Chapter 1

Dion Hill

A strong character that one. So arrogant and ignorant. One man with an ego giant enough to cover the whole world. Dion Hill was the only child and son of the world’s richest man in the world—Bowman Hill.

In contrast to his son, Bowman Hill was a generous man who loved people and advocated for peace and tranquillity. Bowman would always give to charity and give scholarships and bursaries to the deserving. He was making a chance in the world. The man had a heart of gold.

However, his son, Dion Hill, was different from him. Dion had a sense of pride. His pride told him that he was better than anyone on the planet. Dion Hill was greedy and stingy. He would mind his business a lot, even when there was someone in need.

These useless people… Stinking up the air that I breath. These useless peasants… Why are they here, anyway? Is it to occupy space and become an eye-sore? How pathetic.

Dion believed that only his father and himself had earned the right be on the planet. In fact, his father was the only person who deserved his respect. The rest of them were unworthy of looking at him or talking to him.

……………………………………………………………………………….

This week, Dion was visiting his father in the United Kingdom. It was the week of his father’s birthday, and so it made sense that he spent the week with him. It hadn’t even been a day and already Dion was screaming at a poor little maid, “Is that how you wear your uniform? There’s stain on your collar and you’re parading around proudly. Is filth your pride?”

“No, sir.” The maid spoke for herself, “The stain only got there a few minutes ago. I couldn’t get to change as you had already arrived. I was told all the servants of this house were required to line up to greet you—”

“Are you talking back at me! Who are you, to hold a conversation with me?”

The mention was sparkly clean. They had heard that the son of Bowman would be visiting again, and they had spent the entire month deep cleaning every inch of that building. Each of these ladies and gentlemen had put on their newest cleaning uniform and had properly groomed themselves for his arrival. They stood in two lines… One on either side of the door. Ladies on the right and gentlemen on the left.

Dion had demanded to walk in through the double door, and so they opened the big door.  He demanded that they shoot flowers above his head (the flowers where not allowed to touch him, because flowers are dirty), therefore, his personal butler shot an umbrella above his head (inside the house). And he demanded that they hoot the horn for him and hail his name.

Now, he was inside, yelling at the poor little maid. She was the newest edition. Her name was Daphne. She was shaking. She had never been shouted at like that in her life. Daphne was meeting Dion for the first time, she never anticipated being sacked on their first meet, “I prioritize hygiene; clearly, you don’t. Box your rags and go!”

“Dion!” finally, Bowman was out of his study. He was walking down the stairs to welcome his son. “Look at you, you came!” Bowman tried embracing his but this self-sufficient son pushed him off as though disgusted and in disbelieve of his father’s gesture. Dion dusted himself off and then stretched out his hand to shake his.

At this point, even Bowman was offended. He slapped Dion’s hand away. “Hey, come quickly. I have something to show you!” Bowman was running up the stairs, he was pulling Dion along even through Dion’s resistance. Dion, finally, saw what Bowman was trying to show him. They were walking through the corridors of the mention. The entire house was framed with paintings done by the deceased wife of Bowman and mother of Dion. The artworks were exquisite with no doubt lingering on. Each piece rouse interest and impatience.

This reminded Dion of something. He had a gift for Bowman. Bowman unwrapped the gift and saw a piece of artwork. He was surprised, “This is your mother’s! I have been looking for this! Why do you have it, Dion?”

“When I was 10, I saw you gathering all of her paintings. I thought you were getting rid of them—”

“Getting rid of them? I would never do that. I was collecting them, so that one day I could do this,” he pointed at paintings framed up on the walls. “I wasn’t getting rid of them. I would never do that to my wife.”

“I know that now.” Dion then said, “I have cherished it and everywhere I went, it went with me. However, that piece of art has become obsolete to me now. It is your turn to keep it and care for it.”

Bowman could almost cry. He was emotional as he looked at the painting he was given by Dion. The painting was an image of a green landscape. It was beautiful. “Your mother and I met in this park. It was her favourite spot for painting. She would drag me there every time, to keep me away from work. She said I was working too much and that I needed a break, but the irony is, she was always painting—always working. She was the one who worked too much.”

Dion could only wonder how his father could love a woman who had died over 20 years ago. Bowman never married again or dated after his wife’s passing. His intense feelings while he looked into the landscape painting shocked Dion very much. Dion could never understand what the man was feeling.

He always looks in pain when he brings up that woman. My mother. She died giving birth to me, too bad I never got learn to feel the things he felt on her too.

Dion also wondered why Bowman would ‘torture’ himself like that. It felt as though Bowman enjoyed the pain he felt for that woman.

Is this what love feels like? Pain? Then, why is everyone chasing love if all it does is shatter them to shreds? Is everyone a masochist?

AHHHHHHHH!

Came a noise from down stairs. Bowman quickly ran down, he was worried. He had to find out what happened, the servants never cried like that before. Dion couldn’t be bothered, he went to his room to refreshen up.

“What happened?!” Bowman was shocked at what he saw.

The entire kitchen floor was flooded with water. When they opened the door, the water streamed out and filled the rest of the rooms in the first floor. It was a giant pond. Someone must have carelessly left the tap running, and it flooded the home.

“Mr. Bowman,” Daphne stepped forward, “it was me!”