I have always loved the city. The sights. The buildings. The people. It's always an entrancing sight, but not so much as the cab sped past them.

The tall buildings that I have to cran my neck to see. The shops with lights like a Christmas tree. The arts on the buildings and streets. The graffiti. The wares displayed over glass panes. The antique stores with souvenirs from the past. The jewels that gleamed in the morning light on glass shelves.

People walking their dogs and cats. Those chatting in front of restaurants and coffee shops. The queue in front of the famous La Doux Bakery and their peculiar smell drifted in the air. Beggars and the homeless asking for alms. Teachers and students running late. Even my favorite game of checking and judging styles and fashion of passersby, felt dull.

My mind was too reeled by hate and anger to care about anything else.

"Why do people think that because they are rich, they are more than human? Like their wealth offers a superpower and a level higher than people like me? And must they always be assholes without a shred of humanity?"

Questions kept charging through my mind. Again and again, building up my rage. I hated Alicia and her daughters. I hated the blond fool I met minutes ago and I hated the man who I once called father, the woman who loved him and I hated life.

It felt like all those anger and rage I had suppressed in the past were now building and rising to the surface.

There are people born with anger issues. Inherently, it's in them and there are those whose life and experiences turn them into a boiling lava waiting to erupt. And I fear mine was almost about to erupt.

I tasted tears. Salty against my sugary lipstick. Why was I even crying? Why is my life so messed up? Why can't I ever be happy? Why must life be cruel to me and why can't people just be people?

"Young lady, are you alright?" The middle aged driver asked.

"Great! Now I have to contend with pity." I muttered.

"What was that?" The man asked, his eyes were kind and the color of the sky on a sunny morning like this.

Sniffing back my tears, I snapped, "I said I'm fine, just keep your eyes on the road and get me to where I'm heading. Gosh, can't someone have a moment of privacy?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be all up in your business. It's just that I hate seeing people in tears. It does something to me" he replied, his eyes glinting with kindness and something that came close to tears.

"Oh God. Have I become an asshole myself? Have I become the same people I hate?" The questions echoed through my mind in waves of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be harsh. Life just hasn't been fair, this morning most of all" I apologized.

"Oh you don't have to apologize, I totally understand. The truth is that life never is. Even those you think theirs are perfect, are also dealt with blows from life."

"I doubt that. If it's so, then they won't be such assholes"

The man smiled. From the rear mirror, I noticed he looked younger when he smiled.

"My dear" he said, "rich or poor. Male or female. White or black. Life deals with each of us in its own way. And we react to it in our own way, some cry, no offense–"

"None taken" I quickly responded, wiping my eyes.

His smile stretched more as he continued, "Others rage about it, some even kill themselves when the blow is too much to bear and there are some who respond by being 'assholes'. But me, I pray about it. Plaster a smile on my face and keep going. And I advise you to do the same."

I could tell that he really meant that last part. His demeanor and smile spoke volumes of his kindness, and how much he wanted to share it with anyone he came in contact with.

But I didn't believe in God or that there's anyone up there who answered prayers. If there was, certainly my circumstances would have been different or changed by now.

I once believed when my life had been a bubble. We were happy and life had been kind then. We went to church every Sunday and prayed every night. Even the man who I once called 'dad' participated in these activities. I remember he used to be diligent and so loving. Everyone at our local church loved him. But I guess all that was a lie.

But if there had been a God, he deserted us that fateful night as we watched the news. And I remember how fervently I prayed for everything to be fine, for my mom to be released, even my dad. I was eight then and I didn't hate him as much as I do now.

I even prayed for Alicia to be kind, to treat me like I was a human just like her. And I know, it's stupid, but I remember also praying for a fairy godmother, anyone or anything that would save me from the cruelty I faced just like my favorite Disney princess, Cinderella.

But as I grew, without any of these prayers answered. I succumbed to reality and shunned away fantasies, gods and beliefs. Waiting to be saved was something that happened in books and fairytales and my life was either.

I don't really remember the particular age when I became resolved to change my own fate. But I think it was after three years of laboring, surviving on crumbs and going to bed late. With each day worse than the last, I decided to stop wasting my strength and energy on wishes and prayers. I accepted my fate, went about my activities, groomed myself and I know one day, I will change my fate. Starting with securing this job, no matter what it takes… if I haven't missed it entirely.

"Thanks for your advice" I said when I realized the man was waiting for a response.

"Happy to help, and by the way, I'm Gary"

"Sofia," I answered.

