William books the flight to Italy after a long day. He had a brutal court hearing and wanted nothing more than to relax on a beach while sipping away gin. The past week had been nothing short of chaotic, thanks to him , leaving him desperate for an escape.
Sitting on his neatly made bed, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through travel agencies while his thoughts raced. The gentle warmth from the underfloor heating wrapped around him like a soft embrace, a small comfort amid the storm in his mind.
William exuded a certain New York charisma: confident, magnetic, and just a touch playful. Beneath the polished exterior of a city playboy, there was an undeniable depth waiting to be uncovered.
Whispers of him being mentally unwell had been far spread in the high society. Some said he had gone insane due to wealth. Some said he had just been a rich nuisance.
After booking a flight to a well-known resort in Italy, he heads to the shower. The day had been draining. After popping a few pills, he collapses into bed, wondering if he'll ever forget her. She was a force to reckon with.
"Thanks. For everything" she whispers, sobbing and shivering.
"I'm so So very sorry. I'- Please. Don't leave me this time V. I won't live. I can't. Stay" he says in a crumpled voice. Far too hard on him. The words struggling to get out but a force stopping them.
In a matter of seconds, she slumps down, a stiletto knife swinging at her from behind, effectively slashing her throat. Merlot blood stains the couch as she falls, slumped on the ground, mixed with the same scent of gin that soured their relationship and tears she shed.
"I love you" whispering, she leaves him in his devastated state, blood droplets on her face and neck matching the garnet necklace he had bought for her.
"Vi--!" he yells, but the rest of the word is cut off. Sweating profusely, he checks the time—2:09, the same time for the past year. For the past year, the same woman has haunted him every night, stealing away the peace he so desperately craved. He hurriedly opens his bedside drawer, grabbing more pills. Without a drop of water, he gulps down a handful, trying to steady his breathing.
"-- ke up!" Hazy noises fill his ears as his blurry eyes begin to flutter open slowly. A man dressed in Hugo Boss, his cold expression never wavering despite the situation, stands tall in front of him.
"Mr. Davenport? Your father sent me to check on you. You haven't attended any meetings in two days and missed your flight," he says in a calm but firm voice.
"Flight? My flight…" William says, rubbing his eyes, trying to remember what had happened over the last couple of days.
"Yes, sir. The one you booked from your personal phone," Garrette answers.
"Oh, right, shit, sorry. I mean, uh… can we rebook it, Garrette?" William mutters, still not fully processing.
"As you wish, sir, but I have to let you know, your father is rather furious about you missing yesterday's board meeting—"
"Wait, wait a minute, Garrette," William interrupts, suddenly realizing something. "How did you know I booked a flight?"
Garrette hesitates before answering, "Mr. Davenport asked me to mirror your devices, sir. He only means what's best for you."
Furiously, William grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulders as his mind races. He strides to the door, not looking back, his hands trembling slightly. His pulse quickens as the weight of the situation hits him. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He can't breathe in this suffocating apartment any longer.
Without a second thought, he slams the door behind him, the sound echoing through the empty hall. The cool night air greets him, a stark contrast to the warmth he'd just left. He breathes it in, trying to steady his racing heart. The city streets are alive around him, but he feels alone, disconnected from everything.
Something just flipped. Was it the dream? No it was the same exception that she always died from various means. But the truth – she always died. And he could do nothing.
Was it his father mirroring his devices? It was no foreign truth well it had been a very casual thing. How could he not do this?
There was no reason. For him to run now. Or was it?
He heads to a corner store, the neon signs flickering weakly in the dim light, casting an eerie glow on the street. Inside, he grabs the cheapest, rusted mobile he can find—something that doesn't matter, something he can throw away without a second thought. The clerk eyes him warily, but William doesn't care. He's already thinking of the next step.
His father's shadow looms over him, but right now, he needs to disappear, to break free from the suffocating expectations, the haunting memories of her, and the life he's built around lies.
With the phone in hand and the weight of his actions sinking in, William walks out of the store, the cool night air biting at his skin. He hails a cab and gets in without a word, the door slamming shut behind him. As the car pulls away from the curb, he stares out the window, the bright lights of the city fading into the distance.
