I wake up alone this time. The heartache that should be there isn't. It feels wrong but also necessary.
I dress casually: no coat, just a blue vest over a white shirt and dark pants. Plain, meant to blend in with the laborers.
I take the elevator down to the lobby.
Mynar is already there, seated among other guests by the window, chatting and sipping tea. He notices me, raises a hand, and calls out.
"Good Tuesday, Monsieur Len," he shouts.
I approach the table, standing beside them.
"Good Tuesday, Monsieurs and Madams," I reply.
Mynar scans me from head to toe.
"You look… unusual. Plain, if I must put it into words," he says calmly, but there's a hint of dismissal.
"I… uhhh…"
"Let me guess—you're heartbroken," a woman at the table joins in, her voice cheerful.
"Who might you be?"
"This is Madam Esmeray," Mynar points.
The woman taps her chest.
"I see," she says. "I am a love expert from a distant land. I can read your future. Extend your hand, Monsieur… Len."
I hesitate, then slowly extend it. She takes it, tracing every line. Her fingers move carefully, deliberately, almost ticklish.
Then she lifts her gaze to my face, studying me.
"You recently cheated on your lover," she claims.
My brows furrow, and her eyes narrow.
"No…" I start, but she interrupts.
"I see. Your lover cheated on you."
I stare at her, expression frozen. She coughs once, leaning closer.
"I see. I truly see now. Your lover left you."
I gasp a bit.
"How… how do you know?" I ask, a mix of shock and disbelief.
"The universe reveals all truths to those who seek," she says, raising her hands dramatically.
"What should I do?"
She chuckles suddenly.
"Don't be hasty, Monsieur. The spirit of the universe will reveal everything in due time. Just give me some phens as a token of trust—"
"How about you just buy your lover some jewelry? You know, women love shiny things," a man sitting next to her interjects.
"Excuse me, Monsieur. It's rude to join someone else's conversation," she snaps, her voice deepening toward the man.
"No, I'm just trying to help," he corrects himself.
"Calm down, you two," Mynar says. "Let Len decide for himself."
"Monsieur Mynar, what is your advice then?" I ask.
"Be mysterious. Women love mystery."
"That's brilliant advice. You must be a true lady-killer."
"No, I learned it from the other guests. I'm just a virgin," he chuckles.
After I finish our small talk, I leave the hotel and head to work.
To the Hearthlight building, then straight to Gary's office.
Gary is already seated, as usual. His face looks a bit confused when I enter.
"Good Tuesday," I greet him as I approach.
"Gwood Twuesday," he says.
"Gary?"
"Lwen?"
"What's wrong with you?" I ask.
"My tweeth ache but I cwan't explain why. How about you? Why are you dwessing plainly?"
"No… I—uh…"
"Ashlynn left me."
"Oh… that's bad."
"I don't know how to make her stay. Are we over?"
"I don't know. But you should bwuy her something."
"Like jewelry?"
"That's a good idea. But flowers are better. Don't forget to get her drunk too."
"Gary, I didn't know you're a virgin as well."
"Len, I will pwetend I didn't hear that one. Tomorrow you don't need to come to work."
I blink as I can't tell whether I'm angry or relieved.
"Thanks."
I leave his office and go about my work for the day.
When it's over, I return to the hotel, to my room.
I sit in my usual chair by the desk, waiting for my loved one.
Time passes. The sunlight fades from the window, but Ashlynn never returns.
My body fails me. I fall asleep right there, head resting on the edge of the desk.
When I wake, no one is there when I look around. Just me and the quiet.
I get up and dress properly: dark coat, white shirt, black trousers.
I head down, leave the hotel, and find a carriage.
"Market Port," I tell the jarvy.
The carriage moves west, crossing multiple intersections. The smog thins, replaced by a hint of sea salt. The streets clear, though haze lingers.
The carriage turns south, slows, and stops.
I step out in front of the crowded market. The mix of spices, fish, and metal hits my nose.
I walk through the shops and stalls on either side, slipping past sailors and workers moving their crates, past buyers haggling with merchants.
Eventually, the market leads me to Rehanza Lockhart's office.
I knock.
"Come in," a man yells from within.
I open the door and step inside. The market smell is replaced by ink, wood, and wax. Chaos outside gives way to the orderly piles of paper on the table.
The man looks at me, expression warm and welcoming.
He approaches and shakes my hand. "Good Wednesday, Monsieur Thadeo."
"Good Wednesday, Monsieur Rehanza."
He guides me to my chair by the table in the center, then leaves for a while. When he returns, he brings two drinks and places them on the table—one for me, one for himself. Tea, strong and floral in aroma.
"Please, drink," he insists with a smile.
I gulp down the warm liquid. It's comforting.
"They taste so good," I praise him.
"I think this is a really good tea," he replies.
We chuckle together briefly.
"Monsieur Len, the documents have been taken care of," he says, sliding some papers toward me.
I pick them up. They're my share of Lockhart Fishing Enterprise and my tax receipt. The enterprise ownership is registered under Owright Firm, as I instructed, and the tax receipt is fully paid.
He smiles proudly, tapping his chest once.
"Monsieur Rehanza, you're a great solicitor."
"Thank you, Monsieur. I take pride in my work," he says, his smile turning smug.
His smug is well deserved; his results already mirror his confidence.
"Where's your brother, Adrian?"
"He's managing the business. Someone has to run the company. Do you want me to pass a message when he visits?"
"Not really. I just want to invest in a new business."
"New business? You just invested a huge amount in the fishing enterprise last Saturday," he comments, brow furrowed.
"Mhm."
"Okay… what kind of business?"
"Jewelry," I answer.
"Jewelry business here in the Western Outskirt?" His tone shifts as doubt creeps in.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur. But I would advise against investing in a jewelry business—not in the Western Outskirt."
"Why?"
"There are those who are worse than thieves here," he inhales and exhales, leaning closer. "Taxmen."
I nod. He leans back.
"Thanks for the advice. That's an eye-opener."
"You're welcome."
"Monsieur Rehanza, if I may ask—"
"Yeah?" he cuts in briefly.
"This is unrelated, but…" I pause. "What if your lover left you?"
"Depends on whose fault it is."
"What if it's your fault?"
"If it's my fault, then I deserve it," he answers. "But if it's not, I just move on."
"Wait… just move on?"
"Monsieur Len, you can't force love, but you can present yourself to be desirable."
"That's good advice. Where did you learn this?"
"I have a wife."
I pause and close my eyes, letting the silence settle, then open them again.
"But what if it's no one's fault? Like…" A beat. "What if it's just a misunderstanding?
"If it's just a misunderstanding, then do nothing. Give her some time. She will return. But—"
"Yeah?" I lean in closer.
"Make her feel special when she returns."
I nod and lean back. My eyes drift toward the tea, and an idea hits.
"Monsieur Rehanza, I want to invest in two businesses."
"Oh? What are they?" he asks.
"I want to start a distribution company and invest in any available transportation company."
"Oh wow," he says, his tone high with approval. "That's a good business plan, Monsieur."
"Find me any transportation company I can invest in right away. I will come back tomorrow."
"Understood, Monsieur."
We have more small talk whilst finishing our tea. After that, I leave his office, returning to the market.
Then I leave the market, clutching papers and plans, yet all that weighs on me is the empty promise of her return.