"Nice to meet you, Sofia. I don't know what it is that prompted your tears or anger earlier, but I assure you, all will be fine. Just keep going, keep praying and with time, all will be well." He assured in that kind tone that can affect even the stoniest of hearts.

"Thank you once again. I'm immensely grateful" I forced myself to say in a voice I hope sounded optimistic.

It would be cruel to tell Gary that prayers were useless. That all he needed was to keep going and striving for better without believing or hoping that there's anyone up there, down below or anywhere helping. In the battle against life, I'm afraid we stand alone.

So, I just nodded when he waved off my thanks.

I rolled the glass all the way down, and allowed the morning breeze sweep my hair and face. I heard a chuckle of approval from Gary as he stepped on the gas.

My happiness was cut short as we made a turn straight into honking cars and shouting men.

"Great" I groaned as we joined the line of cars, honking to get across.

Five minutes after Gary made inquiries. We discovered that this wasn't ordinary traffic, two men had blocked the road. Apparently, one of them clashed into the other and he was too stubborn to accept his mistake.

And the victim was also too stubborn to let go. Two stubborn hotheads, refusing to back down. The situation had gotten so bad that they had punctured each other's tires, meaning that the only way any of the cars were leaving was with a towing van and the closest towing company was on the other side of town.

In essence, I wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Amidst the horns and traffic, the sirens of a cop car blared. But even with their involvement, they only managed to get the men to stop yelling. Little help they could do to get the cars out of the way. Only the towing van which would take more than 30 minutes to get here could help and I would be damned if I wait.

After trying for the dozenth time to convince Gary to take his fee, all to no avail. I dashed out of there.

Helen was Chad's mother. She was overbearing and we tried to avoid her as much as we could. She believed in love as well, and she always gave us an earful whenever we ran into her.

I remember how ecstatic she had been when Chad fell in love with Zara. Rumor even has it that she was secretly planning a wedding before the break up. And since then we have avoided her.

The joke about Aaron dealing with her vanished as soon as the elevator started descending.

I was once again overwhelmed by the duties that were waiting for me. I still had to interview over 20 applicants. And by 2pm, I had a board meeting scheduled. A board meeting that will undeniably leave me weary. Dealing with the Elders was always a draining experience and I can't deal with any of these events with my current state of mind.

The urge to get high came once more, and I pushed it away. As much as I could handle it, but I doubt I would stop at the required dose. With how stressed I am, I fear I might allow myself to drift into oblivion.

The Elders have been looking for something to hold on to. Anything to prove that I was unworthy of being the CEO of the Wellington Empire. And I hated those pricks enough that I would never give them a reason or an incentive to foster their suspicions.

Suffice to say, smoking was not an option. I need not only be clear headed for my interview and meeting, but relaxed as well.

And there's only one activity that could help me with that. Even before I discovered this fact, I have always known about how climax or release can leave one in a relaxed and contented state. Especially after I first tried it when I was just twelve.

But I'm not talking about masturbating, at least not by myself. Why would I go through the stress of doing that, when there are a myriad of girls and ladies who perform magic with their tongues?

I NEED YOU AT FALLING STARS HOTEL, ASAP.

I read the text again and decided that 'need' was kinda a strong word. In fact, the whole thing reeked of desperation and I truly can't have the bitch thinking that Richard Wellington needed her.

Deleting the whole thing. I typed;

GET YOUR ASS TO FALLING STARS HOTEL NOW!

Beaming at how like me the second text sounded, I tapped on the send button.

In less than 5 seconds, I got a reply.

ALREADY ON MY WAY. BE THERE IN TEN.

As Lanke and I exited the elevator, I ordered him to get me a room and wait in the car afterwards.

Normally, Falling Stars Hotel was always occupied, with a wait-list if any room was vacant. But when your last name is Wellington, nothing is impossible.

"Right this way, Sir" the petite staff said, failing to hide the surprise on her face, as she tried not to stare too hard.

I followed her a bit hastily for fear of running into Lindsey again, through the gold carved door on the left side of the lobby. It opened to a gold painted hallway with marble floors of the same hue. Doors lined both sides of the hall and she led me to the one with the tag 'GX7', handing me the key card, she squeaked,

"I hope the comfort of our Gold Express Room is to your satisfaction, Mr Wellington!"

Tossing her minted notes of $100, I said as she scrambled for the notes,

"That's for your silence and stealthiness in bringing my guest here"

"Kind and charming. Exactly how I pictured you would be." she beamed.

