Chapter- 04

Lilian pins the Parchment to a hook, and weighs up on the risks for his elder brother, regarding the coffee blemish as base. Ryan's treasured brother, Lilian, paces around the room, the parchment fabric of the suit rubbing and hitting the younger's ears, making him dwell on— nearly Lilian appears like he is the protagonist of some mystery-thriller, racking his brains about a long unsolved cold case.

"Ryan! What do you even keep on fooling around with? Geez!!"

Lillian frets, then turning towards their bureau, above an inch where the said boy, after this fact, finds two paradoxical menders; their undefiled detergent and Ryan's long forsaken toothbrush with its finest bristles, while upon the mentions, Lillian's lips etches into an ear-to-ear beam.

"Thank you, lifesavers!!" He winks at particularly nothing noticeable.

***

A weird throbbing transpires in the middle of Ryan's chest. His whey-faced countenance emulates the sinking of teeth into the mushy pair of lips which he possesses, Ryan's eyes pressing close.

"What the hell does he think he is?? Is this some kind of joke??" A person needs to acquire enough firmness of purpose if they were to be dealing with Mr. Haughty or more precisely known, the CEO of LOVESICK, Mr. Ethan Smith, Ryan's beliefs were being fueled by that absurd certitude with every tick of the events.

Ryan whacks the desk with his hands, chucking that bearer of bad news as far as is possible,

"What if I pretend to not have seen his mail? Maybe I will tell him that I crashed out, thanks to him? That would be a great excuse, yes!" Nevertheless, in the subsequent trice, Ryan's mind shuffles to every worst possible retributions the varmint can make him go through; that is ample to make his blood run cold.

Ryan's hunches begin with Mr. Haughty to 'banish' the poor, destitute lad from where he wishes to demonstrate his significance— and ends at literal what-nots.

"No, no, no, that would not be very wise of me to do. After all he is the master, I am but his apparent worker," There is a twinge of dread for a second among Ryan's inner peace before he wring down the curtains on those perturbation,

"Fine!" Ryan swallows his pride back and with much determination, comes to a ultimate decision,

"For the very last time, solely for my own sake, I will just go along with your words without any single protest, Mr. Haughty," Ryan's fluttering murmurs can not pluck up courage to behave otherwise. Thanklessly, he had just a few small intervals ago shredded the unwonted apparel, now which Ryan will have to fish for and throw on again.

"Maybe just maybe he has a good reason for this ridiculous demand, just for this once," Ryan tries to reason, plucking up his apparel for a second bizarre time in the day, coiling the mocha hued blazer around his shoulders, tugging the edge of his coat a little closer together. "Lilian, I'm off! Don't ask me why."

Ryan can not afford Lillian's raking stares at that very moment, or another enquiry session for that matter, and thus which led the man to worm his eyes, devouring at the exit, before Ryan's words had even flown past their dining, to reach to his brother. He pockets the phone put on the table and strolls away.

Gauchely, Ryan slips his feet into the sneakers with its laces left untangled, and untied to say the least— he grabs on the doorknob; right when it comes to his attention that the same is being turned from outside.

Slithering his steps some inches away from the outward portal, Ryan stirs his eyes for some moments, pondering about who could it be who had just then arrived, even though he was partially aware.

"Oh! Ryan??" Mrs. Miller, an archetypal woman in her 40s, with flecks of grey hair those are too skillfully dyed over on, with hazel-eyes, a pale skin and towering some inches over her son, enters, her both arms combating to envelope all the three tote bags brimming with their monthly grocery.

After her, steps in another man, the traces of his age too well reflected through those dark circles under his eyes, enhancing his weariness of time and who would deny those distinct wrinkles— in his late 50s.

"Honey, put those bags down now!" The man speaks and Mrs. Miller only nods, while in verity, she continues to embosom.

"Oh! You?" Ryan exclaims, he had not expected his parents to return so soon, compared to every time they had gone grocery shopping together, prior, "I was not expecting you."

"We know. The thing is, there was no discount today, so there were not too many people who came buying things. Curling her lips to exhibit her dismay, Mrs. Lyra Miller uttered, "I told your dad to put it off for tomorrow but he did not listen. He never listens to me! I told him this is the last day of the month, so it would do us no good shopping for groceries today. But your dad has a conference tomorrow and can not aid me. What stupid excuses!!"

"Oh," Ryan can only voice the tired monosyllable, while unwillingly listening to his mother ranting.

"Anyway, enough about us. How about you?" Mrs. Miller's facial features adapt to a grimace, "You look so pale and thin! What is exactly wrong with you? Where have you been since morning? You looked so anxious and nervous earlier and now you look so ill. What is wrong, son?"

Ryan finds himself at the ridge of his restraint, thus he says with a sigh, "Why? I think I am not too bad. I'm not ill, I'm good. I'm in a perfectly good shape. You worry too much."

"Good? This is what you call good? Huh? Look at you, Ryan! Your hair is all messed up. Your shoelaces are untied. Your shirt is not tugged properly and your coat also reeks of sweat. You look too–" just as Ryan had been dreading, Mrs. Miller's eyes then land on the absolute untouched meal, "You have not even taken your proper meal, have you?"

