Chapter 83: Why, Dylan?

< Shirley >
The rain was pattering hard against the window; the thunders louder than any bird could ever sing and the wind pushing harder than boat oars in the sea waves—such ominous weather it was.
I let out a deep sigh while waiting for Dylan to arrive. I was at my parents' house right now, to introduce my new boyfriend to them. My celebration party was postponed due to the unexpected thunderstorm as well. It was really sunny in the morning, how did it turn out like this?
It was around eight in the evening as I was helping my mom in the kitchen, occasionally glancing at the blurred window, hoping for the storm to die down.
Just then the calling bell rang up. My face lit up like a lightbulb as I sprinted towards the main entrance to open the door before any maid could do that.
As expected, it was my Dylie baby—I swear, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if he heard that from my mouth.
Dylan looked handsome and well-dressed as always with a shopping bag in one hand—probably gifts for my mom and dad. I was grinning gleefully until my eyes on his annoyed expression. "What's wrong?" I asked.
He looked up at me with a grumpy expression, his nose scrunched up. "Look down," he told me, and my eyes followed his gaze to his muddy shoes.
"How did you get mud on them?" I furrowed my eyes. Our house had a ceramic porch; he couldn't get it from there.
"I had gone to the headquarters and didn't realize my shoes got dirty there. Way to make a good first impression," he grumbled, and I chuckled.
I went near the shoe case and took out a good pair of shoes, which actually belonged to my brother. "Would this work?" I asked, putting the brown shoes in front of them.
"I don't like this color," Dylan complained.
"Let me tell you, my mom doesn't fancy dirty shoes." I put my hand on my hip, cocking my head to the side.
Dylan huffed and started taking off his mud-stained shoes. His blazer lifted up a little bit as he bent down, letting me catch a glimpse of the gun in his waistband, making me frown. "Why did you bring your gun? My parents aren't going to kill you, you know."
"I told you I was at the headquarters," he replied, while putting on the new pair of shoes, and tucked his gun properly.
I forwarded my hand and said, "Give it to me. It will be a problem if anyone sees it." I hadn't told my parents about Dylan being in the mafia. Rather they were just ecstatic that he was a successful person at such a young age; I couldn't take that happiness away from them, could I?
"I can't," Dylan replied curtly.
"Why not? Don't you trust me?" I wrinkled an eyebrow teasingly.
"I do. But I can't give it to you, not today," he whispered the last part to himself. I found it extremely strange but didn't question him, knowing he wouldn't answer.
I let out an exasperated sigh and lunged onto his arm, smiling at him. "Let's go inside."
Dylan smiled back reluctantly. I couldn't tell whether he was nervous or there was something else bothering him.
As we reached the living room, where my dad was reading a business magazine and my mom had just arrived there after finishing her work in the kitchen, I called out in order to grab their attention, "Mom, Dad." Once they looked up, I introduced, "Meet my boyfriend, Dylan. And Dylan, this is my mom, Hazel, and my dad, Liam."
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. It's a pleasure to have finally met you," Dylan greeted. I had a sudden urge to gag at his politeness.
Since when was Dylan that polite? Could he even act like that?
"Same here, Dylan. We are glad to have you over," Mom chirped, motioning for us to take a seat on the sofa.
"It has been a while, hasn't it, Dylan?" my dad said.
"Indeed, it has, Mr. Hamilton." Dylan smiled a very obvious fake smile.
I wondered how my dad knew Dylan already. But I guess they were both businessmen. I suppose they met each other somewhere along the way, at some party or get-together. And it seemed they didn't have a pretty sweet relationship, seeing Dylan's demeanor.
"Dylan, you don't have to be so formal. You can call us by our first names," Mom added, trying to lighten up the tension between the two.
"Sure, I am honored."
"Shirley has told us almost everything about you. I really want to thank you for helping her out in her career. If it wasn't for you, Shirley wouldn't even have qualified for the race. Thank you for putting so much effort into her," Mom told him.
"Please, you are embarrassing me. I did nothing of that sort. It was all her efforts," Dylan replied. "However, I must say, Shirley, must have gotten her determination from you and her dad, considering how successful you were in your career."
Dylan sure has some flattering skills.
In that way, my mom and Dylan chatted as if they were already besties. On the other hand, I noticed my dad was a little tense.
When it was around dinner time, Mom went to set up the table, although there were maids to do it; she just wanted to do everything with her own hand today. Dad went to receive an important call. I and Dylan were alone in the living room.
I was about to ask if he was having any problem here but he spoke up first, "Shirley, there is something I need to talk to you about."
Uneasiness spread through my body at those words—these words never meant any good.
"What is it?" I inquired.
