hapter 36
Oliver’s POV
“It wasn’t my best play, and you know it,” I groaned, tired of the back and forth with Vivian for the last
five minutes.
Vivian wouldn’t stop making fun of my play on the basketball court today. He rarely wins, but when he does, he gloats and brags about it. This was the very reason why Jayden White, Connor O’Brien, Maxwell Fitzgerald, and Sir Lockwood, our other friends, never let him win whenever they played with him.
“All I’m hearing are excuses and excuses.” He sang in his annoying soprano voice.
It wasn’t my best game; my mind was divided between work, home, and the game. I hadn’t been myself since Imela walked into the conference room, and I did not know if I would be myself for a long while.
The sight of her had awakened things in me that I thought were dead and long forgotten after four years of being in a committed relationship with Cecil.
Of course, Vivian didn’t know that, so he probably thought I was making excuses for my poor performance. I was, but they were legit.
“Suit yourself, Vivian; I do not care to convince you at this point,” I grumbled and walked out of the court, clutching my practice bag. I was pissed–perhaps more pissed off than I needed to be.
“Woah! Sorry, big guy!” he said, but I ignored him. “Is there something you are not telling me?” he asked, following behind.
Oh, so now he wants to listen? Unbelievable.
I tossed my practice bag into the car, shut the door, and turned to face him. He looked like he was waiting for me to speak.
“Ela is back,” I answered, and I waited for him to put it all together in his head.
He did, and now he looked stunned. “When? Where? And how?”
I explained to him that I was just as shocked as he was when I discovered that Robb had reached out to her and asked for help.
I am not a prideful man, but I don’t think I would have been able to do that, especially after everything.
“First, you get her tattoo, and next, she returns after four years to help the people who didn’t like her.” He mumbled to himself, and then his mouth pursed.
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He didn’t have to remind me of the silly mistake called a tattoo on my body. I’ve spent not less than five minutes of every day looking at it since I realised what it was. He also didn’t have to remind me of the
past.
“I have nothing to say to that,” I replied because I considered it a coincidence.
I needed a smoke.
His brows pulled together to display his suspicions. “Do you think she is up to something?”
I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I didn’t because there was no reason to; she might have lost Elena and later disappeared, but she wasn’t the good guy. She cheated on me and played me like a fool. If there was anyone who should seek revenge, it was me, but I was choosing to let it go and move on.
I did my investigation on her yesterday after I got home from work, and she didn’t lie about any of the things she said in the conference room. She had been in Madrid for the last four years, and there she finished her degree and attained a master’s in finance. Her father was Marcel Boris Garcia, the former CEO of the Garcia Group, until two years ago, when he retired and she took over. She has done a fine job managing the firm since then.
García Group alone was worth $27 billion in revenue as of last year, making it seven times richer than the Plane Enterprise in terms of assets. Being Marcel’s only heir placed her in line for his multibillion–dollar assets and businesses all over the world. She didn’t need it, though, because she has
been making a name for herself since joining the firm two years ago.
Her words rang true. If she had remained married to me, she would have never met her father and
become the woman she is now.
I felt happy for her and all she had accomplished. Yes, we parted ways in the end, but I always knew she was capable of greatness while we were together. She had always encouraged me to be more, to be better, and so this was long overdue.
Yes, Ivory didn’t make life easier for Imela while she was with me, but she backed off after we ended things. I told her to.
I shrugged. “I would have, but Imela isn’t one to crush something already down,” I replied.
“Good thing, then. I can’t imagine the thought going through Cecil’s head. I do not want to be in her shoes.” He said and walked on towards the door, but I remained silent.
He slowed down, reading into my silence. “You have not told her.”
“I haven’t found the right time,” I answered honestly.
With everything I had on my plate, that was not the first thing on my mind. I knew she would freak out and ask a thousand questions, which I wasn’t ready to answer.
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“I pray you find the right time, or you never will.” He barely finished speaking when a black G wagon pulled up, not so far from us.
I felt a bitter taste in my mouth, knowing who it was.
Zion Stiles.
My displeasure made itself evident on my face as he stepped out of his car in his sporting shorts, along with his three minions holding onto their practice bags.
His eyes caught sight of me immediately, and I cussed under my breath, rubbing my temple to ease my suddenly aching head.
This boy–turned–man was my high school bully, and he later became my biggest business rival. His parents owned Stiles Airways, once seventh in the top ten. Now, with the situation of the economy, it is ranked third on the top five airlines, with us tailing behind at a pitiful seventh position on the chart. We used to be the second of the top five.
I couldn’t stand the Stiles method of business; they prided themselves on profit over everything else and would do anything to get ahead.
He looked smug as he took a step forward–one I wanted to wipe off with my fist. Vivian must have noticed because he placed his hand on my shoulders. He couldn’t roughen me up anymore. I was four inches taller, and I was relatively larger than the asshole. I could take him on in a fight, and he knew that and never walked up to me alone. With his minions, he stood a better chance of getting away with a black eye and broken nose; alone, he would leave in a body bag.
Given the state of the company, I couldn’t afford to give us bad press by getting into fights, so I did my best to avoid Zion and his minions. Sometimes, like today, I’m not so lucky.
“Look who we have here.” He said and turned to the fools who came with him, “The Plane that’s barely standing on one leg.” They snickered like hyenas, and my teeth clenched.
“Zion, once again, fate brings me the displeasure of beholding your ugly face. Is it because mommy and daddy did not give you enough attention growing up that you lash onto whatever you can now?” I asked.
The smirk on his face vanished. “At least I still have Mommy and Daddy’s money to fall back on. What do you have? Stacks of paper reading deficit. Soon, you will be out of work and on the streets. Do not worry, Oliver; God made you his favourite when it came to looks, so I know you will do excellent as an Only Fan model.” He laughed, and the fools behind him did the same.
I smiled and took a step towards him. “At least I am good–looking enough to survive if this goes down. With that fugly face of yours, everyone will pay not to look at it. I am sure if I crack your head open, all
that will come out is dust.”
Zion’s minions gasped and covered their mouths, and one chuckled, making Zion turn and glare at him.
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I tossed the car keys to Vivian so he could drive, and I headed for the passenger’s seat.
Zion began to speak. “You talk about fighting me? How about you use that energy and fight the numbers because they are not in your favour? Better still, go fight your brother for dragging your family’s name into the mud repeatedly or your sister for whoring herself to the highest bidder.” He spat the last one out, knowing it would tick me off the most.
It did. I stormed towards him, and Vivian ran after me while Zion stepped back.
Vivian wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me back, and it took all his strength to do that.
“Listen to me; he’s not worth it.”
Zion smirked. “Yes, listen to your bitch!”
Vivian didn’t let me go, despite the name Zion just called him, and we stayed that way until my anger subsided. I yanked myself away from Vivian’s grip and walked on.
“Aren’t you going to follow your master?” Zion mocked.
“Sure,” Vivian said, turning to me. “Do I have your permission, master?” he asked mischievously.
I smirked. “You always have my permission.”
Without warning, Vivian smashed his head against Zion’s, and the fool fell to the ground immediately. His minions surrounded him to make sure he was okay.
Vivian squatted so Zion could properly see him. “Unlike Oliver, who cannot afford bad press now, I can.
And just like that, you are where you are supposed to be–on the ground.” He teased.
They helped him onto his feet, and he had a deep cut on his forehead.
“Now, I’m going to follow my master.” He said, took a bow, and walked away from them. He got into the car and started it while they watched.
I flipped Zion my middle finger before getting into the car and driving off.
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