☘︎ Jᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ Rʏsᴏɴ ☘︎

"Why are you sharp-shooting at the golf course, Mia?" I question, positioning my golf stick adjacent to the ball and narrowing my gaze at the red flagstick burried a few yards away on the neatly chopped fairway, pointing out one of the eighteen cylindrical goalie hole dug on the 7000 yards golf course.

One of the many charms of the Davidson estate, I've been told.

"Why are you leaving tonight?" Mia whines in answer, as an instructor holds out a sound-blocking headphone and an arm-length gun to her, "And I'm here because I want to spend time with you."

She was no longer in the wheelchair, her bedrest completely ditched within four days of enduring it. Clad in a polo shirt and a fitted skirt similar to my own-hers white in color and mine black-I had no idea what she was doing sharpshooting dressed in golf attire.

"I stayed a week here, Mia. You know that's way past my limit." I offer with a sigh, glancing her way, "Should you even be shooting right now?"

Mia shrugs with a conspiratory smile, adjusting the gun on her shoulder as the instructor swiddles away to release the frisbee to be shooted, "The doctor gave me the permission."

"Was it willingly given or threatened out of him?" I ask with a raised brow, knowing very well there was no willingness included.

"Why does it matter how? The point is I got the permission and I'm fine." Mia winks at me, "I'm stronger than you think I am."

Shaking my head at my sister, I focus back on the ball I'd been intending to aim into the goalie, "Why are you dressed in golf clothes when you aren't playing golf anyways?"

"Golf attire is cute. And I look pretty in it." Mia chirps happily, "You, on the other hand, Jenna, with that Kendal Jenner figure of yours, look sexy as hell."

"You're unbelievable." I smile, hitting the ball with a swing of the golfstick.

"Yay!" Mia squeals when the ball falls into the goalie hole in front of the red flagstick.

The smile still present, I turn to her, "Your turn."

Mia's grins, "Oh, you know I'm fantastic with guns and aiming."

She is. Mia's one of the best shooters I'd ever encountered. I'd been one too a long time ago before. . .everything happened. Now even thinking of holding a gun made me edgy.

"I think you should stay for Irene's funeral." Mia's sudden suggestion snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Mia-" I start but she gives me a look to convey she has more to say.

"Look I know what happened after we got away from the clown and with the incident, it makes you hesitant to face anything that's remotely connected to them. Trust me, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I'm still at the warehouse and it's terrifying." Mia lowers her gun, giving me her full attention, "But Jenna, she's your mother. And you've never attended her funeral in twelve years since her death. Don't tell me you don't want to, I know you do."

"There's no point attending it now." I look away from her coaxing gaze.

Mia remains insistent, "I think you need the closure to let go of everything. For heaven's sake, it's been twelve years."

"You think Samuel would want me to attend? I didn't exactly 'not attend' the funerals before willingly." A scoff escapes me.

"Dad said you could." Mia declares, making me look back at her, "Infact, when I asked, he insisted you should if you can."

Confused about why Samuel Davidson is suddenly fine with me attending his wife's funeral when he had banned me years prior, I start to shake my head.

Mia's voice go soft, "No one might've believed you Jenna, but I did and will do. I don't want the guilt to take this reprieve away from you when you don't even know what exactly happened that day yourself. For the first time, you're here at the house and the funeral is just hours away. This is your chance for closing this chapter for once and all. You can leave after the funeral tomorrow."

When I'm silent too long, Mia sighs but passes me an encouraging smile, "No pressure alright, I'll support you no matter what you decide. Just think about it, okay?"

I ponder over her words, flashes of my mother crossing in front of my sight, that dormant part of my heart aching, before I finally let a small nod, "Okay."

Mia's smile widens, she turns to her gun and positions it back on place, putting the sound-blocking headphones on. The exact same moment, the instructor releases the brick frisbee at a very high radius from the automated machine and within a second, Mia pulls the trigger with professional grace.

The gunshot resonates in the surrounding, finding it's aim and tattering the frisbee into tiny particles that rains down from mid-air.

"Bingo!" Mia drops the gun to the ground, turning to me with a dramatic bow, "Ain't I the best?"

Before I can answer though, there's loud clapping and an enthusiastic, "Woah, that was a fantastic aim!"

Then as a gusty breeze blows my hair bound in it's tight high ponytail, the sound of hooves thudding against the ground echoes. Lykas approaches us, riding on a white arabian stallion.

The wind tousles his inky hair, the luscious locks falling over his forehead and shadowing his whisky eyes. Dressed in a black polo t-shirt and slacks, the bare, lean muscles of his arms contract as he pulls on the reins with the kind of agility and sportsmanship, that even a skilled horseback rider would be envious.

I hold back a groan in my throat at his presence. Not again.

While in the past one week I'd spent my days in the Davidson Villa swimming or working at nights, slumbering in my office in the mornings without showing up at the dining table even once to avoid facing my father and spending my evenings with Mia.

Lykas had always made sure to be a thorn in my path, showing up at my door every morning with the most flashy foodstuff to exist in his hands-bright coloured frappes, pastries with bizarre icing, pies and donuts, cupcakes and those damned rainbow smoothies, you name every sweet or sour thing that had colors, and he'd gotten it.

At one point, I'd been done with cold-shouldering him because no matter what I said or threatened, he always showed up. Besides, I might never admit it to anyone but one day I'd been hangry and slurped on the rainbow smoothie and well....it hadn't tasted that bad.

