Chapter 24 Chapter 23:
Arya:
It is officially nice to be back to work today, the other employees still treated me differently like any other day and I was relieved when nobody came and offered their fake smiles, bake me pies because it would help with my ‘accident’.
Sometimes, all of the fake drama could be exhausting. They didn’t pity me at all, they were mocking me, and I heard some of them gossiping about me in the snack room but I have long decided to ignore them. I don’t need people draining my energy.
When I arrive home, I make myself a cup of chamomile tea and sip it calmly, while leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Vera doddle whatever it is she’s doodling on the paper. Clara let me leave early though, so Devon hasn’t arrived yet.
I don’t even know what I want to spend the rest of the evening doing. I could go grocery shopping but the idea of bumping into Anna or Kevin has me backing out immediately, also I could work on my designs, sketch some more dresses.
Deciding on that, I creep upstairs only to come face to face with the door that Devon told me was off-limits, and that only heightens my interest to know what’s in the room. Wait, what if he truly has dead bodies in there? Should I back away or go in?
The doorbell chimes and sweat gathers around my brows, I swallow, is Devon back from work already?
“Coming!” I try to keep my voice as cheerful as possible as I open the door, only to see Nicole standing there with a Tupperware of food.
“Hey,” I say, smiling so wide, my cheeks hurt. “Why bring you here?”
“Stopping by for a client.” She brushes past me, striding over to the kitchen, I pad behind her, Nicole opens the fridge and drops the Tupperware there.
“Done.” She clasps her hand against her wide legged trousers. She searches my eyes, trying to ask if I am still affected by the other day, but I wave my hand to signify that I am okay.
“How’s life?” That feels like a very lame question to ask Nicole Hart, but that’s all I can come up with. I bring out a tea packet from the cabinet and begin to boil the water in the kettle.
“You know, great.” Nicole sits down. “Aside from my twin brother and my parents setting me up with every possible man there is, I am fine.” She gives me a tiny smile, Nicole hasn’t really dated anyone, to her being romantically involved is a waste of time. “Forget about me, do you fancy this house? It feels like a huge upgrade.”
“It is, the rooms and everything are so large. Except for the off-limits room.” I widen my eyes when the word slips out of me, why can’t I keep my mouth shut? Now Nicole is going to get involved in this.
“What off-limits room?” She asks with her brows furrowed, I can imagine her mind running wild, trying to piece two and two together. There’s no point lying to her because she’s never going to let this go.
“Oh, just a room upstairs that Devon doesn’t want me entering.” Nicole is already standing up, “I mean, it will definitely be personal to him if-” She’s ignoring the rest of my words, already diving upstairs.
“Wait for me!” I sneak a glance at Vera; she is greatly entertained with drawing sticks on the paper with her crayons. I follow Nicole upstairs, watching as she pushes the knob open, I keep trying to tell her that this is a bad idea, besides I don’t want to feel like I am intruding in his personal space.
Nicole steps in and because I don’t want to stand outside while she creeps inside, I follow her. The room is dimly lit and aside from that, it’s empty.
The room is fucking empty, a sick laughter almost erupts out of me, and here I was, worrying that maybe he was keeping dead bodies in here all along.
“Let’s just get out of here.” I tell Nicole but she’s waving me over, telling me to come check something out. I walk to where she’s standing; the wall is filled with family photos.
I don’t know why, but my chest squeezes so badly.
He kept all his family photos here. No wonder his parents didn’t have any photos. We both stare at a particular photo, the background is sunny, probably the beach or something, and two boys stand beside each other, clearly not touching. Their green eyes are impossible to miss, brown hair, same frown.
They both have this look that they would be anywhere but taking this photo, as if someone was forcing them to look less hostile in front of the camera, they are young, probably ten or so.
I gasp; it’s the same two boys that Barbara showed me in Madame Leclair’s boutique. Clearly, one of them is Devon, but who is the other boy?
“Devon doesn’t have any siblings. He’s an only child...” Nicole already beats me to the theory; we both stare at the photo for a long while.
“What if he isn’t an only child?” I ask, blinking. As expected, Nicole waits to listen to what I have to add. “Okay sure, the boy might be a cousin or even a friend, but look at their eyes. They are identical; they can’t be friends or cousins.”
Nicole ponders on this for a moment. “I don’t have any theories but they could be twins.” I raise my brows at her words. “I am a twin, but Nicholas and I don’t even have the same eye color.”
She’s right.
The thought is still prickling at me though, even the other day when I tried to ask Barbara about the little boy, I saw the way her eyes had changed from warm to cold in an instant and how she hurriedly dismissed the case.
And when I asked whether Devon was the only child while we were having dinner with his parents, they said he was the only child. Or is he by any chance...dead? I don’t want to imagine that but his family seemed so closed off when I asked them.
