Chapter 44: Anger and Arguments

After my mother walked out of the room, her footsteps echoing in the empty silence, I was left alone in my luxurious bedroom. The dimmed, soft lighting cast an opulent glow across the spacious chamber, illuminating the array of expensive clothing that adorned the racks and shelves of my walk-in closet.

Intricately designed suits, tailored to perfection, hung alongside rows of stylish casual wear. Yet, my hands gravitated towards a pair of black shorts and a matching top, as though drawn by an unspoken desire. The fabric felt luxurious against my skin, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within me.

As I dressed, each movement was a deliberate attempt to regain composure. My fingers deftly buttoned up the shirt, a facade of control masking the chaos that threatened to consume me. Just as I adjusted the final button, my phone erupted into a cacophony of vibrations and chimes, shattering the fragile equilibrium I had managed to maintain.

With a sense of foreboding, I crossed the room to my bed where the phone lay. Glancing at the caller's ID, the name "Clara" flashed on the screen, a name that had etched its place in my memory for reasons both exhilarating and complicated. I hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the call, pressing the phone against my left ear.

"What's up, Clara?" I greeted, trying to infuse a casual tone into my voice.

Clara's voice, delicate yet alluring, resonated through the line. "I'm glad you still remember my name."

A mischievous smile tugged at my lips, and I couldn't resist a playful quip. "And why wouldn't I remember the name of the lady who gave me a blowjob for a whole hour?"

Her laughter, like the tinkling of distant wind chimes, filled the conversation. "You're so funny, Ivan."

I chuckled, the familiar banter serving as a momentary escape from the storm brewing within. "Thanks. Why did you call?" I asked, genuine curiosity mixing with the levity of our exchange.

There was a brief pause on her end, as if she were carefully choosing her words. "I want us to meet tonight."

"Tonight?" I echoed, my brows furrowing as though I hadn't heard her correctly.

"Yes, tonight," Clara affirmed, a hint of urgency lacing her voice. "I can't bear to wait any longer."

A wry grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "I'd love for us to meet tonight, Clara, but I'm currently swamped with commitments. How about we plan for another day?"

The eagerness in her voice was palpable as she pressed on, "So, when can we meet then? Tomorrow? This weekend?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted, my voice softening with a tinge of regret. "But I promise I'll call you when I'm less busy. Goodnight." I disconnected the call abruptly, the uncertainty of my own words hanging heavy in the air.

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I strode out of the bedroom and descended the grand staircase that led to the living room below. My mother sat in one of the elegant couches, her gaze distant, as if lost in a sea of thoughts. She appeared so engrossed that my presence beside her went unnoticed until I gently tapped her shoulder.

Startled, she jerked and turned to face me, her eyes a mosaic of emotions. "Is something bothering you, Mum?" I asked, genuine concern coloring my voice.

She nodded solemnly, her lips parting to reveal the turmoil within. "Yes, Ivan. There's something that has been weighing heavily on my mind, and I hope it's nothing more than a misunderstanding."

A sense of unease settled over me as I inquired, "Can you please share what's troubling you?"

She nodded, adjusting herself on the seat to face me directly. "Ivan, I happened to come across some messages on your phone."

"Messages?" I repeated, a twinge of anxiety fluttering in my chest.

Her expression grew grave as she continued, her words measured. "Explicit messages, Ivan, and explicit images sent by different women."

My heart seized in my chest, realizing that I had been caught in a web of my own making. A flurry of questions raced through my mind: How had she discovered this? Did she somehow gain access to my WhatsApp messages? But that seemed improbable, given my phone's locked screen and password secrecy. How then?

Mum's voice cut through the tense air like a knife, snapping me out of my bewildered thoughts. Her piercing gaze bore into me, demanding answers I was hesitant to provide.

"Answer me, Ivan?" she repeated, her voice unwavering. Her eyes, once a wellspring of maternal warmth, now held a stern resolve that sent shivers down my spine. "Are those WhatsApp messages and nude pictures sent to you real?"

My throat constricted, and I found myself grappling with the weight of my actions. The seconds stretched into an agonizing silence, broken only by the erratic rhythm of my racing heart. In my attempt to stammer out a response, my words faltered like a ship caught in a storm.

"Umm.....uh.. they...." I began, my voice quivering under the intensity of her scrutiny.

But before I could muster a coherent response, Mum's patience wore thin, and her voice thundered through the room, amplifying the gravity of the situation. "Stop stammering, Ivan, and tell me the goddamn truth!!!"

Her words struck me like a lightning bolt, forcing me to confront the harsh reality I had been avoiding. It was clear that evasion was no longer an option. Swallowing hard, I mustered the courage to face her head-on.

"All I need to hear from you is yes or no," she insisted, her voice firm and unyielding. "So tell me, Ivan, the women you've been chatting with on WhatsApp, are they real?"

I met her unwavering gaze, the weight of my confession hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. With a deep breath, I finally conceded, "Yes... yes, they are real."

The admission hung heavily in the room, a testament to the harsh truth I had been concealing. Mum's eyes widened in shock, her hand instinctively covering her mouth as if to suppress a gasp of disbelief. The gravity of my actions weighed on both of us, casting a somber pall over our once tranquil relationship.

A gasp escaped her lips, and she instinctively covered her mouth in shock. "Ivan, are you telling me you've been involved with more than thirty of these women you've been chatting with on WhatsApp?"

My admission hung heavily in the air as I replied, resolute yet weighted with guilt, "Yes, Mum, I have."

"Dear God," she murmured, her hands trembling as she removed them from her face. "Ivan, when did you start... engaging in such behavior? When did you become so reckless? When did you become a male prostitute?"

I remained silent, unable to meet her gaze, my thoughts a tangled mess. The weight of her gaze bore into me, her next words slashing through my defenses like a blade.

"Answer me, Ivan, when did you start... engaging in such behavior? When did you become so reckless? When did you become a male prostitute?!!" She demanded, raising her voice.

I felt an uncontrollable surge of anger coursing through my veins as her words cut deep, like a sword striking at the core of my being. In that moment, I couldn't bear to remain in her presence any longer.