Had I not been in a disheveled state already, I would've gotten her ass fired. Just to show her that I wasn't any of those things. I hated my name in the same sentence as kind, I love being feared and I don't care how cruel and odd that sounds.

"I doubt you would still think that when I make sure you're not only fired, but no place would ever hire you again, if a whiff of any of these crosses those doors." I intoned. My voice, extra harsh.

A wicked satisfied grin stretched my face, as I felt her tense and her smile disappeared. Raising an eyebrow when she didn't offer a response, she stuttered,

"My… I'm sorry – my lips are sealed… Sir" she demonstrated by imitating zipping her lips.

"Good. Now get out of my sight"

She didn't have to be told twice. If not for the sake of disturbing customers behind those doors, I know she would've run out instead.

I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a jot of satisfaction as I watched her scurry out of the hall, without even offering me another glance.

I have occasionally been to the Falling Stars Hotel, but I have never been to this part of it. But there again, I have never lounged in the hotel.

Sliding the key card, I was impressed by the sight that welcomed me. And I'm rarely impressed.

The lavish suite was designed to resemble a luxurious train car, hence the name, with rich, velvety gold accents and dark wood paneling that evoked the opulence of a bygone era. Plush, cream-colored furnishings and lavish textiles adorned the spacious room, complete with a sprawling king-size bed, a lavish living area, and a sleek, marble-lined bathroom.

As I walked in, I was greeted by a stunning gold-leaf ceiling and a breathtaking chandelier, casting a warm, golden glow throughout the room. The walls were adorned with exquisite artwork and ornate mirrors, that added to the sense of grandeur. Every detail, from the crystal glassware to the 24-karat gold fixtures, exuded refinement and glamor.

It even boasted of a balcony. On the left side of the room was a glass door curtained by gold embroidered flowy silks. On the lintel, written in gold cursive writing was "Pièce de Résistance".

Cool morning breeze swept at me as I threw the glass doors ajar. Standing on marble floors just like those in the hallway, I was offered a breathtaking view of the city from such a low angle, and the bustle and hustle of traffic were surprisingly muffled.

Seven minutes later, as I sat on the extra soft king-sized bed, sipping a cup of whiskey. A chime like the tooting of a train, but somehow melodic and less noisy, rang through the room.

I walked to the door and there was my guest, Cassie Sams.

Cassie was the girl I met in Australia. I had gone for the commissioning of our Sydney branch. I met her at the Sydney Opera House. I had been bored at the number being played, and my date, Erica Wood, couldn't care less. She was so enraptured by the concert that I ached to punch the admiration off her face.

Cassie Sams sat behind us, and she noticed my frustration. I remember her intoxicating rosy perfume, as she leaned in and whispered to my ear.

"I couldn't help, but notice that you are finding this less enjoyable as I am. Why don't you meet me outside in five, and we can do something about the boredom."

I have always loved girls who were observant, wild and unafraid. I love taming them, so five minutes after she left, I pecked Erica who hardly noticed and left.

I wasn't surprised when I realized seconds later that Cassie knew who I was. So she had modeled for one of our collections three years ago.

Neither did I protest when she led me towards the Green room. It was void of performers and there she gave me the best blowjob I've ever had.

Ever since that moment which really hasn't been that long, just a few months ago. I have kept the angelic opera singer close, treating her to luxury so that she would always be available at my beck and call.

We've fucked a couple times, but I mostly keep her for the wonders she could do with her tongue and mouth. Maybe the magic was because she's an opera singer, but those red lips were a ticket to heavenly bliss.

Basking under the glow of the gold lights and surroundings, her blond curls shone like pure gold, her skin glowed and her jade eyes sparkled.

Even in something as simple as black Nike hoodie, blue high waist jean shorts, and white sneaks, she was beautiful.

Her choice of attire showed that she had come directly from wherever she had been and its simplicity offered discretion. Even if we exited at the same time, no one would believe the gentleman in suit was ever with such a simple girl.

"Hello handsome" she said, by way of greeting in that singsong voice of hers, as I led her inside.

"I was a bit surprised by your text. It sounded urgent so I didn't bother going back to my hotel room to change. So, what do you need this time?" She pruned tugging at her hoodie.

I liked the fact that she understood what we had, or should I say what I kept her for. Many with a promising career like her would find it wrength to be in the service of a man. But I'm not any man, I am Richard fucking Wellington and it's an honor to be in my servitude.

