“I’m asking,” I said.
He looked into the fire for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he began to speak.
“My mother left when I was seven,” he said. “She told me she was going to the market. She never came back.”
I stayed silent.
“My father was a cold man. He believed affection made children weak. He sent me to boarding school at eight. I spent holidays in empty dormitories, watching other boys’ parents arrive with gifts.”
His hands tightened on his blanket.
“I swore I would never need anyone. And for a long time, I didn’t. I built my company from nothing. I became rich. And with the money came people. Friends. Lovers. Partners.”
“And?” I asked softly.
“And every one of them loved what I owned.” His voice turned bitter. “There was a woman once. Her name was Vivienne. I thought she was different. We were engaged. I was going to give her everything.”
He paused.
“Then there was an accident. A fire. I’ll spare you the details. When I woke up in the hospital, bandaged and broken, she came to see me exactly once.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.” He smiled faintly, a horrible empty smile. “She looked at me and she flinched. That was all. She never came back. Three weeks later, I found out she’d been seeing my business partner for months. They had planned to take the company if I didn’t survive.”
