I realized two things as I stared at Douglas, who was unconscious and looked like he'd been through a tornado and back.

One, Alex had duped me. She and the others were nowhere to be found and that would obviously not have left Douglas the way he is. But then again, they did call me and had tricked me into coming here.

Two, I had obviously walked into something I should never have walked into. Douglas would definitely be livid if he knew I was here right now.

Don't get me wrong. I don't have any preconceived notions that Douglas cares what I thought of him. What I meant was that no one would want someone who wasn't practically family around when they were in this sort of situations.

Now everything that had happened the day before had somewhat made sense. Quincy's somewhat brusque behavior. He wouldn't have wanted someone like me, who wasn't a part of their inner circle knowing about what happened to Douglas on this day.

Douglas' lack of communication ever since his visit to my apartment the other day. And even his behavior yesterday at the party.

From what I'd gathered over the past couple of months I've known them, everyone had somewhat told me that everything that happened in the tabloids, everything that made everyone believe Douglas Burns was nothing more than an overspoilt playboy was all a facade for his father. Other than that Douglas Burns couldn't stand being in the public eye, nor did he like flaunting his wealth.

Everything that had happened ever since we met was all to get back at his father. For what exactly, that I didn't know. But what I could guess was that it had to do with his father.

Douglas' actions at the party yesterday was for his father. At least that's what I assumed. I couldn't truly know. Only Douglas knew.

I contemplated what to do as I continued to stare at Douglas. His white shirt was stained with I can't even begin to identify. It was different colours all mixed into one.

His normally styled hair was messy, unruly and not in the sexy way. It was wet with what I could guess was sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and scalp like a second skin as he leaned back against the lazyboy.

He had only one shoe on, the other one lay right next to the grand piano across from him.

There were several empty bottles of beer lying around. From what I could count, there was at least six empty bottles.

Prince, his beloved dog was lying across the room, his eyes watching me as I assessed his owner before he realized I wasn't a threat and went back to chewing on his chewtoy.

I walked up to Douglas, my heart breaking at the sight of him being so disheveled. Douglas was always so put together, so neat, so unlike what I was seeing before my eyes.

I kneeled down right next to him, placing my phone down, screen face down so that the light hit the scrolling and provided some semblance of light in this otherwise lightless place.

I wondered why exactly he had left all the lights off, why he hadn't opened up the curtains, why he had to be in the sorry state that he was in right now.

I wondered why no one else was here, why Will and Georgia weren't here with him, why Quincy wasn't here.

I wondered why today of all days, he thought her deserved to suffer. I knew from having overheard Georgia and Quincy that day that this was an annual occurance, always happening today, the day his mother had died.

I watched Douglas, his breathing even and slow, steady as his chest rose up and down, then up and down, continuing their familiar dance as he slept.

I decided that I should at least try to get him to be more comfortable. Although he was sleeping soundly, his posture and the way he was sleeping couldn't possibly be comfortable at all, especially when he woke up, his body would be stiff and he would have cramps.

"Douglas?" I called out softly. "Douglas?"

His eyelids moved a fraction, his brows wrinkled together before it relaxed.

"Douglas, you need to lie down properly."

I leaned over him, trying to pull his body forward so I could place him on the carpeted floor. At least that's way he would be more comfortable.

Just as I was about to pull him up, I noticed the book on his left. It was the copy of The Great Gatsby that I had seen in his room the other day. His mother's copy.

Just as I was about to pick it up and look through it again, a hand curls around my hand and pulls it back.

"Why is it that everytime I wake up, you're either reading that book or trying to read it?" Douglas' voice is so loud because he's so close.

I gasp in surprise before I lean back, trying to compose myself.

"You're awake?" I stated the obvious as I take him in.

He's sitting upright. He's face neutral as he stared back at me and his green eyes hold a hint of surprise at my presence.

"Well, you were calling for me to wake up, weren't you?" He asked as he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. It looks better immediately than before.

I nodded. "You weren't lying down properly. I thought you should."

He watched me, studying me to the point that I felt very self-conscious, like an organism being studied under a microscope.

I shifted under his gaze, my bad habit of mine started appearing, I bit my lower lip as the tension continued. His eyes drifted to my lips for a fraction of a moment before it returned to looking at me and he broke the silence.

"What are you doing here, Krystal?" his words came out soft but it didn't mask the accusation hidden in it.

"I... I... Alex told me that they needed me to come immediately. They said something about you being hurt or something. I rushed over as soon as I could. I didn't know that they were lying," I explained as once again I felt that constricting gaze of his on me again.

He smiled slightly before it disappeared as if something I said amused him. He shifted, sitting straighter. "Why would it matter?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked him, confused to what he was referring to.

"Why would it matter to you that I was hurt?" He arched a brow, waiting for my answer. His face was devoid of any expression again.

I pondered whether I should tell him the truth or not. Whether I should tell him that it mattered a lot to me whether he was hurt or not. That I had feelings for him, feelings I hadn't known about until last night.

I decided that the best thing to do, at least for me was to avoid the question altogether.

I shrugged hoping he'd take that as an answer and decided to ask question of my own. "Why are you here all alone?"