He doesn't know where he's going, but for the first time in years, it feels like freedom.
As William walks into the airport, he looks around to see if Garrett followed him. But no one. Was he really alone? Really free this time? Was he finally escaping the clutches of his father? Would he be able to find happiness once more? Or was that just a delusion? A figment of imagination—something he created to escape his father? Was all of it real? Was she real?
He books the earliest flight to Italy and waits in the lounging area. With all the cash he took from home, he has enough to book a business class seat to Italy, but that would've alerted his father. His father has connections everywhere, and booking a high-class, expensive flight would only make it easier for them to find him—the very thing William wanted to run away from.
__________________________________________________________
He sits down on a metal chair with no cushion to support him, something he had never experienced—or did he experience it that one time? Was it the subway? Her? Her again?
He's pulled out of his thoughts by the wails of a child. The child's mother, sitting nearby, is wearing worn-out clothes that seem too big for her weak physique—most probably hand-me-downs. Her baby is crying so loudly that people in the lounge are frowning and some have even left.
He checks the time on his watch: the Grandmaster Chime Ref. 6300A-010 from Patek Philippe. His father had gifted it to him when he started his senior year at college. His father had won it at an auction. There are still thirty minutes before the flight terminal opens. William carefully takes off his watch, glancing at it for a second too long before handing it to the child. William's face softens into a kind smile, something that hasn't happened in ages. The little kid grabs the watch eagerly, amazed by the new "toy." The mother tries to give it back, but William waves it off, saying it's nothing important.
A few moments pass, and the woman leaves, the baby waving and smiling at William.
William's heart feels at an uneasy peace. Was that watch such a burden?
He boards the economy flight and starts searching for his seat. The floor is stained with wine and other marks. The seats look a little old. He passes a few seats and finally reaches his. The middle seat.
William sighs in disbelief.
He places his carry-on luggage in the overhead bin. Afterward, he takes out a neatly folded handkerchief from his coat pocket, lays it on his seat, and sits on it. Then, he begins thinking about what he really did. The realization hits hard. Suddenly, it's not freedom he's feeling, but guilt. Guilt over leaving his father behind. Guilt.
"William Santos Davenport! How dare you disobey me! For that reason? Say that name one more time, and I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of. You've had enough of your fun, lad." Mr. Davenport roars as William stands there, unable to comprehend the situation.
"But, but—Father, I—" William stutters.
"WILLIAM!" Mr. Davenport shouts. "You will be going to Switzerland tomorrow. I have arranged for you to stay there and complete your business education. I'm not going to hear another word escape from your mouth." He pauses for a while. "Get away from my sight. I'm ashamed... to be your father. A disgrace."
William calls out after his father as he leaves the room in big strides, his usual demeanor—cold and ruthless.
"Sir! Sir!" A woman's voice fills the air as William suddenly flutters his eyes.
"Sir, you've been screaming and disrupting—"
"Water, bring me water," William huffs out. When the hostess goes to get water, he suddenly notices the presence of two other men sitting beside him. He nods his head once, trying to appear normal, and the two men let out a small laugh.
"Is everything well? You seem a bit... tense," the first said, his voice carrying the effortless elegance . His words, though casual, reflected a world where every gesture mattered. "Nightmare, perhaps?" the second adds.
William clears his throat, still struggling to control his breathing, and takes out his pills from his pocket.
The hostess returns with a glass of water, and William chugs it down in one huge gulp, swallowing the four pills he had in his mouth.
"Whoa, man! You should slow down," the second man says.
"It doesn't seem like I asked for your opinion, now, did I?" William says angrily in a deep voice.
"No need to be violent, man; he was just being nice!" the first man backs him up.
"I'm sorry, kind sirs. Now, can I have a moment of silence?" William mutters.
"By the way, I am Andre," the first one adds. "And he is Lucas."
William takes a deep sigh and nods, just wanting it to be over.
"If you've had your introductions, I'd like to go back to sleep."