"What you are wearing is fine, I like it. It's simple and sly." I said draining my glass to dregs in one gulp. "Stop, you don't need to take it off, I don't intend for our meeting to last long. I just need your mouth"

"Where?" She asked as she stalked towards me, licking her lips.

Already feeling the effects of her gaze and words, I sat back on the bed, propping myself with my arms and huskily murmured,

"You know exactly where"

With a lot of restraint, I watched her take off her hoodie revealing red swollen cleavage threatening to burst out of her black lacy bra. Then slowly she squatted between my spread legs, unbuckled my Armani brown belt, lazily pulled my pants inches below revealing a rod eager to be free from the white Calvin Klein brief.

I felt myself tense as she ran her tongue again and again on the bulge. The wetness, making my rod almost transparent.

She was aware of the effect she had on me and she reveled in it. It was part of our agreement to let her do as she pleased so long as I'm also pleased in the process. And she hated it when my hands tried to aid.

"Not for long" I thought as she slowly pulled my brief, freeing the beast.

"Fuck yeah" The words escaped my lips as she caressed my tip with her tongue. Round and round she went, a playful glint on her eyes.

I bit on my lower lip as another moan almost escaped my lips. My fingers gripped the duvet as she tickled my dick hole with her tongue.

Already I was quivering with desire. Something was building in me, as she teased and tickled. And she was yet to begin.

Throwing my head back, I yelled "Fuck!" as she finally took me whole.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

She went, her mouth and tongue bringing me ever closer to finish.

"Faster! Faster!" I called.

Her right hand closed around my shaft, stroking and thrusting it into her mouth in swift motions.

I was close. I could feel it. "Go–" and she stopped. My supposed release screeched to a halt. And "God!", as I wanted to yell, died on my lips in mid pronunciation.

I opened my eyes to find her smiling, as she tickled my balls.

"Why the hell did you stop?! Couldn't you fucking tell that I was close?"

"But I wasn't and besides, blue balls before a release makes it worth so much more. Don't ask me how I know, just trust me" and she took me again slurping slower this time.

I was beyond pissed. Apparently, she seemed to have taken my familiarity for granted. What gave her the right to stop when I didn't tell her?

It dawned on me that the line between casual and what she wanted, has blurred. As if on cue, I remembered Chad and the state he was reduced to by a girl.

As my anger simmered, my hands flew to head, sinking into the soft gold curls and I pounded into her mouth.

Drool oozed from her mouth as I thrust faster and faster. She coughed again and again, turning deep red as I felt my shaft ridge the edge of her throat. But I didn't stop, she had to be taught a lesson. She had to be reminded of her place.

Her folded palms frantically pounded on my laps, and I never gave her the chance to form words.

Just as I felt her slipping away to unconsciousness, I came with enough force that I flooded her mouth and every muscle in my body, tautened.

My pits itched. Sweat drenched it and certain parts of my body. My sides burned.

I have been running. Ever since I left Gary and now I must wade through these herd of onlookers.

"Sorry. Pardon me. Coming through" I kept saying as I tried to push my way through the packed crowd.

"Girl!, you better not step on my sneaks. They're limited edition" a girl said as I pushed past her.

"Sorry" I called, not bothering to look back. In truth, I wanted to retort "If they are, then why don't you move them out of the way" cause clearly she didn't deserve an apology. She was one of those people 'Live' on PipPop.

PipPop was an app that allowed people to go 'Live' in situations like the one before me. In doing so, they kept people informed of what's happening at the present. Those watching then comment and react.

The app also allowed uploading of videos and clips which can also be reacted or commented on.

"You are a prick!" The man in blue overalls shouted.

"Your brokenness is your problem. Better quit this waste of time for a job you have. I can even help you with one if you can put your pride aside" The other man in polo and jeans called back.

I had wanted to move through the crowd, and I did, but somehow I had managed to get in front of the situation.

Inches from where I was, the yellow and black "DO NOT CROSS" tapes of cops marked the crime scene. Beyond the tapes, the men were restrained by two hunks of cops. But apparently, they couldn't do much about the curses they hauled at each other.

"Privileged prick! How can someone like you give me a job when at this time of the day, you are drunk and high already? Looking at you, I can already tell that you've never worked a day in your life, so leave me to waste my time, but at least I don't go around crashing into others and denying responsibility." The man in overalls retorted.

