Hunter, Love

SOME HOURS AGO.

Last I checked it was past nine in the morning, and I’ve spent the past eight hours preparing for the event that’ll soon create a rift throughout the country.

I stand on the balcony and clutch the handrail before inclining against it, sniffing in crisp fresh air as the late morning dews kiss my skin.

Staring at the distant, foggy mountains, my face cracks with a smile. And I’m pleased with how the snowflakes drop slowly. But then the moment is disrupted when my cell phone dings in my apron pocket.

“Fuck!”

My hands work fast as I put the phone to silence so as not to piss off the person in the bathroom. His ears are the sharpest, that one. So is his tongue.

He’d stroll into the room wearing underpants while slinging a towel over his shoulder.

‘The hell are you doing on my balcony, Heidi? And leave that phone of yours somewhere that’s not my room, will ya?’ he would say in a raspy voice just before yanking me out of the room.

I unlock my phone and tap an unread message. (General Yosvolec: When I gave you my address it was to come over, not send presents.)

I can’t help but giggle as my fingers dance on the phone screen. (Heidi: Happy birthday, love xx)

(General Yosvolec: I want only youuu *crying emoji*)

I try to imagine his expression on typing that. But then there’s the haze in my mind called worry—worry that I may never meet my lover, that he’ll soon get frustrated with my excuses and call the relationship off.

He’s my first-ever romantic partner and we’ve been texting for over a year. I’m certain I made the right choice, except there’s still the case of meeting face-to-face.

It has just been texts, voice calls, and video calls. And I can’t tell him I’m a servant who can’t go out or receive visitors, as I fear it might put him off.

Hell. Who’d tell their lover that?

My strongest excuse has been that I work as a caregiver and have little or no time for myself.

(Heidi: We’ll see each other soon…) I hesitate to send, thumbs lingering on the screen as I press my lips to a thin line. 

Nope. That doesn’t pass. There’s no use leading him on when I may be trapped in a mansion for life. I hit the erase button real quick.

(Heidi: You lovable rascal. Do u like the gift though?)

A smile embraces my face as I step into the room typing that, but I don’t get to send it before footfalls on the creaking wooden floor sound close.

Pretending to be busy, I stealthily slide the patio doors shut, tucking away my phone. Then I take Morton’s ironed, Vicuña pants from the ironing board to put them on the hanger as Dad Tad opens the door and pushes his head in.

I sigh in relief, thankful he didn’t catch me sneaking on Morton’s balcony.

“Where’s Morton?” he inquires after glancing around the room.

“No idea,” I lie. I may be Morton’s servant, but I’m not his bloody body camera.

The late-middle-aged man watches as I neatly arrange the pants alongside a matching vest, a jacket, and a blue dress shirt.

Ironing Morton’s clothes is the last of my duties before I can finally have time for myself, which is why I’m now brushing my apron with sassy fingers as I turn to face Dad Tad.

“I can join the party now, yes?” I say… with high hopes, ones that get crushed when the man scrunches his face.

“Hm.” He looks around the room, nodding, before his eyes settle on me again. “You will join the kitchen maids instead.”

I huff. “But I’m no fucking housemaid.”

“I say you are today,” he insists. “Go on, run along. Be quick about it. Your first brother arrives in less than an hour, and we can’t have him witness your clumsiness.” Dad Tad leaves without closing the door, his last sentence echoing down the hallway. “It’s enough that I have to tell him what a failure you are.”

What a― damn!

“Some things don’t just settle, do they?” I say under my breath.

They aren’t cutting me some slack and I can’t understand why they keep pushing the matter as if I’m not serving enough punishment as it is.

Morton, Saturn, and I were adopted in the same year at the same age. We lived in separate mansions for twenty years, tutored on company management.

We were given shares from the highly rated White Group at fifteen with the rights to manage a company of our choice, and we were to submit a report of our profits five years later.

The goal was to earn as much as our first brother did in his time. Whoever did that could keep their shares and position, while the loser would serve the winners.

My fate tied me to the weak end of that string and I ended up stripped of my shares, position, dignity, and last name.

“Bloody arseholes!” I spit. “You might as well lick a blobfish’s ass with your disgusting habits!”

“Shut up, woman!” Morton yells from the bathroom. The guy is too gross for my liking. Even his voice now sounds like grinding stones to my ears.

I roll my eyes as I exit the room before hitting the send button of my previous message, stumbling on a group of servants running to and fro the hallway. 

That isn’t a surprise, since no one will be seen slacking on a day like this.

The First Heir of the White Group, as everyone knows him, will reveal himself for the first time. And he chose his birthday as the perfect date.

Today, the world will know his name and appearance, the company he’s been managing, and his activities for the past years.

