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2024-10-29 19:42:56Sultan pulled the hood of his yellow, duckie-designed hoodie over his head, removing his million-dollar watch and tucking it away.
"All good," he muttered to himself.He gazed down at his feet, then turned to face Lugard, whose reflection stared back at him from the mirror. "Lugard, can I get a boot? A farm boot, the dirty one?"Lugard's expression was puzzled. "Huh? Young Master Watson, why do you need a dirty farm boot?"Sultan's response was swift. "To eat!"Lugard's confusion deepened."Tsk! To wear them, of course!" Sultan clarified with a smirk.Lugard shook his head, chuckling. "You're something else, Young Master Watson. I'll get you the boot."As Lugard turned to leave, Sultan called out, "And make sure it's the dirtiest one you can find!"Lugard raised an eyebrow but nodded. "As you wish, Young Master."Sultan watched Lugard leave, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He needed to look as
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Sultan studied Butler Henri’s face, noticing the shift from tension and anxiety to genuine fear and concern."It seems there is a conspiracy to take you down, Young Master," Butler Henri said, his voice low and urgent. "Don't go to the company anymore. Stay at home."Sultan's eyes widened slightly, processing the weight of Henri’s words. "A conspiracy? To take me down?" he echoed, his mind racing with possibilities.Henri nodded, his expression grim. "Yes, Young Master. It's dangerous for you to be out in the open right now. Plus, you just came back from….. Young Master, staying at home is the safest option."Sultan took a deep breath, slightly calm. "I understand. Thank you for the warning, Sir. I’ll take your advice seriously."‘It seems he has no idea I was shot days ago. He'd find out sooner or later.’Butler Henri nodded, relief evident in his eyes. "Good. We’ll ensure your safety here. If you need anything, please let me know."As Henri turned to leave, Sultan stopped him. "Emmm
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Hearing the name Joe, Sultan's mind raced back to the file of his new secretary he hadn't met yet. He looked towards Ashley, her face full of emotions she seemed to be struggling to suppress. 'Who is she? What Joe are they talking about?' he wondered."Sultan, I called you here because I wanted us...""There’s no us, Tiana," Sultan interjected, the words spilling out before he could think them through. The mention of Joe had shifted his mood, driving away the nostalgia and replacing it with a sharp edge. Turning to Ashley, he looked down at her, noticing how her emotions flickered across her face. "Didn't you hear what my d...date said?" he continued, irking Tiana even more. "Let's go," he said to Ashley, draping his right arm across her shoulder and leading her out of the room. To where? He wasn't sure. He just needed to talk to her privately.As they walked down the hallway, Sultan could feel the weight of Ashley's silence. Once they were far enough away from Tiana's room, Sul
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“What are you doing, Tiana? Have you lost your mind?” "Sultan, I know you still want me. I know you loved it when we cuddled and kissed at night. When every cold night we shared a passion that went beyond just physical need..." Tiana's voice was laced with pleading desperation. "Just stop! I'm in a relationship with someone else now, Tiana. I…. I've m…moved on!" Sultan retorted, his voice filled with frustration, confusion, and a hint of exasperation. He stammered slightly on the last part, betraying the lie he was telling himself, and Tiana's keen ears picked up on the hesitation. "You're lying, Sultan," Tiana said, her voice laced with a mix of seduction and manipulation. "My cousin is not better than I am. Fine, go to her if you want, but first, let's do it one last time. It's just sex, nothing more. You know you've missed it, Sultan." Tiana's voice was laced with seduction and manipulation, her words dripping with a sense of desperation and longing. Sultan felt a str
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Sultan's heart constricted as he left Tiana's room, the finality of their separation sinking in. But then, his pocket seemed to stir, and he smiled, recognizing the familiar presence of the tarot card. He retrieved it, his eyes fixed on its intricate design. "Are you trying to comfort me?" he thought, his mind addressing the card. "Thank you. Thank you for the telepathy thing you did in there. I know it was your doing."Despite the tears he didn't realize was streaming down his face, Sultan managed a smile, his eyes shining with a mix of sadness and gratitude. In a sudden, comical twist, the tarot card's writing transformed before his eyes. The joker's face turned away, and the words "Her Loss!" appeared in bold, playful letters. Sultan chuckled softly, his heart warming to the card's whimsical comfort. "You're really a life and not just a card, huh," he whispered, feeling a sense of connection to the mysterious card that went beyond words. It was as if the card had become a true
