Chapter 16

I decided it was time to forget about Cavey and move on with my life, although it wasn't easy and I miss him so much. But dwelling in the past and wallowing in my sadness wasn't going to help me heal or find happiness.

I needed a fresh start, a purpose, something to fill the void that his absence had left in my heart.

Returning to the mansion felt both comforting and daunting. The grandeur of the place, with its sprawling gardens and luxurious interiors, was a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside.

 As I walked through the marble-floored hallways, I made my way to my stepdad's study. I needed to talk to him about getting a job. I was tired of doing nothing.

I asked after him and was told he was in his study room. Finally, he was alone; his "handbag," as I sarcastically referred to my clingy mother, had gone out.

 I knocked and heard his voice from the other end.

"Come in," he said.

Stepping into his study room for the first time, I was taken aback by its opulence. The room was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, filled with leather-bound volumes that smelled of aged paper. 

A large, ornate desk dominated the center of the room, its surface neatly organized with papers, pens, and a computer.

On one side, there was a comfortable leather armchair and a small coffee table with a decanter of amber-colored liquid and a couple of crystal glasses. 

The walls were adorned with framed certificates, diplomas, and a few art pieces that portrayed sophistication.

My step dad looked up from his desk, his expression initially worried but straightening up immediately upon seeing me.

 "Sam, how are you?"

"Good afternoon, Dad. I'm fine. How's work and everything at the office?" I asked, trying to ease into the conversation without jumping straight to the point.

He replied that all was well, mentioning some minor discrepancies in documents and statements he was trying to sort out.

 "Oh," I said, not really knowing how to respond to that.He seemed to sense my hesitation.

 "What brings you here, Samantha? Is everything okay? Do you need anything?"

"I'm okay, Dad. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about getting a job. I'm tired of staying at home doing nothing."

A smile spread across his face, but then his expression turned worried again. 

"If only my son would be as smart and hardworking as you are," he said, sighing. "He always runs away from his responsibilities, although he is a lawyer, one of the best at his age.

But he keeps wandering away, he doesn't want to get married either, he has a beautiful fiance who has been with him all these years but he keeps wasting her time.

When I was his age, I had already taken over Silicon Bank from my father. 

I knew how it was run, and when my father saw my competency and dedication, he handed everything over to me without a second thought.

"His words began to blur together as I got lost in the pictures lining the shelves of his study. There were photos of his son, at various stages of his infancy. 

Each picture had a small write up beneath it: "a day old," "2 months old," "4 months old," "6 months old," "8 months old," "10 months old," "12 months old," "1 year birthday," "2 years birthday." But then they stopped. 

I wondered why there were no more pictures of him as he grew older, he was so cute as a baby.I was so engrossed in these pictures that I almost didn't hear my stepdad when he brought me back to reality. I hope he looks as cute as his baby pictures.

"When do you want to resume, Samantha?" he asked."Sam?"

I snapped back to the present. "Sorry, Dad. I got lost in thought for a moment.

"He smiled, a little sadly. "It's understandable. 

Those pictures bring back a lot of memories. So, when do you want to start working?"

"As soon as possible," I replied, eager to fill my days with something productive."Good. I have a position at the office that I think will suit you. It's entry-level, but it's a start. 

You can learn the ropes and see where your interests lie."

"Thank you, Dad. I appreciate it," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. At least now I had something to focus on, something to distract me from the ache in my heart.

As I left his study, I couldn't help but reflect on the stories he had told about his son. Although I was bored of all his many sermons I couldn't help but wonder why his son had chosen to be a thorn in his flesh. Many people would die to have a father such as him, but his son's case was different. He didn't know what he had. 

I was one of those who wished to have a father like him….

It was a typical evening, and I was lounging in my hotel room, trying to relax before my phone buzzed on the bedside table, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

I picked it up to see a message from my coach."Urgent: Call me back ASAP. Important match details."I sighed and dialed his number, bracing myself for the latest development in my tumultuous life.

"Hey, Coach. What's up?" I asked, trying to sound casual."Jeremy, there's a match set for you against a new opponent," Coach's voice was serious. "It's short notice, but I know you can handle it. This one's important."

"Yeah, sure. Who's the opponent?" I asked, already feeling the adrenaline start to build."It's Mr Stone. He's been making waves in the underground circuits," Coach said. "It's a high-stakes match. I need you to be at your best."

I knew Mr Stone by reputation. He was a tough fighter, known for his aggressive style and unrelenting attacks. 

This match was going to be a challenge, but I thrived on challenges. They fueled my passion for kickboxing, a passion that had been with me since I was a kid.

Kickboxing had always been my way of letting it all out. My father, a powerful and demanding man, had always pushed me to follow in his footsteps, to take up the mantle of a take over the family business. 

But I had other dreams. Kickboxing was my escape, my way of dealing with the pressure and expectations.It all started with street kickboxing. When Dad was away with work and my nannies were busy, I would sneak out of the house through the back door.

I was meticulous about it, arranging my bed to look like I was sleeping so that if my nannies came to check on me, they would think I was in bed. I would make my way to the rough neighborhoods where underground fights took place.