CHAPTER 5

Patrick awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and propped himself up on his bed, gazing around as he strained to recall the strange dream from the previous night.

"Fụck!" he cursed aloud.

"What happened here?" Patrick muttered. Just then, a knock sounded on his room door, snapping him out of his troubling thoughts.

As he stared at his door swinging open, Jeff Hudson stepped inside.

"Good morning, boss," Jeff greeted, staring at Patrick in surprise. He saw him still sitting on the bed, clutching his head with his right palm to support his aching skull.

Patrick started to slide out of bed and realized he was stark nàked. Jeff swiftly averted his gaze, even though he was older than Patrick—Patrick remained his boss.

"Get out!" Patrick bellowed, and Jeff responded promptly, "Yes, boss!" He exited the room, wondering what had gone wrong with his boss.

Jeff stepped out to answer the company's call from private clients who were inquiring why the young Anderson had missed their meeting the previous night.

Meanwhile, Patrick slipped out of bed, trying to reconstruct the dream he had experienced. He remembered a beautiful fair woman in his arms, both of them making love, but he could not recall her face. "But her eyes..." Patrick murmured as he frowned and glanced back at his bed. He yanked the bedspread away and spotted the red stain.

"Oh my goodness! What happened here?" Patrick exclaimed.

Jeff, who had lingered behind the door after excusing himself from the young master, immediately dashed back into the room and ended the call. He stared at his boss in shock, seeing him fully nàked and the red stain on the bed.

Jeff grew confused as he gazed at Patrick.

"Get out and give me some privacy," Patrick snapped angrily.

"I'm sorry, boss. I heard you scream," Jeff apologized and swiftly exited the room, baffled by his unpredictable boss.

Ever since Patrick had graduated and assumed his position as CEO of Anderson Group—managing all his father's secret businesses and public affairs—he had grown bitter.

Jeff wondered why the young billionaire felt that way when his parents had bequeathed him a billion-dollar fortune.

Shaking his head, Jeff left his boss's sitting room and entered the elevator, descending to the first floor. He stepped out of the building and headed to the garage to wait, as the time had passed 8 a.m. on a bright Wednesday morning.

"Wasn't it a dream?" Patrick asked himself as he flung the bedspread aside, irritated by the dried, deep-red stain marring his white sheets.

He strode to his large, exquisite bathroom to shower, convinced he might have injured himself and bled the previous night.

Patrick twisted the shower faucet and bathed quickly, noting he was already late. As the boss, he feared nothing. He owned the sprawling Anderson Hotel and Suites, along with various fashion and blog magazines.

Patrick also oversaw his father's oil business and funded numerous personal ventures.

He finished bathing swiftly and emerged from the bathroom, returning to his room. He eyed the bedspread he had tossed onto the tiled floor and avoided it, unwilling to dwell on the stain's implications.

Patrick approached his closet and selected a blue suit with a white shirt. He dressed quickly, pulling on his black shorts and inner singlet first, then slipping into his blue trousers.

Just then, a subtle knock echoed on his bedroom door again. He knew it was his mother's maids arriving to clean his room.

Patrick had awakened late, later than his usual 7 a.m. routine.

He walked to the large wall mirror mounted brightly on his right side and studied his handsome reflection. Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind, and panic gripped his heart.

"What was that?" Patrick asked himself as he shook his head, recalling how someone had burst into his room the previous night while he stood nàked before the wall mirror.

His eyes narrowed at the memory, and he stormed back to his room door, flinging it open angrily to confront the intruder—still convinced everything from the night before had been merely a dream.

Patrick yanked open his room door in a rage and saw two slim, dark-complexioned maids dressed in pink gowns standing before him. His anger surged.

"What do you want here? Can't you wait until I leave before barging into my room? Get out!" Patrick slammed the door hard on them and retreated to his reading table. He spotted the covered tray of food there, and his brows furrowed.

"Obviously, it wasn't a dream," Patrick muttered as he frowned, hands on his hips, straining to remember who had brought the meal the previous night.

"That new maid. My goodness!" He exclaimed and strode back to the bedspread he had discarded on the floor. He snatched it up, sniffed it, and touched the stains.

His fist clenched as realization dawned: it had been no dream.

Patrick hurled the bedspread back onto the bed and marched to his study table, uncovering the plate of food.

"She brought it last night, and she dared to peep at me—but how?"

Patrick shook his head in denial, seized his briefcase, and draped his blue coat over his arm as he strode out of his room.

He glanced at the two maids waiting for him to finish, but clearly, neither was the one—as they had flat chests.

Patrick quickly looked away from the maids and headed toward the elevator, descending to the first floor.

As he stepped out, he entered the first-floor area, where his mother already sat in the dining room, smiling at someone seated across from her. He overheard her conversing with the person.

Patrick set his briefcase on a nearby couch and shrugged on his suit jacket to appear work-ready. As he retrieved his briefcase and looked up, he saw Willow smiling at him—she was the one sitting with his mother.

"He's here already, Ma," Willow said as she winked at Patrick. His eyes narrowed at her while his black shoes clicked against the tiled floor. He approached his mother slowly at the dining table.

"Good morning, Mother," Patrick greeted as he drew near and enveloped her in a warm hug. She pulled away and smiled.

"Patrick, your baby is here, and I'm so happy to see her," his mother said, beaming at him. But he maintained an expressionless face, puzzling over why Willow had suddenly appeared in their home.

Patrick knew his mother was aware of how much he loved Willow, and he had never mentioned their breakup to her.

"Patrick, what's wrong? Didn't you eat your dinner last night?" Mrs. Eleanor asked, and Patrick's eyes darkened at her question.

Just then, Patrick spotted the familiar-looking maid emerge from the kitchen, carrying another tray. She radiated like sunshine in her pink uniform—a simple dress with a white apron tied at the front.

Loveth had been in the kitchen earlier, preparing her madam's herbal tea with Aria.

Aria had served in the Anderson home for ten years and was now 28 years old.

Loveth finished brewing the tea and carried it out to serve her madam in a teacup. She had not expected her madam's only son to be present, standing beside his mother in the long dining room.

Her grip on the tray tightened, for it held the last of the medicinal tea, and she did not want to drop it.

Loveth walked slowly to the dining table and greeted them. "Good morning, Ma. Good morning." She blushed nervously, and Willow shifted her gaze away to stare at Patrick.

Patrick maintained his expressionless face, and Willow knew he was furious with her—for she had never imagined Tony would record their escapades and send them to Patrick.

Willow wanted to confront Tony after he had sent an image of his huge cóck to her W******p chat, but she still loved Patrick deeply.

Willow had never thought her secret affair with Tony—and the reason for her sudden trip without informing Patrick—would leak out. She knew Patrick loved her deeply, but Tony had twisted it to make it seem as if she had deliberately dumped Patrick and chosen him instead.