"What the hell, Rich? Were you trying to choke me?" Cassie rasped.

She was red, like fifty shades red. Her hands clasped her throat as she fumed.

I ignored her as I quickly zipped my fly and smoothened my pants.

"Ow, ow, ow" she kept repeating as she sagged on the bed still clutching her throat.

"And I have to perform… in five days, what… do I do? You better pray… this goes away… by then."

Her voice was getting more raspy with each word. And with how tightly her face was squeezed, it must hurt like hell.

I barely gave her a glance from the gold rimmed mirror where I stood adjusting my tie. In truth, a part of me felt for her, but the thing with being as ruthless as I've become is that constant fueling of that dark side eventually silences the human side.

Or so I had thought…

"You could have killed her", that voice I really thought I had silenced echoed through my mind. Then the images came, her hands pounding on my thighs. The drool that oozed from her mouth as I thrust faster and faster. The veins that appeared on her forehead as she choked. The pain that reddened her face as she tried to get me to stop. And the drowsy fluttering of her lids as she began to slip to unconsciousness.

At the moment, I had enjoyed every moment, but now that stupid voice was trying to get me to feel bad. With those images, it was trying to picture me, a monster.

"What will I do?" I heard her sob from behind me, and in spite of myself I watched as streaks cascaded down her reddish cheeks.

"Monster!. Monster!!. Monster!!!."

The voice kept echoing, getting louder each time.

I tightly shut my eyes and tried to get it to stop. But then other images began to flip through my mind. Leaving Lindsey that night. Rosa Ross smeared face as she wept and cursed me. Her post afterwards in a rehabilitation center.

Apparently what I did to her broke the walls of self-esteem. Before the incident, she believed that she was truly lovable, that she was irresistible, and then realized that a man could play with her for 8 months without her prior knowledge. That scarred and marred her to the point of indulging and addiction.

That's if she's to be believed. Who's to say that she didn't post that picture just to go viral like her weeping video? Anyway, I have been in this game industry since birth and I know people would do anything for it.

If there was ever a time that prompted change, it was during that Rosa Ross scandal. I remember being haunted by her tears and curses. I remember experiencing difficulties in sleeping, doing my job and basically living my life.

I fucked and manhandled other girls, but nothing changed. I remember the only thing that sorta helped was being high every minute of the day.

In a way instead of inspiring change, those moments drove me deeper into the dark side.

My hate for life and its cruelties fueled my own flames of cruelty. I also remember telling myself that Rosa will surely recover, rehab will help or whatever she needs to do. But in death, there's no rehab or therapy. Death… simply is death.

Cassie broke down into full fledged weeping, as she sagged to the floor her knees raised to shield her face and quieten her sobs. But I still heard them, each, a knife striking my heart again and again.

"I didn't change during the time of Rosa Ross, so why would I now?" I thought to myself.

"Perhaps because you went too far this time. Because you almost cost her the only part of her that will make her great. And you could have killed her outright." That same wretched voice intoned as if answering my question.

I needed to get as far away from Cassie

As possible, I can't allow myself to grow soft when life chooses to remain tough with me.

She didn't even raise her face when I opened the door, that single gesture froze my movement. Cassie never plays with her fee, but today she couldn't care less.

"For fuck's sake! Can you quit being pathetic already, nothing will happen to your voice. Once I get to the car, I'll send you your fee, enough to go visit a laryngologist or a fucking phoniatrist. Just stop already, it's disgusting watching and listening to you." I said, more to silence the stupid voice in my mind than for her chagrin.

"Go… to… hell" she managed, her voice this time breaking, but more audible.

"Now, that's my girl" I answered with a grin, shutting the door lest she haul a pillow towards me.

Thankfully no soul was in the hall, the last thing I needed was a picture of myself on tomorrow's 'City Burn' asking what I was doing exiting one of the Gold Express roams of Falling Stars Hotel.

I tried not to be in much haste as I walked to the entrance, calling Lanke to bring the car to the entrance helped. At least, I looked like a businessman already late for an appointment, which in reality wasn't far from the truth.

