20

20

Killan drove roughly into the club down his street, took off his tie aggressively and slumbed at the front, right at where the bartender served.

The club was in chaos… loud, dark, and expensive. The kind of place where New York heirs went to forget their last names.

Killian crashed into it at 11 PM like a man who wanted to get punched.

He sat at the bar alone, carrying the memory from the morning, his bare wrist catching the neon light. He ordered whiskey. Then another. Then another.

The bartender knew better than to ask questions when an heir was drinking.

By his fourth glass, he was already talking to himself. "I'm not bothered," he muttered into his glass, his voice slurred. "I'm not bothered about Luke. Why would I be bothered?"

He laughed, bitter and empty.

"She can choose Luke. She can choose anyone. It's none of my business. I told her to mind her business, she told me to mind mine."

He drank again.

"So why am I bothered?" he whispered, staring at his empty wrist where the watch used to be. "Why am I so bothered that he's in her office? In her house? Touching her? Why?"

Then he suddenly remembered how Imani looked at him in her office like he was a criminal.

He slammed the glass down. "Another!"

He drank himself to stupor. The room began to spun and the bass was a dull throb in his skull. People stared but he didn’t care.

At 1:13 AM, he stumbled out, his driver grabbing his keys before he could kill himself, and was driven home to his penthouse down the street, he slept through out the ride.

The car stopped at his house, he staggered into the house…”Argh, why is it so dark? Yen? Turn on the lights,” He slurred.

The lights came on automatically as he staggered into the living room and he saw a very familiar figure on his couch.

His father. Waiting for him to return home even if it’s late. When Mr Reid noticed Killan had walked in, he turned but with no smile..only disappointment written on his face.

His father looked him up and down — the messy hair, the stained shirt, the smell of alcohol.

"Are you drunk?" His dad asked, his voice calm, but that calm was worse than shouting.

Killian laughed and threw himself onto the other couch. "Good evening to you too, Father." He jeered.

"Get your shit together!" Mr Morgan snapped, standing up, his calm voice breaking. "Just look at yourself! You reek of alcohol like some frat boy! Look, If you let loose of yourself and forget about why you’re in her life in the first place, we will lose everything!” His father yelled at him.

“ You’re are busy crawling around Imani like a lovesick dog, we will lose everything!" He added.

Killian looked up at him, eyes red and the alcohol still affecting him.

"Crawling around Imani?" he repeated, slurring. "Is that what you call it?"

"Yes! What else? Don’t you know I tail you? You kept clinging like she’s your love interest!”

Killian laughed then. A loud, broken, drunk laugh.

He slips his hands into hair and licked his lower lips in frustration. “Can’t we forget all these and live like a family?” He asked, almost dropping tears.

His father shook his head, “No. Stick to the plan, Killan.”

Killan suddenly scoffed, "What if it's not Imani, Father?" he said, sitting up, his eyes suddenly clear and full of hate. "What if it's not Imani? What if it's your selfish interest? What if you just want Shawn Tech because you couldn't build something that good yourself after Mom died?"

Silence.

Mr Morgan’s face turned purple with rage. His hand moved before his brain could stop it.

SLAP! The sound echoed in the huge penthouse.

Killian's head snapped to the side. His cheek burned instantly. The taste of blood in his mouth from where his teeth cut his lip.

"You ungrateful bastard!" His dad roared, his hand shaking. "I sacrificed everything for you! After your mother died! And this is how you talk to me? You should have followed your mother to the grave that day instead of her!"

Killian didn't move. He just sat there, cheek red, eyes staring at the floor. He fight back the tears in his eyes.

Mr Morgan breathed hard, realizing what he had just said. He didn't apologize. He grabbed his briefcase.

"Get sober by morning. And I think I’d let another person take charge since you’re getting swayed.” The penthouse door slammed, he left.

The house was silent again.

Killian sat on the floor now, his back against the couch, his father's slap still burning. He crawled to the side table and picked up a small, dusty photo frame.

His mother.

Elena Reid Morgan, Beautiful, smiling, with her arms around a 10-year-old Killian in Central Park.

He sobbed. Quietly at first, then harder, his shoulders shaking. He pressed the frame to his chest.

"Mama... Mama, I'm sorry," he whispered.

While he was still stuck in his emotions, he noticed his wristwatch. He had two of those watch and he had given Jaden one.

He caress the surface of the wristwatch, “I still can’t find you after five years.” He mumbled then his lips broke into a soft smile.

“I will find you, stranger.” He whispered softly.