"I'm always alone today," he replied, his words so smooth as if the answer was second nature to him. "It's been like that for the past seven years."

"But you don't have to be alone," I said, my brows hooded in concern. Why did he have to be alone, today of all days?

"Spare me the pity party, Krys," he chuckled dryly as his voice took on a darker tinge. "I choose to be alone. I chased everyone away today."

That surprised me. Then why did they trick me into coming here? Didn't they value my life? If Douglas had chased them out, who did they think I was that Douglas wouldn't do the same thing to me?

"So, excuse me and all, but I need you to leave," Douglas said before he stood up and sat down on the lazyboy he'd been leaning against. "Now." His tone was determined and allowed for no hesitation.

I stood my ground. I knew that he shouldn't be left alone. Not today of all days.

The days following my parents deaths were hard, the anniversaries that followed after were even harder. I knew that if I had been left alone, if Nancy hadn't been there I wouldn't have been where I am today. Heck, I would've probably done something stupid.

It was a surprise that everyone had left Douglas alone for the past seven years, especially today and especially after he'd witnessed what he did.

Last year, I'd read an article in the paper saying how traumatic it is witnessing a suicide, or being the one to discover the body. It usually led to depression, PTSD or in extreme cases the witness feeling guilty about it.

It was a good thing that Douglas seemed to not show any signs of such disorders, but it would be weighing on him, what he'd witnessed.

"Are you okay, Douglas?" I asked him, studying him.

He seemed surprised with my question. After a couple of seconds he shook of the shock and said, "Of course I'm fine. Never been better."

"Are you really okay?" I asked again.

He nodded this time, not saying a word as his eyes drifted to where the painting of his mom lay next to him.

"Your mom's really beautiful," I commented as I looked at it. "You have her eyes."

He nodded, smiling almost blissfully at the comment. "She always said that it was my best feature. Saying how they'd make every girl fall for me." He laughed as if he thought the comment was obscene.

I smiled slightly at just how close Mrs Burns comment had been. He'd managed to get one girl to fall hopelessly for him, at least. "When was the painting done?"

"The year before she..." his voice broke. I thought I saw a tear starting to fall before he turned away and wiped it off. "The year before the incident," he replied.

"That day," I began, my eyes on him, studying his reactions to what I was about to say, "in the car, when you dropped me off..."

Douglas continued staring at the painting, his face devoid of any expression.

I took that as a good sign, at the very least and continued. "You said that what's online is your dad's version of the truth..."

He chuckled darkly before he fixated his eyes on me. "And you wanna know what the truth is?"

I hesitated a moment, wondering whether I should say yes, leaving me with a high chance of getting thrown out of this house or say no, and let my curiosity perish away with the little truth written online.

I nodded as soon as I gathered the courage to do so.

I prepared myself to be yelled at by Douglas, but surprisingly he just nodded before releasing a sigh as if a weight was about to be lifted off his shoulders.

"My parents were high school sweethearts," he began, his voice resounding in the living room, but I could tell his attention wasn't with me anymore. It was in his memory, his story. "Mom was the girl that every guy wanted while dad was the nerdy kid in the front of the class that spent most of his time with his face buried in a book than out of it."

"Honestly," he continued after chuckling lightly, "I don't even know how dad managed to get her to go out with him. But somehow he did. They got married right out of college and three years later, they had me. By then dad had started up Burns Industries as soon as he got out of college, and by the time I came along he was making headlines with the business, getting the company name to be more global with each passing year."

"Everything was great in the beginning. Mom was always busy taking care of me. She didn't want to hire any nannies, opting to take care of me herself, against dad's judgement. But that all changed when I started going to school," he paused a moment as he rubbed his head.

"They started fighting more frequently. Most of the time it was because dad spent more time at work than with us, sometimes it was because mom was accusing him of cheating on her. But dad wasn't. The only mistress he had was his work, and mom didn't like that."

"Her first attempt happened when I was nine. I didn't know about it until I got her sleeve wet and saw the cuts. She made four, although she made sure she didn't hit an artery. They got into another fight that night. Mom told him she wouldn't miss the next time. Dad promised he would get home earlier and try to spend more time with us. Everything was going okay until dad started missing family dinners again."

"Her second attempt happened when I was ten. I was in the shower when I heard her scream out. She was bleeding on the floor when I found her. She said her hand slipped but dad thought otherwise. I saw her instantly brighten when dad rushed into the house earlier than usual and I knew. It wasn't an accident."

"It was a recital at school that day. Mom had told dad about it, saying how it would be nice if they both came to watch me at it. She said that it would be something special for all of us and that she had something to tell dad after it. Dad said he couldn't make, saying how he had an important meeting that day with some investors from Korea. I heard everything."

"That morning everything seemed okay. As okay as always. I waved goodbye and she smiled at me with the same smile she always gave me as I left."

"I found her lying in a pool of her own blood when I came home that day. She was still breathing. I called up my father and he didn't answer. I tried many times until mom pulled the phone away and said, 'It's alright Douglas. It's alright. Daddy's busy.' Those were the last words I ever heard her say. 'Daddy's busy.'"