Lanke didn't utter a word as I came in, he just gave me a quick glance from the rear mirror and stepped on the gas.

He kept mute during the supposed fifteen minutes drive that somehow took twice the duration due to a traffic congestion just two turns to the office. He had wordlessly turned the car around, not even asking for permission, in search for an alternate route that had taken the extra fifteen minutes.

Because of how unsettling his silence was, I didn't allow him to bring up my case, I just ordered him to be dismissed until I had need of him.

I had a routine for walking into the building that was the headquarters of my brand. A fake ass dazzling smile in response to greetings as I passed.

As I walked to the elevator I had taken a quick glance at the reception desk and there was this girl in a weird attire, a buttoned down coat over blue jeans and sneaks. My thoughts had been "Hopefully she was here to shop so as that fashion error won't repeat itself"

There was a rule every staff member knew well. In fact, upon employment it is the first rule each staff is expected never to break.

"Never enter the elevator if a board member or a top ranked employee is inside"

It was simple, but apparently the stupid bitch that lacked fashion sense wasn't aware as she wedged the bars with her bag.

"Sorry" she said entering, not even bothering to look at me.

And she had come in so fast that I didn't get a proper look at her and now she had her back to me.

My time with Cassie was supposed to help me relax and feel content, but with the way things turned out, I was anything, but content or relaxed. And this situation was the very last thing I needed, "not if I can help it" I echoed to myself.

"Leave" I said in a voice bearing all my frustration.

"Excuse me?," the fool asked.

"Oh don't act dumb, I'm pretty sure I didn't stutter"

"What is it with this bitch? Is she high or simply dumb?" I pondered.

"Sir, I'm sure we can enjoy this ride in peace, just press the button and I will do my best to pretend that I'm not even here" she answered, her voice lingering on irritation.

"I don't need you to pretend, what I need is very simple. Exit the elevator or do you have hearing difficulties?" I prompted in the same tone I have seen many cower when they hear it.

But this girl wasn't afraid. She just stood still, never looking at me, her stance saying "Do your worst". And yet her next words were a plea.

"Please Sir, I'm in a hurry and I need this ride, so–"

That did it. I have had enough of her stupidity as I barked cutting her off,

"So just exit the elevator, because there's no way this thing is moving unless you leave!"

Customers, clients and staff at the lobby stared. And at that moment I wanted nothing more than to push her outside, but etiquette especially in front of these people demanded otherwise.

I watched her take in the crowd staring

back at her and for a second I thought she would leave, but instead,

"Suit yourself. I'm not leaving and if you will die sharing a ride with me then I suggest you leave instead" she retorted, tossing a strand of her brown hair across her shoulder.

The scent of honey filled my nostrils and I couldn't take my eyes off her rich long hair.

Perhaps that was what messed with my mind because the next words I uttered weren't what I intended,

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"I'm pretty certain I didn't stutter" she replied with a tone laced with rage.

The bitch had balls, I would give her that, reprising my very own words back to me. And that fueled the rage that coursed through me.

"JUST FUCKING LEAVE" I yelled, hoping to startle her into obedience.

But this girl was a mule. She only cringed at my words for a second before continuing as if the words held no impart,

"Oh you're angry, well so am I" I heard her say as she hastily punched on the 50th floor's button.

I made out Tony and Gerald, two of the lobby's security guards, dashing towards us. Even the receptionist whom the girl had been talking to earlier. I don't really remember her name as she has barely worked for 6 months with us, was saying,

"Oh my God, Sofia do you even have any idea who you are talk-"

Before the gold coated bars of the elevator like two lips arching to meet, kissed shut.

"Sofia" I mused inaudibly. "So that's her name".

I racked my mind for that name within the over 500 employees list. Of course there were fifteen people by that name, and I knew their faces. But even from the back view, I had no clue who this girl was.

But then again, she can't be an employee. No employee would dare show up to a place often referred to as "the highlight of fashion trends" looking the way she does.

Watching her movements as she tried not to glance at me, I realized that she must have figured it out. Who I am, I mean or maybe her guilt for the things she said earlier has caught up with her.