"I have not. I did not get the time," by hook or by crook, Ryan had to escape this awkward situation he was being put inside, "I am really late! May I please leave now? You can scold me later and ask for an explanation, for everything. Please?"

"And where exactly are you heading?" Mr. Miller, ultimately voices something to subsidise the anxiety, witnessing after his wife being so distraught— Mrs. Lyra Miller was just too fond of her elder child.

"Can I tell you everything once I am back from work? Please, I beg," Ryan sneaks a glance at the wall clock dangling diagonally, towards the left across them, "I barely have any minutes in my hand. I am so sorry uncle, I am so sorry aunt, but I really need to leave now!"

"Ryan, do not call us that…" Mrs. Miller watches as how inconsiderately, Ryan pretends to not hear the woman and storms off; leaving a devastated mother behind.

"Honey, let's get inside. Your hands must be aching. Let's go, let's go!!" Mr. Miller escorts her, as a foster mother perpetually seek to justify her foster but beloved son's incivility.

***

Soon the licensed cab rolls before Ethan's titanic bungalow, "Sir, this is the place right?" The driver turns to see the passenger scooted into the backseat, covering his mouth, "Sir? Excuse me? Are you alright?"

"Sorry," Ryan heaves a sigh, "Just motion sickness. Nothing serious."

Soon, Ryan brings his makeshift gag from his mouth away, "And yes this is the place. Thank you for the ride!"

"Contact me anytime you need a ride," once making sure that Ryan has gotten off safely, the driver flashes a polite business-like smile and then swooshes away.

Ryan, on the other hand, prolongs to find himself in a swinging daze and stands before the glass panel, too nervous to take a look at what the time is being— what if he is late? Too late? What if Ethan demotes him now owing to that lame reason? Worse, what if Ethan has changed his mind about Ryan already?

"Nothing of the sort will happen. Calm down, Ryan, stop assuming things," Ryan absurdly begins speaking to himself, he had ever since claimed that procedure to be his coping mechanism. The boy's reluctant fingers trail the edge of Ethan's ringing bell— "What are you doing?"

Ethan really is frightening, there are no qualms left. Ryan pulls away suddenly, "Are you trying to scare me away?"

"Well, you are five minutes late!" Ethan stands seizing the door, and carrying his brusque presence on the back.

"Am I to be blamed, though? You emailed me right after I had reached home. I did not even get to have a pro-"

"I hate words," rudely intervening, Ethan then steps aside, "Come in and get to work. Immediately!"

" –per meal." Ryan's words, fade away, volatile.

"Okay, Sir," refreshing his own memory about why exactly he is with Ethan, Ryan let his grudges dim, focusing rather on his overseer's 'work'.

"Close the door behind you," Ethan bosses around as he directs the road, "And sit over there," he points at a spruce Chaise Lounge, facing opposite to his desk.

Ryan wordlessly draws the lavish wood behind him, and follows suit, being on guard about his topsy-turvy appearance, "Where should I put my shoes off to?"

"Just don't," Ethan sinks in his recliner, the laptop wide open on the desk before him, "Let's get into work."

"Do you even have morales?" Ryan let his bitterness do a bunk.

"What?" With a scornful expression, Ethan stares at Ryan— the audacity!!

"I have been starving because of you," flopping angrily on the lounge, Ryan whines, "And as soon as I get to your place, all you have to say is…let's get to work?? Heartless."

"Mr. Miller! Don't you think you are crossing your boundaries?"

Ryan puffs out, "I apologise!" Given Ryan's lack of at least one proper meal, he had lost the depth of consequences that his actions may lead to, "But I am really hungry! Like really!!"

A menacing speech ensues from the older person, "Mr. Ryan Miller?"

"Yes?" Ryan meekly responds.

"Do you know what the date of tomorrow is?"

Ryan quickly calculates in his head, considering a calendar in front of Mr. Haughty might as well be termed a luxury, "The 1st of December, if I am not too wrong."

Ethan wears a sheepish leer, "Do you get what that means, Mr. Ryan Miller?"

Each time Ryan hears his full name being pronounced, that boy could not help but chuckle internally; it indefinitely sounded weird, "Not really."

"This means that…"

Ryan only blinks. He has no idea about why the CEO is trying to beat around the bush? If Ryan has ever seen any more perplexing individual than Ethan Smith, he is not very sure— "That?"

"The game begins tomorrow."

There they go again, with Ethan's stupid games and its technicalities.

Gawping at his boss, Ryan figures that he has already given in— like he had never before. Then again, everything has their particular first times. There had once been a time when Ryan could not walk, but now he can.

"Are you…ready to play my game?" Ethan twirls the paper weight, his eyes darkening with a mischievous haze, as they are now narrowed.

Ryan gains in on that no matter whatever game is to be played, who will be playing and who is the player, or where it is to be played, the rules are moderately the same— there has to be a winner and there has to be a loser.

Someone is a noob, and someone else is the pro— whether the noob can be a winner or the pro can be defeated, only time and effort chooses to decide.

"I know," Ryan asserts— whether for the better or for the worst, he has accepted the challenge hurled at him.

"And I am ready to play the game, Sir!"