Chapter 14

**James POV**

***A few hours ago, that Saturday morning***

James was lounging in his study room, his notes scattered on his desk, which is a very rare occurrence for him as he likes his stuff to be organised. He could blame his disorder on his deep thoughts. For some reason, his mind is unsettled as of late. He has an apartment in the main part of the city where he stays during weekdays. On weekends, he visits this house. A house that would be his sanctum once he retires. That's what he thought when he made arrangements to build this. Now... it's just a house.

He owns many places all over the world. But they are all houses, not home. Where is home? He built this house with that thought in mind. So that it would become his home until that dream crashed. Crashed, burned, and turned to ashes. Just like him. Only he is the Phoenix that rose from it. Alone. Drifting through life. His ambiance was disturbed when someone knocked on his door.

'Agatha, how many times shall I remind you no need of knocking the door?', James said as a way of salutation.

Agatha entered with a cup of coffee holding in her hand which she then placed on the table.

'I was accustomed to it, Mr. McKenzie. Here is your coffee just as you prefer it', Agatha responded to his earlier query evasively.

'Again, how many times shall I remind you to call me James, Agatha? I must have to sack you if you disobey my orders', James said smilingly at Agatha. He rarely smiles at anyone. Though, when he does his whole face transforms making him handsome to breathtaking. Very few in his life get the chance to look at his smile. Agatha is one of them. Agatha is his housekeeper. She used to work for his parents first, but he took her with him when he became an adult and built this home.

'It's not my position to call you such, Mr. McKenzie', Agatha said, completely ignoring his threat.

'You know you have the utmost right than any other in my life, Agatha. So, stop being subservient', James chastised her. ' Have I asked you for coffee? I must be lost in thoughts to forget about it', James questioned as he reached his cup.

'You didn't, Mr. McKenzie. It's...your mother is here', Agatha replied to his unsaid question.

'Oh...it's already that time of the month then? Very well. You know me so well Agatha. I believe I may need that coffee after all. Ask her to wait in the main hall. I may be a few minutes late', James said all the joviality gone from his voice. His tone is cold and hard, he uses it in his office. One weekend...he rarely has his weekend free. He wanted to throw the cup across the room. He wished to shatter something or punch someone. But he won't do it. Because SHE won't get to hear that he is disturbed by this, she doesn't deserve it.

*Twenty-Eight years ago*

'Agatha!! Agatha!! It's hurting. Please do something about it. Please! I want mommy Agatha. Where is she? Mommy! Mommy!! James shouted through the corridors as he rushed to find his mom.

He raced through the stairs as he clutched his burned hand to his chest.

'Young master, please. Let me help you. James! the hand must be looked at. You need medical attention. Please, James, come back. Let me see it', Agatha ran behind James as she held the medical kit in her hands. Worry lined her face as tears were falling from her eyes. She tried to match up with the seven-year-old boy who was chasing for his mom before he could find her. 'No! That boy needs to believe he is in a happy family. God couldn't be cruel to tear his innocence yet such young age', thought Agatha.

As loud the screams came, it all stopped suddenly. Leaving a silence so dark it may as well come from the abyss. 'No!! Why god? He was just a kid. I need to save him from his mother', Agatha mumbled to herself as she saw little James standing still as a statue at the door that led to his parent's room.

'Oh god!', Agatha clapped her at her heart, fearing for this boy.

'Mommy? I got hurt, mommy. Who is this? What- 'James tried to question his doubts but Agatha snatched the boy from there careful of his burned hand. She walked faster than she ever did, though she wished she could run and reached the kitchen at the exact time there was a banging sound coming from the direction they left.

'Oh no! Sweet Jesus! Please Lord, help this child', Agatha started praying as she hurriedly applied the ointment to his burns. She wished she could clean it properly and treat his hand, but there was no time.

Perla McKenzie stood at the kitchen door with an angry countenance marring her face. Her fists clenched; she was in a silk nightgown with one strap slightly slipping past her shoulder on which she had a matching silk robe that was left untied. Perla prowled towards James, her eyes livid throwing daggers at him.

'Mrs. McKenzie, I apologise for the slip-up. It will never happen again. I'm sorry miss. It's my fault miss', Agatha pleaded to shield little James from his mother.

'Move out of my way Agatha. I will tell you only once', Perla snarled at her, forcefully pushed her out of the door amidst Agatha's protests, and locked it.

'Mo... mommy...it's- ', the little boy saw the anger radiating from his mother and stopped his protest of pain. He must have realised that his mom is not concerned about his pain but he is confused. Why wouldn't she? Agatha works for them and she cried when she saw his hand. Why wouldn't his mother don't even look at his hand?

He never realised until that moment that his mommy was always busy for him. She was never there for his school activities or when he was eating or reading stories or playing. Never...like his daddy. And in his innocence, he believed mommy was somewhere in the house and she would be joining him in a moment; just as Agatha replies every time.

He knew his father doesn't care about him, doesn't love him. Because he said so himself. But he thought his mom would understand. His mom will be there for him. Maybe she was really really busy and she got angry because he disturbed her, James thought to himself. Before he could apologize, however, Perla grabbed his arms and asked, 'what did you see?'

'What? What??' James stammered, confused with his mother's behaviour. This is the first time he is seeing her like that. In fact, this is the first time she gave him her undivided attention.

'I won't ask you again boy, what did you see?'

'I...I saw... you...and that man...on the bed. Who is he, mommy?', James asked.

Perla dropped her hands from his arms and took his hand that was burned delicately as if it's a flower.

'What happened?', she asked looking at his hand.

James feeling confident and chastising himself for being silly, answered her, 'I was hungry, mommy. Agatha was ...Agatha was cooling the milk. She was taking ages to cool it down. I thought...I thought I could drink the milk the way it is just like the grown ups do. I tried to snatch it from Agatha, but she got surprised', James cried as he related his story, 'and the milk slipped from her hands. It spilled on my hand mommy. It hurts mommy', James sobbed, looking for assurance from his mommy.

'Does it? How about now?', Perla started applying pressure on the hand.

'What are you doing? It's hurting. Mommy!!'

'What did you see James?'

'You and that man-...mommy! Please, it's hurting. Stop it. Please mommy', James tried to pull his hand away.

'I said, what did you see?', Perla nearly shouted with vehemence.

'I...I...', James not knowing what to answer her cried harder.

'Yes... you didn't see anything. Right James?'

'Yes... yes...please stop. Please. I won't do it again. I won't ask you again. Please, stop it. I'm sorry', James wailed.

Perla squeezed harder for a minute, just to prove a point, and released his hand. James cradled his hand to his chest and sat still in fear of his mother's wrath.

'I do so much for you, yet you cry. You ungrateful child!' Perla said cynically as she glanced at her son.

That was the moment when James stopped calling her 'mommy'. In fact, he stopped calling her at all. She is Perla to him. A woman who has the same DNA as his.

Once Perla left, Agatha came crashing into the kitchen. Looking at the way he is holding his hand, Agatha cried, 'oh! You poor poor boy. Oh lord, please help me keep this boy safe. Oh, James, why do you have to run so fast! I'm sorry son. I'm really sorry. I couldn't protect you. But Agatha promises you this-I will not leave you alone with your parents. Ever. Come, boy, let's take a look at your hand', Agatha cried silently as she made the promise to this innocent boy.