Dylan handed me a cell phone and said, "It's about time you fulfill my work."
"What? Here? Right now?" I furrowed my brows in utter confusion.
Dylan nodded and continued, "The documents, you need to steal them from your own house. Follow the instructions written in the inbox of this phone. Be quick but safe."
I couldn't understand what was going on. All of a sudden, the lively air that was present was gone, replaced by an intense atmosphere. However, the look in his grey eyes scared me the most. There was that look of utter hatred and vengeance.
"What about you? Will you be okay here?" I questioned.
"I am going to be fine. You just go do your job. Be sure to follow the instructions. If you have any problem, text me through this phone."
I fidgeted a little bit, the eerie feeling tugging at my heart, and got up from the sofa, turning on the cell phone he gave me. As soon as my dad returned to the living room, I left for the job Dylan gave me.
When the phone lit up, I opened the inbox. There were a lot of texts there. I started following the instructions blindly.
As it said, I went to my dad's study and searched through the drawers of his desk to find a pair of keys before making my way to the garage. I entered the dark storeroom there and turned on the lights. The paint fumes and the pungent smell inside made me want to throw up. Ignoring that, I removed the carton boxes and drums piled up there, which eventually revealed a mini door.
I was shocked. I never knew there was a door behind those empty cartons instead of a wall. I unlocked the door with the key I had with me. It opened up to a staircase that led down. It was very dark, so I wasn't able to see anything. I was scared to go down there. What if there was a monster, waiting to devour me?
I looked back at the instructions, which said, "Turn on the flashlight," as if Dylan already knew I was gonna forget the existence of the flashlight. "Don't worry. There are no monsters or ghosts down there," it said.
I chuckled at how well he knew me. Even so, the eerie feeling in my chest never left me. I heard some scuffling coming from upstairs; Mom must have probably dropped something.
I went ahead, turning on the flashlight. My heart was pounding in my ribcage. I couldn't help but keep glancing at my sideways, in case there were skeletons.
You watch too many dramas, my subconscious taunted.
I finally reached a stable ground and flashed around the light. It was like a study room. There were a lot of books and files stacked up on a shelf and desk. Although there was a switchboard, I didn't turn it on because the instructions said so.
I started looking through the stacks of files in order to find the three documents.
I found the first one easily, which was a blue file with a stamp of 'D. Stratford' on it. Out of curiosity, I opened the file.
I gasped as I shuffled through the contents. It contained every piece of information about Dylan. I didn't know he had another name from his dad's side, and his mom's side was Lewiston. From his date of birth to his family and educational background was in that file. It also had his mafia shipment dates and the rankings of everyone in his gang, including Xavier and Riley.
"How did Dad get such information on Dylan? Why does it have all these?" I muttered, completely shook by the brazen situation I was in. I was stealing in my own house, at a place where I never knew existed. I absolutely needed to have a conversation with my dad.
I kept the raging thoughts aside and continued looking for the rest files. The next one was a red file. It was all the data about Xander Lewiston, Dylan's father. There were some contract papers in it. I was about to read it when I heard some loud shuffling coming from upstairs, probably from the living room above.
"How many things are Mom going to drop tonight?" I wondered and closed the file without reading the contract and continued searching for the third black file. It was the hardest to find. Even so, I managed to find it.
'Confidential' was written on top of it in bold letters. I was about to open it but stopped when I read the further instructions, which strictly ordered, "Don't read the confidential file, no matter what."
"As if I am going to obey that." I rolled my eyes. As soon as I flipped open a page, there was a gunshot.
I dropped all the files in my hand and clutched my chest out of the sudden shock. I swear I got a mini heart attack at that one.
But wait. A gunshot? At my house? That came from upstairs?
Panic rushed through my body as I got up on my feet and grabbed all the files before dashing out of the secret basement. Before I knew it, I was gasping when I reached the living room.
And the sight I saw was going to haunt me forever.
In front of my eyes, my mom was lying on the floor lifeless, blood pooling around her body, and my dad was sitting beside Mom, crying. My eyes shifted to the third person present in the room, who had a gun in his hand.
I was numb. I couldn't feel the surging pain in my chest yet as if it was waiting for a good moment to hit me like a thunderbolt.
I found the scenario hard to grasp. Why was it all happening to me?
I couldn't comprehend. The fear of losing my mother, or the betrayal by the person I loved — which pain was greater?
Even after I was willing to accept someone like him, even if he was a bloody criminal, why did he betray me like that?
Was it all a pretense? Was our love just an act to him?
I swallowed hard. I should have known better than to trust him. A killer would always remain a killer till the last day of his life.
"Why, Dylan?"