. I bolted out the door and rode my bike. As my mother cried and pleaded for me to return, my father, however, told her to be quiet and to let me be. He made no effort to make me come back to the house. I couldn't handle another minute with my father. I ran into a bar and sat at a table by the corner. That's when Lance comes in. 

"Hey kid, what're you doing at a place like this?" he asked me. 

His expression softened when he saw me crying. He was eighteen at the time and he was working there. He sat down in front of me and listened to everything I said. He eventually introduced himself as 'Lancelot Colton'. He managed to convince me to go back home after he gave me his number if ever I needed anyone to talk to.