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LITTLE RED
Last Updated:
2025-04-14 01:19:13THREE YEARS LATER
“Who’s Theodore bringing tonight?” one of them asked, her voice sweet enough to draw everyone’s attention. Such a high class hypocrite.
The event floor murmured with low conversations and delicate clinking of glasses, the only kind of music you could hear from a room filled with money-filled men and swollen egos.
Vincent Winston, head of the Winston Empire stood in the center of it all, his presence commanding more respect than anyone else. But now he was in the middle of being pried on by them.
“Such a shame about he and Veronica, you don’t find women of her class this days.” another one added.
“He won’t show. And if he does it’ll be without an arm candy, no one swaps women overnight.” one of the middle aged women chimed with disappointment.
Vincent preferred to keep his cool in the midst of prying rats like these ones, but this time they really scraped his patience thin. Then again, Theodore made it too easy, always giving these vultures something to chew on.
He was seconds away from putting them in their place when the music died, yanking everyone into perfect silence.
The only sound that dared to break was the clicking of heels against the marble, echoing like a countdown. All heads turned as if drawn by a magnet to the stunning couple striding into the room.
The moment Theodore Winston stepped into the floor he claimed it. Everyone heard that the heir to Winston Empire was a demigod built as fine as hell. But the cameras and rumors did him no justice.
It wasn't just his face profile and 6’9 sexy as f body frame that left people's jaw dropping on to the floor. It was the woman by his side. She made their jaws hit harder.
Her long, honey-brown hair flowed in waves behind her matched her large hazel eyes. Her red satin dress clung perfectly to every single curve but her fingers clung to the dress tighter.
“Are you scared, little red?” his gruff voice sent shivers down her spine, making her squirm nervously in her dress.
“I… I don’t know. Should I be?” she tried to hold eye contact with him but his slit gray eyes were too sharp for her, she could only avoid them.
“Maybe you should.” a sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. She felt the lower part of her stomach pool with heat. Why won’t he stop doing that?
"Your son never fails to impress. He really did bring another woman tonight and she is beautiful," the middle-aged woman said, gawking over at the couple with amusement.
Vincent scoffed with pride.
"Name one thing money can't replace?"
Her eyes roamed in thoughts.
"Well… the air… love."
He laughed and she was taken aback.
"You see…you can name a lot but A Winston Can't."
"You should never forget your place."
He sneered, drowning out every last ounce of confidence she had.
Her head turned away in embarrassment.
"What is it now?" Theodore frowned at Alicia who had her hand clung to her throat.
"I don't feel too good. I think I need to take a puke."
"Are you kidding me? You didn't want to take the car." His face lunged closer to hers.
"That doesn’t mean I wanted to come here in a giant chopper." she squealed.
"Then did you expect us to take the bus?" he glared at her.
"Take. It. Down.”
She gaped at him and closed her mouth again. If this man was sent to make her life a living hell, he was damn doing his job right.
She took a large gulp down swallowing her uneasiness.
“Good, Little Red. Good."
“Stop calling me that." she finally snapped.
" What? Little Red?”
" Stop it. Why do you always call me that.” an adorable frown formed between her brows.
" You are as pretty as a red rose.” his fingers played with the skirt of her dress.
" Tch! What am I? A painting?" She slapped his hand away, patting down the dress he ruffled.
He gazed off for a bit before snapping out of his thoughts with an abrupt shudder.
" Stop putting dangerous ideas into my head sweetie. I might as well just bring them to life.”
She lifted her brows. Dangerous?
"Theodore!" a male voice called. "It’s great seeing you tonight." A flimsy man offered a hand out to Theodore, waiting for his.
The receiving end’s eyes darted from the man's stretched hand to his face before speaking.
“And you are?" Theodore snapped.
“Ah!" he let out a dry laugh, withdrawing his hand to himself.
" Ethan Bolston, LUMIN CORPORATION." he attempted to stretch each word with weight.
Theodore blinked. Doesn't ring a bell.
He continued, “I never thought you'd attend–" his voice flipped out midway.
“Alicia?... Alicia is that really you?" his eyes were wide with shock.
Theodore glanced over at the woman who was wriggling around nervously a moment ago but was now stiff with her eyes glistening with anger and disgust.
He turned back to Ethan finally paying him attention.
“You know her?" he asked coldly feeling her grip tighten around his arm.
“Oh!...” Ethan didn't take his eyes off her. "... We go a long way back."
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The photo frame sat on top of the white coffin. Carmel’s smile beamed out at the crowd like it didn’t know it was his own funeral.I stood just a few feet away, arms stiff at my sides, eyes locked on the flowers arranged around my son’s name. I hadn’t blinked in minutes.Around me, the room buzzed with black clothes, cold stares, and low whispers that didn’t bother staying low anymore.“I still don’t understand how she didn’t notice the door.”“She left the boy with Ethan and still found a way to mess it up.”“Maybe she was distracted with her nails or something.”“If it were me, I’d never leave a child alone like that.”I couldn't speak. I just stared at the coffin like I was waiting for Carmel to sit up and tell them all to shut up.“Enough!” my mother snapped from the side, her voice cutting clean through the murmurs.All eyes turned. Ethan’s aunt flinched back a little, but her mouth stayed tight.“You want someone to blame? Blame the person who was actually at home,” my mother h
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“Case 72-B, the matter of Carmel Bolston,” the judge announced, her voice echoing through the wood-paneled courtroom.“Will the parents of the victim please step forward.”My legs felt like cement. I rose with Ethan beside me and walked toward the stand.After we had sworn our oaths and given our witnesses, the judge peered over her glasses.“The court acknowledges the tragic circumstances surrounding the death of Carmel Bolston. However, due to the lack of viable CCTV footage, absence of credible eyewitness testimony, and no traceable suspect…”I gripped the edge of the stand, my nails pressed into the polished wood.“…this case cannot move forward in the direction of a criminal conviction.”The judge’s eyes softened.“This does not mean this court denies the grief suffered by the family, nor the weight of the tragedy that occurred. But in the absence of evidence, and with no suspect to hold accountable, this case will not move on due to insufficient grounds for prosecution. The body
