THIRTY-SEVEN

His therapist? Alexander had a therapist? What for?

She hadn’t known Alexander had a therapist; she had been his secretary for so long yet she hadn’t known of his sessions with a Dr. Richelle Milan. The ladies at the salon had also mention that it would have been strange for a man like him to not have any demons.

“Demons? What demon?” She had asked them.

Again, they had exchanged knowing glances with one another before Emily had replied;

“He never speaks about his past, rumors have it that it’s took dark to speak of. Are you even his secretary at all? You know little to nothing about him.”

And here she was, sitting lying in bed staring blankly at nothing in particular while thinking deeply about what had been said earlier. Indeed, Alexander never spoke about his past, not even when she would speak bitterly about hers. He never spoke about himself at all, she could never tell what he was thinking or what he was going through; she indeed knew little to nothing about him.

She snapped out of her thoughts when her phone buzzed softly from the nightstand, she blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes which were almost sore from having stared into space for so long. She reached out and picked up the device to find Alexander’s name displayed on the screen, she tapped on the answer icon and raised the phone to her ear.

“Good evening.” She greeted quietly.

She had tried calling him earlier to let him know that her new car had arrived but he hadn’t answered, she assumed he was busy and would call her back when he was free.

“Good evening, Yalda, how are you doing?” He responded.

“I’m good, thank you”.

“I missed your call; I was occupied earlier.” He told her.

She nodded though he couldn’t see her.

“The car arrived.” She told him. “Thank you.”

“Is it to your liking?”

She nodded once more.

“Yes, it is. Thank you.” She replied.

“Good. How are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?” He asked her.

After going to the salon and getting her hair done, she realized that she was feeling a little lightheaded and more exhausted than normal.

“Just a bit of lightheadedness.” She told him.
“Have you been taking you meds?” He asked.

“I have.”

“Alright then. You need to get some rest. I’ll see you at the soiree tomorrow.” He said.

She shook her head quickly; she didn’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Wait…” She said before she could stop herself.

What she had learnt about him today had made her rather uneasy, she wished there was a way for her to ask him about it without coming off as bold or inquisitive.

“Is there a problem?” He asked her.

She forced down a lump that had formed in her throat before responding;

“What….what about Zayn?”

She had only just thought about Zayn; there was absolutely no way she could ask him about what she had heard today.

“Oh, he’s been released with a warning.” He told her. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

She nodded once more though he couldn’t see her.

“Thank you.” She said quietly.

He had after all done it for her.

“It’s no problem at all. Goodnight Yalda.” He replied.

She knew he was about to hang up and she spoke quickly before she could stop herself.

“For how long have you lived in your penthouse?” She blurted.

She had wanted to ask him about his family house since Jaxon mention his; she had been so very curious about it but there just hadn’t been time. She could almost imagine him arcing his brow from her question.

“For as long as I can remember. Why?”. He asked her.

She cleared her throat quietly, awkwardly.

“I…was just curious. Do you ever go to your family house?” Her voice had lowered considerably and she wasn’t sure he could even hear her.

A moment of silence stretched between them, all the while her heart pounded heavily against her chest as she anxiously awaited his response.

“No, I don’t.” He replied at last.

His response confirmed that he indeed had a family house but just never visited or spoke of it.

“Why?” she asked him quietly.

She was obviously prying but she couldn’t help it. Her curiosity was killing her. Something about the whole thing didn’t sit well with her and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Yalda, I’m afraid I’m in no mood for small talks.” He said, his one left no room for arguments. “Goodnight.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond before he hung up.

She lay there staring blankly for a moment while thinking of what to do next, and then it clicked; she was going to look him up. He was an influential man, there had to be something about his past online. Lowering the phone from her ear, she tapped on the screen quickly to open a search bar in which she typed in his name.

Her heart thumped heavily against her chest as she waited for the results to show. And it wasn’t long before his pictures were displayed on her screen along with his Biography on Wikipedia, she read through it quickly, mostly skipping his business accomplishments. And toward the end of the article, she realized that there wasn’t much to see, at least nothing that she didn’t already know.

She decided to search his dad’s name instead, she typed in his name quickly; Gabriel Monroe. And again, it wasn’t long before his pictures were displayed; Alexander was a spitting image of his father. The fact that all the pictures of Gabriel Monroe displayed were pictures of him when he was young told her that he must have died young. To confirm her suspicion, she tapped on his biography and his birthday was displayed along with the day he died.

He had been thirty-four years when he had passed away. She scrolled through his biography quickly; read through his life as a successful business man and all, and towards the end it was said that he had died along with his wife in a house fire. Her eyes widened in horror as she continued to read; Alexander had been saved before the fire escalated and the house had been burnt down completely.

She felt her heart break and her eyes well up with tears on seeing pictures of a completely burn house; all a family’s legacy completely charred. That was enough reason for Alexander to never talk about his past; like her, he had lost his parents tragically, like her, he had a past too dark to talk about.

She didn’t want to think about what he had been through; it had been said that he had been just seven when it happened; she didn’t want to think of how traumatized he must have been. It was obviously why he needed a therapist. It ached her even more that he didn’t see her as someone he could talk to, someone he could confide in.

Her brow arched slightly on noticing the profile of a ‘Nadia Joseph’ displayed beside ‘Lana Monroe’, she tapped on it and she couldn’t help but squint to get a better look at the beautiful lady who happened to look a lot like….her.