An idea blooms into me. “The internet, there might be some old articles about this.” Nicole nods at me and I rush to my bedroom, grabbing my laptop. Working on a case like this makes me feel giddy with excitement; like we are real life detectives, even though we are far from it.
Nicole and flop on the chair as I drag the laptop on my lap, I go on to Google and search ‘The Brookes.’ Countless pictures pop up of the Brookes, mostly of Barbara and her husband, Mr. Brookes, even the articles refer to Devon as Barbara’s son. There are different articles of interviews of the Brookes’ family, none even for once asking about the boy and Devon’s mother.
No single article or photo shows Devon’s late mother or the other boy, it’s almost as if they never existed.
“This is weird.” Nicole says thoughtfully, “really weird.”
“Yeah.” I keep scrolling down until I see a Facebook post, I click on it and there’s a photo posted just last three days by a woman called Meg, her profile picture is that of a German shepherd, she has no other posts except the one she posted last three days.
It’s the same photo Barbara showed me at the boutique. We both squint our eyes at the screen.
Her post reads thus; ‘Thinking back to the old days! Can’t believe it was just years ago when I took this photo with my new vintage camera.’
So this Meg was the one that actually took the photo? Why didn’t Barbara mention this?
Surprisingly, the post only has one comment. Very strange, because this should have generated a lot of response, but it’s not like she tagged the Brookes in her post, and besides, nobody could have even guessed this was ten year old Devon.
“Check the comment.” Nicole prompts me; surely the comment might be our only way of knowing who the other boy actually is.
I check the comment and we are both shocked. The comment was posted yesterday by someone called Daydreamer.
Daydreamer: Take this photo down right now, Meg, before you regret it.
I close the webpage and log out of Facebook, Nicole and I stare at each other in shock. What in the hell is going on? And who in the hell is this Meg and daydreamer?
“That was...crazy.” Nicole says, still looking at me.
“Promise me you won’t tell anybody about this.” I tell her, I don’t know who this daydreamer is, but he or she seems to be really dangerous if they are threatening Meg.
“Promise.” Nicole quietly says, as she sighs. This must have drawn her in because if it was any normal day, she would have left the moment she dropped the Tupperware in my fridge. She turns on the TV, switching it to the news. I don’t know why people love listening to the news, especially Nicole.
She doesn't watch dramas or movies, she loves the news. It’s absolutely horrifying.
The anchorwoman is saying; ‘We are here today in the gala hosted by Noble Craft, the top best clothing line in the U.S.’
“Didn’t I hear last month that the CEO was retiring?” I ask, furrowing my brow, it’s every designer’s dream to wear any collections from Noble Craft, but their designs are expensive. I had an opportunity to apply for their internship summer program in my freshman year of college; it was the best experience of my life. Every single day, I have dreamt of working there. Compared to ClaraVogue, Noble Craft is way much better.
Anyone would be lucky to wear their collections.
“Yeah, he was. He’s handing it over to his son today. It’s the coronation tonight, they mailed me an invite, but I declined the invitation.”
“What? Why?” I ask, gaping.
“I don’t feel the need to.”
“Have you met the son?” I stare at the screen.
“No,” She grimaces. “Apparently the son is very mysterious, hiding his identity and all. But, we get to see him on TV live right now.”
The CEO of Noble Craft, a man in his early sixties is standing on the stage, clutching a microphone while laughing brightly; the hall is packed with people from all over the world.
“Thank you for honoring my son’s coronation.” The man smiles at the camera, and it reminds me of someone I know. “After years as the CEO, it’s finally time I retire. My son, for reasons best known to him, spent his years going undercover in design houses, studying every trend. We were talking last night and he told me how he made wonderful friends when he was undercover.”
There’s cheering from the background and I am clapping too, anxious to know who his undercover son is.
“Now, let’s welcome my son, the new CEO of Noble Craft, Axel Williams to the stage.”
My face pales and for a moment, I wonder. Axel? No, I don’t think so, it must be a coincidence. I hold my breath as a broad-shouldered man walks up the stage, clad in a Noble Craft suit, brown hair styled backward, as his face comes to view, I almost fall out of my chair.
Because standing on the stage and hugging his father is Axel, not just any Axel, our Axel. The Axel that works in ClaraVogue, the Axel from high school, the Axel with a cheeky grin.
The Axel that has a cat named Mr. Whiskers. That Axel. He’s on the fucking stage, as the new CEO of Noble Fucking Craft.
“Thank you.” Axel’s voice resounds around the room, thick and coated with his familiar accent. “I am Axel Williams, the new CEO of Noble Craft.” Camera light flashes in his face as the reporters all try to take snapshots of him.
All I can think of is what the hell is happening?