19. Well-off Girl
NOTICE: This is just a plus chapter though it does not by any means potential mark the conclusion of the in-progress episode itself. Some anon instance in the future… It was severely freezing as I drove myself to work in the luxurious three million dollar car that my fiancée, Alvin Morgan, had of lately gotten me on my twenty birthday. The people would not just be over with gazing and gaping their mouths at this brand new and stinky classy automobile. It made me feel like a fish out of water as opposed to feeling lordly and swollen with pride about it. How I fancied that Alvin had scored for me a low-cost and unattractive coupé! That would have been much better. Nevertheless, I was aware that he would not give the go-ahead to that. He had an aversion to me looking poverty-stricken and disadvantaged when he was one of the world’s most stinking rich men, well, not a self-made multi-billionaire by any conceivable standards, but the beneficiary of Stanley Morgan, his industrialist father, who died the wealthiest man in Africa of his time with an estate valued at curtly twelve billion dollars. His valuables had at present built up to massive sums, notching up Alvin and his sister, Adelaide, to become widely known as the most moneyed family to ever live in the history of this continent. To be straightforward with you, I did not give a damn about his summations and stacks of undying money. I was worse more repelled by the thought and likelihood of being exceedingly well-known. But thank God, I was not that far-famed except in my quarters of domicile or petite home in other words. Alvin was the one who was met with all the public attention that I regarded to be too much and aggravating. Yet he was fond of it even so. Because of his overmuch stardom, he would not have me revel in the terribly modest life that I longed for. He dreaded that people would gossip about how he was a highly self-seeking man who was merely concerned with the wellbeing and success of his family and had yet turned his back on looking after his underprivileged and unfortunate fiancée. As such, he had me score a ten to twenty million dollars parameter-set place of residence. To his content, without reservation of course, I obtained my present-day house at roughly eighteen million. Each month, he would unfailingly consign loads of money into my bank account and furthermore direct the lush items and food and clothings over to me. I had become used to it and had authorized him to take the best and exceptional most care of me, as he always stood firm that he was doing. When I turned up at Brownton University, the consideration of the students rallied in the tremendous parking lot transferred to my vehicle. I made a face as I hurled the door open and clambered my way out. While I wandered away, the mass of the boys as well as the girls had began to have an eye on me. I knitted my brows immediately. Beauty and big bucks can be quite often displeasuring, you know. I did not come across Alex Ramirez like I was looking forward to, much to my unhappiness and dissatisfaction. Perhaps he had not showed up for his classes. Or if he had, then he was definitely keeping away from me. Damn it! On Tuesday, it was the very self-same story. Come Wednesday, he was yet non-existent. Was he still alive and kicking on the face of this Earth? On Thursday, I popped in on into the office of his tutor, Mr. Braden Moy, an aged and skeletal man with a shaven moustache and who was keen on wearing plain glasses. He confirmed it to me that Alex had been missing his classes for the previous three days now and that he had no understanding of what was ensuing to the quick-witted and intellectually gifted young man. What exactly was going on to him? Could any of this be my responsibility on my part? When Alex failed to attend classes on Friday, I arrived to the decision that I had to visit him at his home. The thought of coming across Maxwell Madalitso triggered unceasing shivers down my spine. I had no question that he was going to send me packing from his pal’s house should that take place. On Saturday night, I went to bed pretty late after getting done with designing my lengthy, suttee, and impertinent light brow hair into this weight-some mass of lovely, sweet, and lovable curls. Before I inched into bed, I wore on a sleeping cap and eventually switched off all the lights in the house. Kris Ortiz, my mother, rang up Alvin the next morning while we sat in the squeaky-clean dining room polishing off our breakfast. Alvin had cooked up the meal himself and I confess that it was one hundred per cent mouthwatering. He was the finest man cook I had ever encountered. “Alvin, could we please come face to face with each other in town?” Kris declared on the phone. “Are you accessible yet in Brownton?” He announced while uplifting an eyebrow. The reply came almost directly, “I have just started from Kitwe right now and I assume that I will show up there in five hours or so. The roads are quite desolate this morning.” “Alright,” Alvin mentioned as he picked himself up from his chair and left his food behind. “Call me when you arrive in town.” “I will, Alvin. Bye.” “Goodbye Kris.” He hurriedly shot out of the room and appeared minutes thereafter, having put on a high-priced Italian suit and leather Gucci shoes and a Marias Godiva tie. All Italian and perfectly and amazingly black. Even with the sweet-most-smelling Italian Giorgio Armani perfume. Hmnnn! I could not repulse to be enamored by his presence. He was extremely and tremendously magnetic. “I’m off,” he proclaimed to me, smiling one of his most drop-dead smile that consistently triumphed to knock off my breath. I allocated him a nod, smiling too, one supremely and vastly and immensely captivating smile. “Have an out of danger journey,” I maintained. I frowned quietly deep inside. Why did I have to be the one that had to be laid open to the company of one of the world’s most gorgeous men? Why me? When he finally stared at me, still smiling, I give my word that I remained out of breath, utterly and every inch bewitched and absorbed by his greatest handsomeness. Goodness. He could not be real and touchable at the same time, or was he? “Bye, Sophia,” he mouthed to me in due course. “Bye, Alvin,” I aired out, still winded.