Chapter 2: Waking Up In An Unfamiliar Place

Devon woke up on the bed of an unfamiliar room, his head throbbing vigorously.

One thing was clear however, he was in a hotel room, but for what exact reason had he come here for? He asked himself.

He tried leaning on his back, while trying to recall the events that lead to him waking up here. After a moment or two, memories of what lead to him spending the night here, came flooding like a wave through his mind.

The other night had been a really wild one, literally speaking. He had gotten drunk and had come here with—his eyes opened wildly. He had come here with the guy he met at the bar last night.

Devon turned to the other side of the bed but found no one. Surely, there had been someone else with him last night.

He got out of bed, head still throbbing, wanting to take a wash and then discovered that all he had on was just his underwear. Then it really dawned on him. If he was half naked then it only meant one thing.

"No, no, no, no, no!" He muttered.

He had brought this stranger, here to this hotel room last night, even though he was gone now.

They had kissed so passionatelty; the two bodies wrapped around each other. One moaned out loud while the other kept worshipping it.

They were unable to control their desire and spent the remainder of the night together, drawing each other deeper and deeper into a puddle of lust.

Father had been the cause of this. He thought. Mr. Benjamin Hamilton had been the cause of this... this mess he just got himself into.

And truly Mr. Hamilton had been. Devon went to that bar, wanting to get drunk, to get free from the confines of being an only child and heir of his father... to get completely wasted.

And it wasn't even the prospect of him getting in bed with a total stranger that left him perplexed, no. That wasn't the case. It was the fact that the person he got in bed with last night, was a man, a man about the same age as himself.

Does this now mean that he is by any chance, gay? He asked himself, unsure of what to believe at the moment.

No! That couldn't be; this really couldn't be happening. He is straight and that was it. Whatever had happened the previous night certainly was a mistake, a misunderstanding and would remain that way.

Devon scanned the entire room for his clothes and other personal belongings, and found every of them scattered throughout the room.

He picked up his trousers from where it had been left, then with the other hand, picked up his shirt. He found his wallet, his business card, bank cards, keys and some cash on the table, all accounted for. Nothing was missing, but still he felt incomplete.

Nahh! Scratch that sentence already, something was indeed missing. His luxurious Vecherron Comstatin wristwatch, valued at $5 million was no where—oh! There it was, neatly kept on the table beside the bed.

He retrieved the wristwatch from the table and with that, dressed up and left the hotel.

All the while as he drove home, Devon couldn't really think straight. He couldn't get his mind off the events of the previous night and the possible scandal that could result from it.

Every event replayed itself repeatedly. Every of them— like paragraphs of some urban novel, or some scene from a twisted romance movie.

Thankfully, this stranger hadn't been there in the hotel when he woke up this morning. He thought. How would he have faced him? What would he have said?

Devon couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. All these were the repercussions of his actions, after all he had acted so stupidly.

Hopefully, he wouldn't get to see him anymore. Since they didn't get to exchange contacts or pleasantries—as far as he could remember. Moreover, his wallet had been in the exact same spot he had flung it last night, along with other personal items of his.

He took out his phone, and unlocked it. There were no calls or messages, nor were there any email notifications on the screen, and the flight mode he had activated earlier at the bar was still active.

It was during times like this that the disabled face ID on his phone security served him better. He remembered deactivating it the day he woke up to see his father seated beside him, scrolling through his messages.

This was of course, a long time ago. As someone who valued privacy, even as a child, he had immediately deactivated facial recognition, switching it to an eight-digit PIN to unlock his phone.

But even so, he clicked on the contact icon, just in case. He spent some time scrolling through the displayed list of contacts, call logs and even, checking for deleted ones.

Suffice to say that he was satisfied, after finding nothing suspicious. He let out a sigh of relief. There was no way for that man— whoever he was, to contact him.

Now, he could head home in peace. He was ravenously famished, and could only hope that Mrs. Pearl had prepared one of those her lovely rice cakes she occasionally prepared with oats some mornings.

Devon had lost his mother during child birth, and never got to meet her. He was raised by nannies, special home tutors and the maids who were all hired by his father to take care of him.

Mr. Hamilton, in all his evil deeds, had blatantly refused to take another wife after Laura Hamilton, Devon's mother, had passed away. Proclaiming that she was and would remain his only lover.

Mrs. Pearl wasn't just the house manager to the Hamiltons. She was a maid, a cook, his nanny and the closest thing he had to a mother. She had been with them for as long as he could remember, and though she was a worker. She was often regarded as family.

After a about thirty minutes of driving, Devon finally arrived at the gates of the Hamilton Manor.

The gates were opened upon his arrival, and he drove in straight to the parking garage.

"Oh!" He exclaimed softly. How he had longed for home.

He needed a shower, a shave, and most importantly a good breakfast— one which Mrs. Pearl was undoubtedly, more than capable of preparing.

But just as he stepped out of his black Mercedes-AMG E-Class, he was met with his father's piercing stare.

"Where the hell have you been?" his father demanded, standing by the front entrance, his face twisted in anger, his eyes cold.