Chapter Nine

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“ARBI, HAVE YOU CHECKED on the goddesses?” I paced in the first-class lounge at Manila airport. Four hours had passed since I’d left my islands. Four hours that Eleanor could’ve used to her advantage.

“Yes, sir.” Arbi cleared his throat importantly. “I personally went with the wait staff to deliver breakfast to each of the goddess’s villas. All are accounted for.”

I wanted him to elaborate. To ask a million fucking questions about a certain goddess.

I didn’t trust him. I didn’t believe Eleanor would behave.

But Cal shot me a warning look, passing a plate of vegan appetisers on offer for the lounge users. I took it and placed it on the table holding my laptop.

No return email to my shitty one demanding the immediate eviction of Drake Sinclair. I’d hoped my words would strike fear into their useless hearts, saving me a journey.

Already my skin itched to be back in the humidity, the openness, the vitality of an untouched world. I hated the smog sitting over Manila, staining everything with a toxic haze. I didn’t like the chatter of businessmen and holidaymakers, sharing the lounge with us.

They were locusts. A contagion that I was well and truly over associating with.

I despised my own species, and it showed in every scathing look I gave them.

“Check on them again at lunch and dinner. And I want a two a.m. shift as well.”

“As you wish, sir,” Arbi said. “Everything is under control. I will protect your girls and ensure your guests enjoy their stay.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, cursing the start of a headache. “Fine.”

I hung up, baring my teeth at Cal as he sat and popped a caramelised onion tart into his mouth. “You should be there, you asshole.”

“Too bad I have a boarding pass with my name on it...sitting next to you.”

“Tear it up and fly home.”

“What? And leave you sitting next to a stranger?” He smirked. “I pity whoever has to put up with your ass for such a long flight.”

“Arbi isn’t qualified—”

“He’s been working under my guidance since you started this enterprise.” Cal wiped his mouth with a napkin. “He’s Javanese, so he has his local reputation to uphold. He’s loyal to a fault. Dedicated enough that he probably won’t sleep while you’re gone. And I trust him to keep the guests from the goddesses and Euphoria running on time.”

Fuck.

What more could I ask for without seeming like I’d lost my mind?

I slouched in the chair, my appetite severely lacking. I wanted fresh fruit from my orchards and vegetables from my gardens—not mass-produced crap. Even if it was vegetarian approved.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I scowled at the swirly, shitty carpet that all airports adopted to hide sins and stains.

In the grotesque pattern, my eyes saw an illusion.

An embroidered foretelling where I’d deal with my brother.

I’d win.

Yet I’d return home and find out that I’d lost.

Like always.