Melvin ground his teeth in anger, genuinely irritated by his younger brother's attitude. "Hey, kid," Melvin said, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Konvensky shot him a glare so cold it made Melvin instinctively raise his hands in mock apology. "Sorry, I forgot you're now a general," Melvin said, making a zipping motion over his lips.
Mr. Jace, who had been watching the exchange with an awkward expression, walked up to Konvensky and patted him gently on the shoulder. "You're welcome back, son," he said, his voice warm with genuine affection.
Konvensky's response was immediate and cutting. "Old man, stop acting so nice. I haven't forgotten what you did," he said, his voice light but laced with a clear hint of menace.
Mr. Jace's hand dropped awkwardly. Ryan, sensing the tension needed diffusing, cleared his throat. "Dad, you know how he is, so don't take it personally," he said, offering a reassuring smile.
As they sat down to eat, Freeda immediately bombarded Konvensky with questions about his twelve years in Singapore. But Konvensky barely responded, his attention focused entirely on his food. Freeda tried every angle to engage him in conversation, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Finally, she gave up and turned her attention to Melvin.
Later that evening, Konvensky walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist. He strode into his expansive dressing room, looking for a pair of pajamas to wear. As he reached for a black pair, his mind wandered back to the girl he had nearly run over earlier on the road.
"Her face is quite enchanting," he muttered to himself, a rare flicker of interest crossing his otherwise stoic expression.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Before he could respond, Freeda and Melvin walked right in. Freeda collapsed dramatically onto the bed, while Melvin leaned casually against the bedpost, watching Konvensky with a mixture of amusement and wariness.
Konvensky's gaze turned instantly cold, and he muttered just two words: "Get out."
Freeda pouted, trying to wheedle her way into Konvensky's good books. "Sky, can't you be a little bit softer? We haven't seen you for so long, and you're just going to send us out?"
But Konvensky's expression remained unyielding. "I don't want to repeat myself," he said, his voice firm and final.
Melvin chuckled and shook his head good-naturedly. "He's still as toxic as ever," he muttered, guiding Freeda out of the room.
Not long after, Konvensky emerged from his room, dressed entirely in a sleek, all-black outfit—ready to leave the house again.
"Where are you going?" Freeda asked, her voice full of curiosity, leaning over the banister.
Konvensky glanced up at her briefly and said, "To get you a husband." With that, he strode out of the house, leaving Freeda red-faced and sputtering in anger.
Meanwhile, Michelle was having trouble sleeping. The previous chapters had left her restless and anxious. She got out of bed and began to look for something to wear, settling on blue baggy pants, a blue shirt, and a black hoodie. She slipped out of the house, craving the cool night air on her face. She didn't have a destination in mind; she just wanted to walk and clear her head.
As she walked, the streetlights cast long shadows behind her. She looked stunning in the dim light, her long black hair blowing gently in the wind.
Unbeknownst to her, Konvensky was driving his motorcycle in the opposite direction, his eyes scanning the road ahead. When his gaze landed on her solitary figure, he increased his speed, stopping abruptly in front of her. He killed the engine, removed his helmet, and their eyes met. Konvensky's interest was visibly piqued as he recognized her face.
"You're..." Michelle started to say, her voice barely above a whisper, recognizing the annoying jerk from earlier.
But Konvensky quickly interrupted her, his voice low and commanding, his eyes locked firmly on hers: "Keep your voice down."