On the left side of his overalls was a gold and blue threaded embroidery of a man carrying a box with the words just below the silhouette.

"RealTime Delivery Services

(Keeping deliveries real and quick)"

A white van with the same logo in blue and gold blocked the road with all four of its tires punctured. And just a few inches from the taillight was a dent. The silver gray Porsche blocked by the van wasn't looking so nice either. All four of its tires were punctured too and the fender looked like something that received a Superman punch.

"Maybe if your folks had worked as hard as you are working now, then you wouldn't have to be broke."

"Asshole, how dare you drag my parents into this!" the man in overalls yelled, trying to break free from the arms holding him in place.

I doubt he would do much with the cuffs on his hands, but I could be wrong. The anger that reddened his face and the hate in his eyes really could give me a run for my money.

The rich prick, yeah, I certainly think he is a prick. He made to offer a retort, but a girl pushed past me and her words drowned out his.

"Oh Pan46, I totally agree with you, the delivery guy should be released. After all, it was the rich asshole who ran into him and tried to speed away. Can you believe people? Rosedan55, you get it. The rich can be real bitches. Hey, AnnaT66, don't come onto me, I just echoed a comment. You don't have to take it personal…"

It was the same girl on PipPop, and apparently she was really generating reactions and comments. Her phone screen was blowing up with thumbs up and different heart colored emojis.

"Hey, would you like to make a live comment?" she asked, tapping my shoulder.

I hated being thrown into the spotlight like that. Don't get me wrong, I reveled in attention, but not when it's sprung on me.

I watched an awkward me from her screen as she threw her arm across my shoulder.

"Em.. erm, what sup guys" I began.

"Definitely Sassy44, she's cute, but shy. Oh don't be rude, Terry18, you can't tell her to fuck off."

Different reactions colored her screen - red and purple devil emojis, red 'X', even clown emojis and most comments were hateful.

DD53

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

Gab31

"You are cute as hell when you are shy"

Fuck23

"Just say something or get the hell out of there!"

"You hear them girl, say something or bounce!" the girl practically yelled at my ear.

Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from them as possible, but knowing my generation. If I leave, I could trend as a coward for weeks, if not months. I may keep a low profile on my socials, but with my face, they would find me and troll me as long as they wanted.

After repeating "I can do this" several times in my mind, I squared my shoulders and spoke,

"Hello guys, you really have to give a girl a break. My life is crazy right about now"

"Heart" emojis reacted to my words.

"4Ever, thank you, but I believe I can get through it and thank you guys for your support. Anyways, yeah I totally agree, some rich folks can be real bitches. They are privileged pricks who think their wealth gives them an edge over others. I mean, why would someone crash into another and instead of apologizing, he tries to race away and wait, I hear he was as drunk and high as fuck when he did it. Should he even be driving on such state?, like seriously WHAT THE FUCK!"

I excused myself, embarrassed that I had allowed my anger to rise that much. It really didn't need much motivation, the situation with the blond guy earlier was all it needed. But not before seeing the girl's screen almost blinded by likes, emojis and comments.

"Heww! That girl really hate them rich folks. But can you blame her…" she was saying, before I walked beyond earshot.

I wasn't really proud or happy about some of the things I said, but I kinda felt lighter after that vent.

Still it doesn't make it right nor does the drive to document everything, to trend, which is slowly becoming a virus with my generation, right.

I have seen situations where two grown ass men or women are fighting, the kind where clothes are shredded and fatality holds a tier. But instead of people trying to separate them, they rather go 'Live' and generate comments and reactions.

Only after that, do they actually give a fuck about those fighting. And most times, a lot of damage has been done already.

I shoved through the crowd again, this time not even bothering to be polite or apologetic. Seconds later, it was all behind me, the screams, the raised phones, even journalists reporting the situation, little help that would do when more than twenty persons had been screening the event minutes before their arrival.

I stopped to button down my coat, hiding the lewd crop shirt I knotted below my midriffs and tied my belt.

The look was really not giving a fashion sense, but there wasn't a look Sofia Blake couldn't pull off. Tossing back my hair, I continued my dash.

Two more turns, and I screeched to a halt as the pencil architectural design skyscraper of the famous Wellington Empire loomed in front of me.

Set between shorter glass buildings with LED screens showing ads. Fashion ads, trending designer jewelries, tech, movies, shows and even recent news. In the very heart of the hub of New City, it cast a shadow of dominance and rayed the early morning light of the sun.

"My future here I come" I said with optimism as I approached the building.