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"Ah, finally, a cottage in sight," Sultan muttered, his exhaustion evident in his weary tone. He trudged along, his legs dragging behind the Magician's brisk pace. "I thought you'd never stop," he added, his voice laced with relief and a hint of sarcasm. The Magician didn't seem to notice, or perhaps didn't care, that Sultan was ready to collapse from fatigue. He led the way to the cottage, his strides long and purposeful, leaving Sultan to struggle to keep up.As soon as they entered the cottage, Sultan collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving with exhaustion. "Get on the rock," the Magician instructed, his voice firm but detached. Sultan's gaze wandered lazily around the room, searching for the aforementioned rock. "Huh? What rock?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and fatigue. His eyes landed on a large, moss-covered boulder in the corner of the room. "Oh, that rock... But I'm tired... Can't I just rest for a bit? Please, give me a break!" he pleaded, his body scre
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Sultan hastened to the study, his long strides almost turning into a run as he hurried to reach the door. He paused, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, and gazed down at his dirty boots. As he looked down, he saw his dirty boots and took them off, leaving only his white socks. He pushed open the door and walked in, his eyes full of weariness yet anticipation.As Sultan entered the study, his eyes were drawn to a figure standing by the window, gazing out into the garden. The soft light streaming in highlighted the person's profile, and Sultan's heart skipped a beat as the figure turned to face him. His new secretary, Joe Armstrong, stood before him.Before him stood Joe, a tall and lean figure with chiseled features and an air of calm composure. Their eyes met, and for a moment, they engaged in a silent appraisal of each other. Then, Joe spoke, his voice firm and professional. "Mr. Emmett Watson, it's an honor to finally meet you in person." His words were laced with a
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When Sultan hit his pad, he slammed the door shut behind him. He hauled himself up onto his king-sized bed, sat cross-legged, and spread the three files out in front of him. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the tarot card and slapped it down in the middle of the files. "Let's get down to business," he said, addressing the card. Sultan had always been a little quirky, often talkiy with his stuff, like his socks, shirts, pants, and even his door. It was his way of sorting his thoughts and chilling out.Sultan started reciting a familiar childhood rhyme, his voice almost hypnotic. He tweaked the words to fit his situation, his eyes scanning the files in front of him. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, find a clue and let it grow. If it's true, it'll start to show." His hand moved rhythmically, pointing to each file in turn, until finally landing on the one about the gunshot. It was like he was conjuring up an answer and which file to open first… oh wait, actually it was the case.He pi
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Sultan's whisper was barely audible, his voice lost in the storm of thoughts ravaging his mind. “No way, Joe... What are you doing there?”He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his breath knocked out of him. His eyes darted back to the tarot card, seeking a anchor in the chaos. “This can't be a coincidence,” he muttered, his mind racing with the implications. “No, it must be... Joe can't be involved in this, can he?” The question hung in the air, taunting him with its uncertainty. Sultan's eyes locked onto the card, willing it to yield some hidden truth, some reassurance that his trusted secretary wasn't a traitor. But the card remained silent, its secrets locked behind an enigmatic smile.Sultan's heart raced like a jackrabbit, his pulse pounding in his temples. The revelation had set his nerves on fire, and he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he had to act swiftly before it was too late. He didn't want to harm the Watsons or himself!And if it
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The room was dark, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner, and Sultan could still feel his pulse racing from the nightmare. He muttered under his breath, "Damn it…"Sultan shifted in bed, the sheets rustling as he pushed himself up to sit at the edge. His hand ran through his hair, now damp with sweat. He could still feel the weight of the dream, the shadows of the four figures lingering in his mind. Their accusations, the way they chased him, it all felt too real. It was as if they were trying to pull him back into something he desperately wanted to escape from."Forgotten... forsaken… what the hell does it even mean?" He muttered, rubbing his face with his palms. The clock on the nightstand showed 6:15 AM. He hadn’t planned on waking up this early, but after that dream, there was no chance of going back to sleep. He got up, his feet making soft thuds on the carpet as he moved to the window. Pulling the curtains apart, he was met with the dull light of dawn. The
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Darkness clung to Sultan like a thick fog as he found himself standing in the middle of an unfamiliar place. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day—the sky was a dull, ashen gray, and the air was still, oppressive, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Around him, shadows loomed, shifting and twisting, never settling into anything recognizable.Sultan’s breath quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure how he had ended up here or why, but something about this place gnawed at the edges of his mind, a whisper of fear that he couldn’t quite shake. The ground beneath his feet was cold, hard, and unyielding, and every step he took seemed to echo into the void.He started walking, not sure where he was going, but driven by an urgent need to move. His footsteps were the only sound, the silence around him thick and stifling. As he moved forward, the shadows seemed to part slightly, revealing a narrow path ahead. It wound through what appeared to be an endless exp