She shifted from foot to foot, trying her hardest not to look back at me.

Before I became the CEO, I made it a priority to memorize the names and faces of my employees. It wasn't easy, but I did it not because I'm kind or considerate. But because that was what my job entailed and I aimed to be the very best.

Becoming the CEO at the age of 22 was a feat that has never been accomplished before. In the history of the business world, I was the youngest CEO ever.

It wasn't easy, the Lords never supported the idea. They found it ridiculous that a boy, yeah, they thought of me as a boy even now. A boy would take over an empire at such a young age.

Everyone expected me to fail. They were waiting to see me trudge down the muddy paths of failure. But the one thing they didn't know about me was that Richard Wellington never fails.

All my life, I can't remember any moment where I failed. I'm always winning. Always the first. Always the best.

With my high IQ, I finished high school at the age of 14. Well, that feat can't just be credited to my IQ, the money and resources at my disposal aided in getting me there.

I went to the best school. Had the best teachers, even private tutors.

But the truth of it all was that I strived for the best because I knew I didn't have much time to do it. My condition was diagnosed at an early age. My parents tried to hide it from me, but I took it upon myself to know the reason behind my body weakness. The pain that sometimes tightened in my chest and why I sometimes found it hard to breathe.

I remember going to the hospital when I was just ten years old. The hospital was owned by the Wellington Empire and Doctor Tex was our family doctor.

One could say I was born ruthless, because how could a ten year old threaten to hurt the doctor's family if he refused to show me the results of my heart scan.

I would be lying if I said that I didn't mean every word I said to him that day. I knew where his children attended school and all it would take is a few bucks for them to receive a facial disorientation.

And he knew the weight of my words. The weight my name carried. So, he had scrambled to provide the results a few seconds after I threatened him.

He tried to leave after handing me the results, but I ordered him to sit his ass down. I made him explain every word, every phrase, every term and terminology, until the cold realization of my condition dawned on me like the splash of freezing water on a winter night.

I really don't remember how long I just sat there, not uttering a word. I don't even think I blinked. I just sat so still that Doctor Tex abandoned his office and my presence in a scurry.

I didn't blame him, especially after answering all his queries with nothing, but cold silence.

Hours passed, the sun made its descent and lights from the city filtered through the glass windows of his office and yet I remained there.

I don't really remember exactly what had paralyzed me, the news that I wouldn't live to grow old or that the possibility that my heart could fail at any moment and that would be it.

At that moment, I don't think I was even thinking. Every part of me just froze up, even the ever turning gears of my mind. I think that's what it means to be in shock, but that wasn't just any kind of shock. That was the shocking, startling and overwhelming realization that my life could dim at any moment.

I remember my parents rushing into the room. I remember hearing my name in varied tones, a yell, a scream, a call, even a whisper.

I remember someone tried to take the results I clutched, I remember hearing the sound of the paper tearing as the person struggled to untangle my grip on it. I remember seeing faces full of gloom. I remember being shaken slowly at first, then violently, but I didn't come out of my shock.

It all felt like I was watching all these things unfold before me from eyes that weren't mine. Like it was all far away. Like I was there and in a way, wasn't.

Perhaps none of it makes sense, but most things in life rarely do, like realizing at the age of ten that one's days are numbered. That each breath was a privilege and the next might very well be the last.

I also remember someone hugging me, the faint scent of my mother's perfume drifting through my senses. I remember hearing her pleas and sobs as if from a distance. I remember being scooped into her arms and the faint buzzing of sounds like people yelling though it sounded like murmuring. The blinding lights of the hospital's hallway as we made our way through.

The drive home with both my parents still trying to pry an answer from my sealed lips. The rushing lights of the city, dulled by the tinted windows of the car as we sped by. The freezing temperature of the AC and the goosebumps that lined my skin.

I remember arriving at the Wellington Mansion, the place I called home. I remember yelling orders for a bath and food by my angry father. I remember still being in my mother's arms. I remember her settling me gently in the tub and bathing me for the very first time. I remember watching her as her tears smeared her mascara, giving her a ghoulish look. I remember my father standing by the door watching me with a look that ranged from pity, concern, disgust and anger.