These facts are enough to drive the public insane, especially the ladies already queuing with their steezy looks. After all, who wouldn’t want to seduce the heir of a billionaire group? 

Definitely not me. 

I can only imagine myself sitting in a corner, scrunching my face as I watch them have fake laughs and forced chatter during the party.

~

My phone buzzes as I move in a rather slow line of servants heading to the kitchen. (General Yosvolec: It’s perfect, mama. Thank you. Did you see my recent post?)

His posts, that’s what I fucking live for. 

I can’t remember a video of his that doesn’t replay in my mind every damn time. And I’m about to hop to his profile to see the new update before he sends another text.

(General Yosvolec: I took it for you. *Video file*)

The thumbnail has his addictive smile—a smile that tends to weaken my knees.

He wore a black eye patch over his right eye. And even though he often sets plans to groom his beard, he never actually does.

I’d have to play the video when I’m alone.

(Heidi: U look gud btw. Did u take d vd now?)

(General Yosvolec: Nah. That was yesterday. I’m now heading somewhere outside rinks and helmets.)

That’s quite odd.

(Heidi: ??)

(General Yosvolec: It’s just family matters and the troubles they come with.)

(Heidi: That’s something I can relate to.)

When I hear the maids greeting someone from the back of the line, I realize what’s coming.

(Heidi: Can we talk later?)

I don’t get to tuck the phone away before Saturn shows up near me.

“Ooh. Will you look at that,” her grating voice comes abruptly. I want to shudder in disgust but I retain my composure for the sake of it, though I believe it still shows on my face. That, I can’t ever hide. “Sexting a random dude while working as the perfect maid? Let me see.”

She snatches the phone. But my quick thumb has pushed the power button. Now all she sees is the handsome dude glaring through my lock-screen with the words ‘Love, Hunter’ scrawled in dark ink over his silver hair.

Saturn stands contrapposto, her blonde ponytail dangling to the side. She tilts her head, smirking as she drawls, “Hunter, spiiicy… How did you hook this man, huh? Or is he your celebrity crush?”

I DO NOT indulge in fangirling, bitch.

“Kindly fuck off,” I retort.

But the girl’s too invested in the image to be fazed. “Mhm. He’s gorgeous,” she moans, and I can only think of trolls devouring rotten livers. Very. Disgusting. “What’s his username?”

“Won’t tell.”

Saturn curls her lips down and waves the phone in my face. “Say farewell to this baby while I crack the password.” She cackles before turning to bail. “And I’m sparing you five minutes to be done with that and come doll me up.”

“Your daddy asked me to do this!” I shout after her, not like the young miss would consider that. She merely stops to wiggle her ‘tail’, then resumes her gait with a giggle.

At least, she doesn’t say ‘My daddy has no say whether you lick my boots or butt crack, girlie’, as I’m more irritated by how she says girlie with the ‘r’ slurred than the way her large nipples struggle for space beneath every clothing she wears.

My password is uncrackable—that’s for sure—unless Saturn is ready to rack the phone to pieces. She won’t get what she wants either way.

There’s lots to do in the kitchen, yet I choose the easy one—food tasting. After all, Dad Tad said to help in the kitchen and didn’t exactly say what.

Dressing up the bitchy Saturn proves to be the hassle. Her tantrums, however severe as they may be, have already formed patterns in my head that I know what action she’ll take before another.

The clock soon chimes for the first brother's arrival. And although I haven’t found the time to bathe, I join a queue of servants in front of the huge mansion.

A convoy of dark, luxurious cars pulls up before us, each with bodyguards walking at the sides.

Dad Griffin and the rest stand eagerly at the main entrance as Paparazzi charge at the cars, crowds pushing, uniformed men doing their best to secure the White family.

Dad Tad likes the drama, while it disgusts Dad Griffin. Left to the latter, this event would be safe from the glare of the day.

The car owners step out and are escorted into the building. But one man in a Tuxedo stands out. Or it’s the hair. A silver-blonde tone to several brunettes could never correlate. It’s undercut too, with slicked-back pompadour, the color contrasting with the leather-black eyepatch he’s wearing.

My heart picks up a faster rhythm as the dashing man shoves his left hand into his pocket, brushing back a jacket quarter to reveal part of his toned waist area.

The way he’s smiling looks too familiar to be true.

No.

What’s familiar is how my body reacts to him. How I want to push him back to his car seat and fuck him till I’m too lost to realize eyes are watching.

I’m usually not this way, I swear. I’m more of a good girl. Innocent. Naïve. Positive thoughts. Cum-free mind… 

Uhm… 

Not while my eyes are on this man! All modesty’s just flown off the window.

His name is Hunter and it takes a snap of his beautiful fingers for my vagina to weep. And nothing—not even this cotton barrier underneath—will stop the arousal from trickling down my thighs.