73. Devil has Returned

“You did look quite striking in my shirt last night.”
His bold flirt catches me off guard, stirring something unexpected in me.
“Oh.. Then maybe you should lend me some more of your shirts, Mr. Black.” I suggest, hearing his laughter in the background.
“Haha! You can have my entire wardrobe, Miss Stone.” He offers generously.
“Liar! I have tried before and it’s always locked.” I complain, half-serious.
A brief pause hangs in the air, and all I hear is soft tappings of thumb, before Dakota finally says, “Unlocked.”
Curiously, I stride towards his room and when I twist the handle of his bedroom, the door swings open. His depressive room welcomes me and I couldn’t help but think out loud, “You must have hardly brought any girl to your bedroom.”
“Emara, you are the only girl I ever let in my house.” His voice deep and intense, with a hint of sincerity.
“Really?” I gasp, genuinely shocked, but quickly cover up my surprise. “I-I thought you must have dated many girls.” And casually comment, entering his walk-in closet.
A vast array of tailored suits occupies the main section, shades ranging from classic blacks, grays to deep blues and earthy browns, each in its own plastic cover to protect the fabric.
“Hmm..” Dakota hums, almost sadly. “But none of them stayed more than a month.”
“Why?” The question escapes my lips as I look through his collection of shirts, organised by colours moving from whites to light pastels and then to the darker shades to blacks.
“Well.. Those girls couldn’t handle my contradicting behaviour and unstable mood swings. They complained about my fluctuating temper, calling me a bipolar bitch. One even accused me of manhandling her on the road, said I pushed her off, which I swear I never did. Then there was another one who called me psycho-face.”
I couldn’t help but wrestle to suppress my laughter, completely relating to those girls.
“I never understood why she called me that.. I mean, sure, my behaviour can be a bit erratic at times, but what is a psycho-face?” Dakota asks in the most perplexed way, as if a mystery of his life he still couldn’t solve.
I fight a chortle in my throat, while his confused tone on the top makes it even funnier.
“Woah! You are enjoying my misery, aren’t you?” Dakota comments, catching on.
“No. I am not.” I struggle to keep my tone serious, but end up giggling as the image of his psychotic face dances in my head.
“Yes, you are.” He says in a dead tone. “I can hear your laughs.”
Unable to hold back any longer, I burst into laughter, holding my stomach. “I am so sorry.. It’s just.. I have this disorder of laughing at weird moments.. I really didn’t mean it.”
My chuckles of laughter spill out uncontrollably while I hear him sigh deeply, and I know he must be rolling his eyes at me.
“God! You are the weirdest girl I have ever met.” Dakota whispers, with a hint of amusement in his tone, and suddenly his voice takes on a serious note.
“Okay, listen.. I have a meeting, and I called to let you know that Charlie will pick you up at 5. You will get ready at Antonio’s, and then we will head to the event at 7. Got it?” He says with an authoritative edge in his tone.
“Um.. Antonio?” I raise my doubt.
“The place we went shopping yesterday.” He reminds me.
“Oh..Okay. Got it.” I confirm, trying to sound as professional as he does.
“Good. I’ll see you at 7 then.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you too at 7.” I retort, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through me.
I hear a hint of a smile in his voice as he softly says, “Bye, Ms. Stone.”
“Bye, Mr. Black.” I whisper, just before the call ends.
A smile surfaces on my face, and I don’t even know why I am I smiling. I shake my head and curiously checkout the new space, which he has always kept locked.
It feels like he has opened a hidden door of his life for me and allowing me to see the real him. Not what the media shows. The *real* Dakota Black.
I run my fingers through his shirts, feeling the fine quality of cotton and silk blend that speaks volumes about his taste.
It’s clear that Dakota is a man of class who values his appearance and someone who is always ready to step out in style.
In the corner, I notice an impressive collection of designer shoes. At least twenty expensive pairs lay out, almost in a teasing way. Leather, Italian boots, loafers, handcrafted oxfords and remaining are running shoes.
A Scorpio part of me wants to grab one shoe from each pair and laugh evilly while I toss them at Hades and Zeus.
But then, psycho part of Dakota will surely keep me caged here forever in his haunted castle with his scary personality.
*Plus, he has been not too bad these days!*
I open one of the top drawers to find silk ties along with cufflinks, tie-pins, pocket squares, all arranged meticulously, and in another drawer I find purses, and a collection of exotic perfumes and colognes, smelling just like him.
Other top drawers contain his briefs, handkerchiefs and socks, all organised accurately.
Opening the lower drawer, I spot an old leather jacket carefully wrapped in soft papers. It appears worn out, with its leather breaking apart from the collar and wrist areas. Dakota must cherish it deeply to have kept it in such a state with care.
Beneath the jacket, a collection of chains, pocket knives, and knuckle metals lies hidden, hiding beneath the jacket, hinting a darker side of him.
I close the drawer and I move to another lower drawer, finding crayon drawings of robots, cars, space shuttles and planets, he probably made as a child.
Birthday and Christmas cards, maybe from someone special, a broken red colour spider-man watch, movie tickets of Star Wars, and lots of certificates he won in running, high jump, boxing.
I notice how on all these certificates, only his name is written.. *Dakota*. Without any last name.
It makes me wonder.. Is *Black* really his last name?
*It sounds more like a name of his alter personality!*
Digging deeper, I discover more personal items: Mails from Washington university, letters of admission and scholarships. A confidential envelope catches my eye, and I curiously open it to find an offer letter from Tesla.
My heart sinks and I feel a pang of sadness, thinking how much it meant to him, almost like a dream come true, that he has still kept it safely.
Several photographs slide down from the same envelope, drawing my attention. I pick one of them and see a group of young children sitting together, what looks like a class picture.
I grab another photo and see a small child cleaning a car. He has dark hair, and a smile so happy, so innocent yet familiar looking, which almost melts my heart.
*Dakota looked so adorably cute in his childhood!*
Another picture shows the same boy playing in the sand alongside a little girl with two ponytails. They look cheerful, while blissfully smiling in the camera, almost like childhood friends. Maybe from his orphanage.
Curiously, I pick another photo of that same boy and girl, but this time with a man in suit and a woman in an elegant dress, standing in front of what looks like a grand three-storey home, almost like a mansion.
In one glance it appears like a family photo, which only deepens my confuses..
Didn’t Dakota say he was abandoned by his parents and raised in an orphanage?
But these photos paint a different picture, suggesting a presence of a family in his life, perhaps even a sister.
I stare at the picture and suddenly, my gaze falls on the nameplate of the mansion behind, and my eyes widen in shock as I read- *Damison Dwelling.*
A chill runs down my spine as I realize it’s not Dakota in the pictures, but..
My eyes surf back to the picture of the small boy cleaning the car. It has dark hair, and dark eyes, just like him.
It’s not Dakota.. *It’s Ryan!*
A gasp leaves my lips and I look through the other photo, taking in the striking resemblance between the two young kids playing in the sand.
It’s unmistakably Ryan and Rose!
*I almost thought he was Dakota.*
But why? Why would Dakota have these pictures of Ryan?
That too carefully preserved in an envelope, like a precious memory!
I bite my lips anxiously, feeling a whirlwind of questions in my head, wondering if Dakota already knew Ryan from his childhood? Or he just kept these pictures as a token of friendship?
But why to even bother keeping it? Especially of someone like Ryan!
I look up and my eyes meet with the little camera in the corner. Shit! I place the pictures safely back in the envelope and close the drawer, with my heart racing and mind racing even faster.
I thought I solved Dakota’s mystery, only to know it was just the tip of the iceberg.