I remember my lips remaining sealed as they tried to feed me, even as the aroma of the food mesmerized my nose. I remember hearing my father call Doctor Tex, cursed him, threatened to fire his ass if I didn't return to normal and finally sagged on one of the dining stools when it seemed his anger had failed him. I remember him listening to Doctor Tex and I remember being tucked in by the both of them a while later after the call and after it dawned on them that my lips would not pry open that night. I remember them flanking my sides, my mom reading me a bedtime story and my dad holding my left hand, kissing it from time to time and begging me to come back to him.

I remember falling asleep and waking up around 3am. It felt like rousing from a dream, like all those events happened in a dream-like state. And I remember trashing my room and waking everyone up as it slowly dawned on me that it had all been real. That I had a malady that could claim my life anyday… anytime.

That night, no, that early morning, I remained unconsolable, raging and raging until my strength failed me and sleep claimed me once more four hours later. I didn't go to school that day, I remember spending that day in bed with a scorching temperature. I was out of my shock, but the events of the night and that morning had caught up with me.

I don't really like remembering that day, and I really can't say why I'm remembering it now. Perhaps with the nerving silence, my mind needed something even if it's a terrible memory to occupy its vastness.

But truly nothing remained the same afterwards, I grew more ambitious, resented life and well, became the person I am today.

And this girl in front of me was going to get a taste of that person… whether or not she chooses to stay for the interview, cause clearly that's what she's here for, she was going to pay and… dearly.

She stumbled and fell towards me as the elevator dragged to a stop. Carefully easing myself out of her way, I smiled as she banged her head on the gold metal walls of the elevator.

"See you in a bit… Sofia" I grinned at her as I exited the elevator.

I didn't need to hear the completion of what Emily was trying to say, to know that I was in serious trouble.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck" I repeated inaudibly.

"Oh my God, what have I done?" I asked myself.

The very first time, I'm meeting the man who had once been a mentor and I've ruined it with my anger.

I felt like slapping myself until the pain could match the uneasiness that thrummed through me.

"I just asked Richard-fucking-Wellington to exit his very own elevator in his very own company or die riding with me. By God Sofia, you are a fool" I echoed those words through me, but it did nothing to alleviate the guilt surmounting in my chest.

Will I blame life this time around? Or will I blame those who make it a living hell with their quick to remind status?

The truth was that, this was all me. I did it. I allowed my anger to score a number on me.

"How could you? This was your chance. Finally for once in your life, your dreams held a chance of coming through, but you just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

By God, I hated my conscience. Couldn't it see that I was already regretting every word I spoke in the last 5 minutes? Must it add to my guilt?

Some people say their conscience (or is it a general fact) is a small still voice barely discernible from the one yelling wrong. It's the voice of reason aiming at the right against the wrong.

But my own conscience isn't still neither is it's voice– small. Now, it feels like it's holding a megaphone in my mind screaming all the wrongs I managed to accomplish with the very words I uttered. And with it, a knife, slowly dragging the point through my heart, drawing blood.

Richard Wellington may no longer be a mentor, but I still loved his designs. There's still a part of me that longs to accomplish what he has done in the fashion industry.

I may not follow him, but I still go through his posts and I will be lying if I say that I'm not looking forward to the new collection. And it would mean the world to me if I can be a part of its success, even if it's just by typing words on a page.

Working under him would be a privilege and I fear I've messed that up.

"No, you haven't. Just apologize. Sincerely ask for forgiveness. Tell him you don't mean it" the voice in my head kept saying.

I once read that our minds know us more than we do ourselves. That if you are a winner, like you always remind yourself that you are one, then your mind will always strive, gear and think of ways for you to keep securing wins.

But if you are someone who feeds the mind with negative thoughts,

"I can't do this"

"I'm such a loser"

"I'm a failure" and the likes.

It will get to a certain point where your mind will accept and imbue every thought with such negativity. Instead of thinking up ways out of a difficult situation, it will keep reminding you that it's impossible to escape. That as a failure, why should you try to liberate yourself from such a situation?

