The following day, Layla dragged her feet as she walked towards the address Victor had texted her. She left campus and walked toward the centre of the city. Not the new centrum, where all the stores and the smaller student apartments were, but the old centrum, where the old elite lived. She found herself looking up at the architecture as she walked; it seemed it change slowly from every block she passed. As if, when she walked, she found herself walking back in time, the architectural changes reflecting a time gone by, with each block a new decade past, until she found herself in one of the oldest, richest neighbourhoods in the city. It seemed the center of the entire soul of the city. It was from here that it had started to grow, and the people who had lived here had somehow managed to keep up and build and expand every year, until the buildings were so high that you would have to lean back to see all of its decorations. It seemed an odd mixture here at the centrum, though, of old and newer, of people who had built in ancient styles, and of people who had bought their way here and changed the style to something more modern.
Layla wondered if she was about to meet Victor's parents, for surely, he could not live in such a place as this all by himself. She hoped they were out; they might have other plans, such as going to the opera, or whatever people of such wealth preferred to do on a Friday evening.
She rang the doorbell and waited until a responsive beep sounded, indicating that the outer door had been opened. But before she had a chance to push the doors open herself, they slowly began to open on their own, despite their old appearance – old oak doors – it seemed they had been geared up to be self-opening doors. As she stepped inside, she was, however, both surprised and embarrassed to see a sombre-looking older man at the door. Clearly, he was the one who had opened the door from within.
"Miss," he said, nodding to her, "I presume you are here to see young master?" He looked her up and down in one quick motion. She felt as if she was being inspected for any misgivings or suspicious behaviour, without even having done anything to be suspected.
She returned his expression with an even more distrustful look. "Victor?" she asked doubtfully. She would not have referred to him as *master* in any situation, she thought, and imagined Victor giving out orders to people. It explained a lot about him, she thought. He was just the kind of person for whom commanding other people would seem natural. It was probably why asking and assuming questions came so easily to him. Probably why he seemed so sure of himself in everything he did, every time he spoke, even the way he carried himself. Though she would have to admit that the last part was kind of attractive.
The man nodded, "If you will follow me." He turned around without questioning her further. "We have been expecting you," he said, "the young master informed me of your arrival and instructed me to take especially good care of you."
She did not like the way his voice lingered on the word *especially* as if she was being mocked or maybe tricked into something. What if Victor had intended to humiliate her? What if his plan had been to bring her here for some cruel joke? Maybe he had set her up to serve them, or maybe he would have a waiter spill soup on her dress? She remembered, of course, that she was not wearing a dress, but that was beside the point.
Following into an elevator, where the decorations and the architecture continued to amaze her. There was something about the building – though now consisting of large apartments – that brought her back to another place. She was thinking about the ancient world of Greece and Rome. Thinking about columns that shot up towards the sky. Thinking about unfathomable wealth. Something inside her turned, and she hoped not to throw up at the thought of how much money Victor's family must possess.
The doors of the elevator opened up, and she stepped out into a big open room, a foyer just like the one you would expect to find in a grand house placed somewhere out in the country. She had at least four meters, if not five, above her head to the ceiling, and the room was lit up by a 'modest' and more modern chandelier. Modern art decorated the walls, and a light carpet was laid out. She wondered if she should take her shoes off so as not to dirty them, but decided against it.
"I think I heard the elevator," a voice came from the other room, "if you will excuse me for but a moment, I will go invite in our final guest." She recognised the voice, Victor, at least someone she was familiar with, she thought, and again found herself pleased that he was here to welcome her before any of the other unknown – to her at least - participants of the evening. She would have to figure out her conflicting feelings later, she thought; there was no time to let them get in the way of her ambitions.
"Oh, we are so excited to meet your special guest Victor," a high-pitched female voice said, "I could not be more pleased that you invited someone."
"Special guest indeed," a lower voice commented, but Victor did not reply.
The sound of a pair of footsteps approaching became louder until Victor stood in the opening in front of her. "Dearest," he said when he saw her and spread his arms out, as if preparing to hug her. "Welcome, welcome to my humble abode."
"Humble?" Layla asked.
"Well, maybe not," he admitted. "Anyway, let me grab your coat for you."
"I am surprised you don't have a servant for such things," Layla mockingly said.
"Nah," he helped her out of her long black coat, revealing her outfit consisting of black slightly flared pants, a beige long-sleeved blouse, decorated with a pair of black stilettos and golden jewellery. "I gave him the evening off."
Layla did not answer as she could not tell if he was joking or not.
"Let us join the others," Victor said and gestured to the opening he had arrived from.
They walked together through an open hall concept until they ended up in a relaxed sofa and bar room. A group of people sat in chairs and lounged on sofas. Layla noticed another woman she recognized from the front row of the class, and a man who sat further back. In the corner, a man stood with his back turned to them and a drink in his hand. And another man was standing behind the bar, making a couple of drinks, as he was heavily engaged in a conversation with the woman.
"Let me introduce Layla," Victor said, speaking with his hands to get the others' attention. "And this is Mira," he gestured to the woman, "And Thomas," he gestured to the man on the sofa, "and of course Aiden," he said, nodding towards the man at the bar. "And you know Elijah."
The man at the window turned around, drink in hand. Professor Elijah Johnson stared at her with an empty look in his eyes.