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The room, still warm with the remnants of their earlier conversation, felt charged with an undercurrent of something unspoken, something that Sultan had already perceived.For Sultan was no ordinary man. Known to many as the fool—a title that masked the depth of his true abilities—he had honed his skills to an art. And today, as Mr. Dickson sat across from him, discussing marriage and the future of the Watson family, Sultan’s mind was elsewhere, reaching into the recesses of Dickson's thoughts, peeling back the layers of his intentions.In an instant, Sultan saw it clearly: Mr. Dickson's visit had little to do with genuine concern for the Watsons or their company's future. It was about positioning. The recent collaborations with Lin Enterprise and Sullivan, the President's son, had solidified the Watsons’ place on the path to immense power and influence. Mr. Dickson, ever the opportunist, was angling for a deeper slice of that pie—one that could only be secured through family ties. H
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The morning sun poured gently through the tall windows of the Watson estate, casting a warm glow over the meticulously set dining table. The table was adorned with fine china, polished silverware, and an array of breakfast dishes—freshly baked bread, fruits, eggs, and other delights, arranged with care by the household staff. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were already seated, exchanging quiet words as they waited for their sons and their guest to join them."Everything looks perfect," Mrs. Watson remarked, her eyes scanning the table with approval."It certainly does," Mr. Watson agreed, a hint of pride in his voice. "But it’s not the food that matters today. It’s eating with our sons."As they spoke, one of the bodyguards entered the room, standing tall by the door. "Mr. Dickson has arrived," he announced."Thank you. Please show him in," Mr. Watson instructed.A moment later, Mr. Dickson entered the dining room, his presence as imposing as ever. Dressed in a tailored suit, he moved with the
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"Greetings and peace be unto here,” a bewitching voice slurred from the entrance.The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically as Sullivan walked in. The cameras, previously focused on Sultan and the Watson family, swung towards the door, capturing every step of the president's son. The reporters, eager for a scoop, rushed forward, their microphones thrust out and voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of questions and praises."Mr President's son! Over here!""Mr. Sullivan, can we get a comment?""How do you feel about the recent developments? And do you have a hand in the help of the Watsons to resolve their issues?""Why are you here today?”Sullivan, dressed in a sharp suit that seemed to glow with authority, acknowledged the cameras with a nod and a charismatic smile. His presence commanded attention, and the room seemed to hold its breath.Mr. and Mrs. Watson, along with Emmet, looked genuinely happy. They exchanged glances, then moved quickly to greet Sullivan and his ent
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After his bold declaration, Sultan tapped Emmett's back seemingly soothing him to easen his tension then stepped forward, addressing the gathered shareholders, employees, and reporters. His calm demeanor and confident presence commanded attention, and as he began to speak, the room fell silent. He felt the funny and playful side it him - the FOOL, give way for his smart side as Sultan Armstrong, now a Watson. "Ladies and gentlemen," Sultan began, his voice steady and assured, "I understand that there has been a lot of uncertainty and concern regarding the future of the Watson Company. Today, I stand before you to address those concerns and present a vision for our collective future."He paused, letting his words sink in. The shareholders, some skeptical, some hopeful, leaned in, eager to hear more."My vision for the Watson Company is one of innovation, fairness, and family values. We need to embrace new technologies and ideas to stay competitive in this rapidly changing market. Bu
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As Joe Armstrong's car sped away from Emmett, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation that had just transpired. But instead of heading straight to the office, he made a subtle turn back towards the previous location. Once out of sight, Joe pulled over and quickly exited his vehicle. He glanced around cautiously, ensuring no one was observing him.A short distance away, a larger, luxurious gold-colored Venza awaited him. Joe approached the vehicle, his demeanor shifting from casual to serious. He opened the rear door and slipped inside, immediately bowing his head. In the plush back seat, a man dressed in a striking gold suit sat with an air of authority. His presence was commanding, exuding a quiet, menacing power. This was Sullivan, a figure who rarely showed his face but whose influence was deeply felt.Joe greeted him respectfully, "Greetings, Master."Sullivan, without looking up from the tablet he was holding, acknowledged Joe's presence with a slight n