His presence is still bothersome though.

"What is he still doing here?" I sound as annoyed as I feel when I ask Mia the question, not bothering to lower my voice when Lykas halts his stallion in front of us.

"Damn Ryson, that's very rude." Lykas dismounts from the horse with a flamboyant jump, flashing me a boyish grin.

Giving him a blank stare, "Your crusty opinion is not considered."

Mia smiles, fairly amused, "He's my friend. Dad wants him to stay here."

"And stay I shall." Lykas does a high-five with Mia, "Great shot." He indicates at her gun lying on the floor.

Mia shrugs coyly, "Thank-"

Her phone's ringing cuts off her reply.

Mia's brown eyes widen in alarm when she glances at the caller ID that reads Moon's name, "Oh shit! Mom doesn't know I'm out here! I'm technically supposed to be resting right now."

I give her an are-you-serious look, "You told me the doctor said-"

"Sorryyyy, Jenna Jen Jen, but I gotta go." Then she's rushing away in a hurry towards one of the two fancy tractor-bus where a driver is already seated to take her back to the villa.

I stare at my sister's retreating silhouette in disbelief.

Lykas picks that precise moment to turn to me, "Are you going to continue the sharp-shooting now, Ryson. . ." His words seem to leave him when he takes in what I'm wearing, "Ah. . .golf. . you. . .nice. . ."

It's a funny thing; the speechless, dazed and distracted expression he always has on his face when he sees me in anything other than my suits.

"Speak English, Vitallis." I assert to his nonsensical statement, walking past him to get to the other luxurious, two-seater open tractor-bus that'll take me through the huge estate lands to the villa entrance. This one doesn't have a driver since he went with Mia.

Lykas' footsteps instantly follow me after he hurriedly hands his stallion to the instructor who had been releasing Mia's frisbees few minutes ago.

"I heard you're leaving tonight?" He asks conversationally, his steps aligning with mine.

"Not your concern." I state in a matter-of-fact tone.

Lykas sighs, looking up at the sky, "I think I'll miss you, Ryson."

My steps don't falter as I pass him a blank glance, "Sure you will."

Lykas stares at me intently, "How'd you like the pumpkin frappe?"

"Quit trying to make conversation and fishing information out of me, Vitallis." Reaching the tractor-bus, I pull open the door to it's driver's seat, "Pray tell, why are you extra infuriating when you're not in London?"

"You noticed it." His lips twitch before a thoughtful look crosses his face, "I feel freer when I'm not in London, because my father's cronies aren't there to monitor each of my moves. He needs them in London for his emergencies. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, by the way. You owe me, Ryson." He adds the last sentence playfully.

"I owe you nothing." I nearly roll my eyes when he gets in the passenger seat of the tractor-bus beside me and shuts the door, "Besides, a secret isn't a secret when everyone already knows about it. You're oblivious if you think no one knows about your father's elite team and what they do. They're just too afraid of getting into the elite team's radar by exposing the masterminds in the team."

Lykas grins, while I push the accelerater of the tractor-bus, "They're shitless talented, you know. It's crazy how smart and sneaky the elite group can be." He pauses for a moment, the jestful aura leaving him, "But my father holds all of their reins and he can make them do anything. There are no morals to it."

"Are there ever?" I tilt my head inquisitively, "Every rich person have skeletons in their closet."

"Do you?" Lykas asks quietly. I can feel those champagne coloured eyes staring intently, gauging my reaction.

I think of what happened twelve years ago. The screams, the blood, the accusation. The slipping of my sanity like sand slipping through the fingers, the haze of my memories like the fog on a cold water-coast and then there was the whammy shock of what I'd done. . .

"Trust me, Vitallis." A humorless chuckles escapes my lips, "You don't want to know."

That shuts him up. Silence lingers as I swivel the tractor-bus through the lawn, past the mini houses that have the different amenity clubs and into the main garden around the vicinity of the villa.

"Don't keep them." Lykas' soft tone is so at odds with the determined look on his face when I halt the vehicle in front of the main entrance.

Getting down from the tractor-bus, I raise a brow in question at his words.

"The skeletons, I mean. Don't keep them with you." He steps down himself, walks around the vehicle to stand in front of me, "The more you keep them in your closet, the more they'll take a part of you. I've seen it happen to people."

There's an aggrieved emotion clogging his features, but he smiles. Plucking a single daffodil from the potted plants lining the stairs leading to the entrance door, he holds it out to me, "Don't be those people. Let the skeletons go."

Confused by his words, I don't even react much when he tucks the flower behind my ear since I didn't make any effort to take it from him.

With a wink and a smile and a, "Goodbye, Ryson. See you in London." He whisks away into the villa leaving me to my thoughts.

***

Later that night as my travel manager calls me asking whether he should prepare the jet for my flight back to London, Lykas' words haunt me.

Don't keep them with you.

Let the skeletons go.

"Prepare the jet." I twist the platinum bracelet on my wrist absent-mindedly. It was my mother's. "For tomorrow night."

It was a reckless, split decision fueled by years of burried guilt but who knew by staying, I'd be inviting doom for myself.

--------᪥♔︎᪥-------

Don't you think it is a little too calm right now....👀

I mean, Drama and I are married and we can't remain separated for long, you see👀

Lemme know your thoughts and theories on this chapter!

ALSOOOO
HAPPYYYYY INDEPENDENCE DAY AND BELATED INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL MY INDIAN AND PAKISTANI READERS!!!!✨️