Semua Bab Call Me Daddy: Bab 1 - Bab 8

It was my third shot for the night. If I didn’t get drunk soon, I’d run out of money.“Damn it, Mom,” I muttered under my breath.It was my third time this weekend begging my mother to accept Dad’s help with her cancer treatment. I’d always known she could be difficult but it had never been this bad. Not to the point of her life.“I’ll take nothing from him even if it kills me.” Her words still echoed in my head. The alcohol only seemed to make her voice louder.I swallowed my fourth shot and caught a gaze from across the room. He didn’t care to hide it, even when I returned the stare. His gaze remained steady, making me shift in my stool.I downed another glass, trying to drown out my surroundings. But it meant nothing when he rose and walked towards me.“You’re not taking it easy tonight, are you?” He asked, close enough for his scent to fill my nose.Without waiting for a reply, he occupied a stool beside me. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”Now that he was closer, I got a bette

I woke up to the creaking fan. For longer than I could remember, it’d been that way. I lived in a one bedroom apartment with mom since dad was away. It wasn’t the best and sometimes, it felt suffocating but it was always my safe space. Until Mom’s death. Now it just reminded me of the gaping absence in my life.It’d been two months since her funeral and Dad was starting to seem right. I couldn’t do this on my own.I had nothing but $90 in the bank and 50 rejected applications to my name. Not to mention, $20,000 debt for medical expenses and $2000 for the funeral.I went to sleep with headaches and woke up with migraines. Today was no different. I got up at 8 a.m. and made cereal. The fridge had nothing but a near empty jug of milk. I turned it all into a bowl and sat to eat. Three eviction notices decorated the table beside my bowl.My phone lit up and I checked the screen. It was a text from Derek.We can’t see anymore. I’m getting married now.Derek and I were fuck buddies for almo

I had just finished giving the opening speech for the Apollo Exhibition. This year’s theme was “Beyond the Algorithm”— exploring how technology reshapes human connection. The applause still echoed as I stepped off the stage. I waved away the approaching photographers. I’d had enough for one night.I stopped a waiter carrying a tray of drinks and got one glass. He couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his eyes held a familiar hunger, the kind that comes from doing whatever it takes to survive. It reminded me of my younger self, before the money, before the power, before Stone Corporation.“Good evening, Mr Stone.”I looked up to see a man I presumed wanted to sell me the future. He seemed to be in his late thirties. His hair stood in uneven strands and his glasses did little to conceal his sunken eyes.I frowned. “You are?”He adjusted his glasses. “My name is James. James Fisher.”He stopped to let me speak, but continued when I didn’t.“I have an idea that might inte

I got out and the driver closed the door softly behind me. The first thing to steal my attention was the enormous fountain before the house. It was a tiered fountain with water flowing from a central point and cascading down through a series of sculpted basins lined consecutively on both sides. It was also fixed with lights, I presumed would come on at night. Around it, a well trimmed garden framed the view, delivering a finishing touch.The driver led the way inside and I followed. At the entrance stood an eight foot, aluminium double door. He pushed it open with both hands and stepped aside. Once in, I let out a tiny gasp and my hand flew to my mouth, an instinctive attempt to hide my awe.The interior was even more magnificent. The ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky with lights as bright as the stars themselves. The polished marble floors boasted the work of a mirror. Chandeliers hung in nearly every corner, each more amazing than the last, until we reached the li