Fred had the woman sit on his lap, his fingers daring to explore beneath the soft fabric of her skirt. She caught his wandering hand, her voice a blend of reprimand and invitation, “Not here, Mr. Turner. Eyes are upon us.”
He inhaled deeply, the perfume enveloping her was rich and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to Mya’s subtle fragrance.
Fred was a man whose interest waned with the moon; no woman ever marked more than a week in his orbit before he found them as forgettable as the last.
As if on cue, a partition ascended, granting them a shroud of privacy. Her voice fluttered, a whisper of temptation, “Mr. Turner, might I assist you? This dress is quite delicate, after all.” Fred parted his legs in silent assent, and she slid to her knees, a willing accomplice to their hidden dance.
When Mya returned home, she was still thinking of how to ruin Serena Smith’s life. To claim Madelyn’s treasures as her own and flaunt them was an act of audacity that seared Mya’s conscience. Never had she witnessed such blatant shamelessness. Mya’s thoughts swirled into the quiet chaos of sleep, her grip on her plushy the only anchor to her reality. In the nebulous realm of dreams, she found herself adrift in an ominous forest, the breath of an unseen predator hot on her neck.
Then, without warning, a figure of menace materialized, thrusting her into a cage and clamping cold shackles around her wrists, his threat hanging in the air – obedience or eternal captivity. As the dream’s fog lifted, the man’s identity sharpened into focus. It was that man in the prison warden uniform.
Mya immediately woke up in a fright. She was sweating so heavily that her strawberry nightgown was soaked in sweat. She turned on the lights and held onto her plushy while shivering.
“Why did I dream of him out of the blue!” Mya said while patting on her face.
“That scared me to death! Thankfully, it’s just a dream and not real,” she comforted.
It was twelve midnight when Mya looked at the clock. She remembered that she still needed to visit Madelyn tomorrow at the hospital. Mya quickly held onto her plushy and fell asleep again.
The news of Serena becoming Leonardo Monet’s first mentee had spread throughout Ventropolis. The public did not know Leonardo had already taken a mentee before this.
A few days later, Kennedy picked up Leonardo Monet from Ventropolis Airport. On the ride back, Leonardo glanced at the newspaper headline and scoffed, “People will believe anything these days.” He tossed the paper aside and questioned, “Why didn’t Madelyn come with you?”
Kennedy paused, weighing whether to share the grave news. Leonardo pressed, “What’s going on?”
“Why aren’t you talking?” Leonardo continued to ask.
“Madelyn has advanced brain cancer,” Kennedy finally said. “She’s in a coma post-surgery.”
Leonardo was stunned. “Why am I just hearing about this? Take me to the hospital, now!”
“Grandpa, she didn’t want to worry you,” Kennedy assured him. “She’s getting the best care. There’s no need to worry.”
Unknown to many, Leonardo Monet was actually part of the Johnson family. He had taken up the surname Monet to forge his own path, away from the shadow of his family’s legacy, leaving few aware of his connection to Kennedy as his grandfather.
As Kennedy glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw Leonardo’s somber expression.
Kennedy thought to himself, ‘Grandpa’s mentored many, but only Madelyn became his protégé. She’s special to him beyond her talent.’
Leonardo broke the silence, “Where’s Madelyn now?”
“SereneCare Hospital,” replied Kennedy.
“I want to see her. Why wouldn’t she tell me something so critical? Does she still see me merely as a mentor?” Leonardo’s voice held a touch of hurt.
“Grandpa,” Kennedy ventured cautiously, “you’ve just returned. Aren’t you eager to get back to your studio? Zach’s with her at the hospital; visiting might be complicated.”
“Madelyn takes precedence over my work,” Leonardo declared firmly.
Understanding the depth of his grandfather’s concern, Kennedy made a U-turn at the next light.