Our minds know our stories far more better than we can write or tell them. It is the only companion we truly feel safe sharing our secrets and interacting with. In the darkest of times, it is all we've got and mine… mine knows just how much my future is hinged on securing this job.

Believe me, I want nothing more than to grovel before the high and mighty Richard Wellington until he accepts my apology, but I simply can't.

I opened my mouth severally to say the words, "I'm sorry", but I just couldn't form them.

Each time I tried, the voice of wrong , like a miniature copy of the devil in red and black with a pointy tail and holding a trident perched on my left shoulder. It will boom,

"Why should you apologize?"

"What wrong did you commit in trying to share a ride with him?"

"Besides you didn't even know it was him and even if you did, does that excuse his attitude?"

"Remember he started it, all you wanted was a ride up, he didn't have to be a bitch about it"

On and on, it went, silencing the other voice like that of an angel in white and gold with a halo ringed on his head and perched on my right shoulder.

Oftentimes, I wonder if both voices make up my conscience. If this tug war between right and wrong is truly their doing and if it is, then why do people often liken conscience to that small still voice like that of the angel's?

Or maybe our conscience is the willingness to pick a side in the tug war. To gently walk towards whichever side feels more appealing to one.

You know what, scratch all that. I don't even think I'm making any sense or maybe this uneasiness and guilt is reeling my thoughts to things I can't fathom. Things I don't understand nor can I comprehend.

And yet the truth remains that both of us are wrong, him most especially. I get that he is the CEO, but he won't lose that title if he shares a ride with me as he's doing now.

Why do people like to make things difficult? Why do they strive to bring out the demons we try to hide?

Had he behaved like a gentleman, wewouldn't be in this web of awkwardness. Had he politely asked me to leave, I would have done that without question, but for him to flaunt that privilege of his like a whip, that was what pissed me off especially after I tried reasoning and pleading with him.

He is a human being like me, his status in the society or simply born with a privilege doesn't elevate him more than being human. So, why then does he and others like him think themselves a higher being simply because life played fair with them?

When my life hadn't evolved into these caprices of sorrow and pain, I once watched an animation 'Avatar: The last Airbender'.

A certain misunderstood character, very handsome if I might add. I even remember having a crush on him then, he said,

"Some of us are born lucky while some of us are lucky to be born"

The character I'm talking about is the true heir of the Fire Nation, "Zuko". He said those words when he compared his life of strife where each stage is a test of worth, to the easygoing one his sister 'Azula' had. Where their father's favor came easy, even her powers seemed effortless.

I felt those words, not necessarily then. But years later, when I stumbled from the girl who had everything to one who had to labor as a slave for basic amenities.

And that brings me to another factor. The other reason why I no longer believe in God. A passage from his word says,

'The Lord is slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression, but he will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of fathers upon children, upon the third and upon the fourth generation.'

When I came across that passage, I asked myself, "why should someone innocent like me pay for the crimes my fool of a father committed?"

Why would a God who is said to be slow in anger and abounding in steadfast love punish an innocent child for the sins of her parents? It just doesn't make sense.

And why should I keep praying to such a God, particularly when it seems my life is a testament to those very words?

Honestly, I never saw my thoughts extending to such concepts, especially in a matter that simply involved being the bigger person.

I was still battling on what to do when, 49.....50, and the elevator screeched to a halt momentarily causing me to lose my balance. I found myself falling backwards towards the same man I was yet to decide if he deserved my apology.

A ring of pain quaved through me as I felt my head connect with the metal wall of the elevator.

I barely had time to curse the wall and the man who allowed such incident to happen when I heard that voice I was already beginning to hate,

"See you in a bit… Sofia"

He even had the effrontery to grin at me. The nerve.

And the way he said my name, like the syllables were filth in his tongue.

If this wasn't a sign, I don't know what else is. This man is a monster who doesn't deserve my apology.

"And I would sooner die than let my lips form such words", I mumbled as I stepped out of the elevator, still pressing a hand on the part of my head that throbbed.