Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 32
—
[Zendaya’s Mansion]
Tasha called that Kehlani is up and better than last night, so Zendaya dressed up to go see her.
She’s currently in front of her mirror, seated with her second phone.
Of course she has a second phone, but too bad she didn’t record Cove’s body on that one.
The only useful video on that one is the video of their tango on the expressway.
She recorded it, but it’s not yet time to use it.
After watching the video twice, she minimized and went to OBSCURE.
She wrote a brand new secret on the app for two long minutes, her thumb moving angrily fast till she was done.
She dropped the phone and turned back to the bed.
Cove’s shirt is right there, spread in the middle.
She couldn’t sleep last night. Each time she closed her eyes, images of Stacy in his arms flooded her head, and she was only a gap away from madness throughout dawn.
But it’d be over soon anyways.
She stood, and her shoulder gave her a slicing sensation. It hurts too much from the dislocation he gave her.
She visited the hospital last night on her way back home after ste left Cove’s apartment, and a nurse helped her reset the bone, but the reset journey isn’t over.
She’d still have to keep going for a month before the bone can fully heal
She grunted as she picked her backpack from the vanity table.
It contains the clothes she’s gonna gym with cos today, her gym sessions starts.
She’s gonna go to the gym after she sees Kehlani.
To hell with her broken bone.
—
[Melrose Avenue]
Dorian’s fan sign event was held at Obsidian Pulse Arena in LA—a sleek black-glass event hall tucked off Melrose Avenue.
The venue was known for hosting underground rock showcases and exclusive artist meets, but today it was chaos in the best way possible.
Metal banners draped across the entrance. A twelve-foot LED screen looped Dorian’s upcoming music video dark teasing picture.
Security guards lined the barricades while fans screamed his name like a ritual chant.
To attend, fans had to:
Pre-order the limited edition of his last album bundle (proof of purchase required), register online for a numbered wristband, present a valid government ID at check-in and several other requirements.
And they must follow the “no prolonged physical contact” rule enforced by staff.
Still, rules didn’t stop devotion.
The line wrapped around the building. Some fans wore ripped fishnets and combat boots.
Some came in school uniforms. One guy had painted Dorian’s stage logo across his chest in black acrylic.
A girl brought a vinyl record from his very first underground release.
Another brought a leather jacket with his lyrics hand-stitched inside the lining. Someone even brought a custom electric guitar pick encased in resin for him to autograph.
And Dorian?
He was sunshine in black.
Rings on his fingers, chains glinting under the lights. He has a messy dark hair falling over his eyes today and a face cap worn backwards over it, but that grin?
Pure golden retriever.
“Hey, don’t cry, I’m not retiring,” he teased the trembling black fan sitting in front of him, gently tapping her signed poster.
“If I retire, who’s going to scream at you through your headphones at 2 a.m.?” He continued.
The fan girl smiled, and the insane crowd laughed heartily.
“Can I touch your hand? Please….” The girl asked nervously.
Dorian tendered his palm, and she placed her hand on it.
Dorian squeezed gently.
“Your hand is so warm and soft, I love you so much! I came all the way from South Africa please can you put South Africa on your upcoming tour?” She rushed, still nervous.
“My crew decide the countries, not me baby,” he smiled.
“But my parents won’t allow me come for a concert in another country. Yunno Mr. Silas Young daughter—Lynn, she came to attend your concert in San Francisco when she went missing, so my parents have been skeptical since then. Even this fan sign, I had to craftily follow my dad on a business trip to this city to be able to attend. Please add South Africa!” She begged, already crying.
“Wipe those tears, please…” Dorian said seriously.
She nodded and wiped.
Behind Dorian with the guards, Angela secretly scoffed.
Why being unnecessarily extra?
“South Africa will be my first tour country, I promise.” Dorian said.
“Thank you!!! I love you so much you’re so kind! Thank you!!!” She screamed, still screaming as Dorian sign on her birthday card.
“By the way, your eyeliner is metal approved,” he winked, and that girl nearly fainted.
When she left, a teen boy came.
Dorian fist-bumped the nervous boy when he admitted he started learning drums because of him.
He leaned over the table to properly read a handwritten letter before signing it.
Flash. Sign. Smile. Wink. Move along. That was the process before it happened….
A familiar type of bold fan stepped forward. She wore a mini skirt and confidence.
After Dorian signed her album, she lifted the hem of her skirt slightly and turned sideways, exposing the upper part of her thigh.
“Sign here,” she said with a playful smirk. “You’ve done it before.”
The crowd reacted instantly—whistles, phones lifting, security subtly shifting.
Dorian waited half a second because yes, he had done it before.
He signed and kissed female thighs countless times…
But that was before a certain girl.
His grin softened.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, twirling the marker between his fingers.
“Tempting,” he said lightly, voice still cheerful. “But I’m trying to behave these days.”
The fan blinked. “What?”
He tapped the table playfully. “Let’s keep it PG. Your album cover is safer. Future me will thank present me.”
The crowd oooh-ed dramatically.
The girl laughed awkwardly but nodded, sliding the album back toward him.
He signed it with a dramatic flourish instead. “Still iconic”
With a wider grin, the girl left for others to come forward.
This fan sign will end by 12, and he’d have the ambassadorial shoot at 5, so between 12 and 4, he’d have time to go see Stacy.
He was smiling as he signed the next album.
—
[A Tattooist Shop]
The bell above the door jingled once, but Cove barely glanced at it as he came in.
The shop smelled of antiseptic and ink, but to him, it was just another inconsequential backdrop.
The fluorescent light flickered slightly overhead, casting pale shadows across his sharp features.
The tattooist—a wiry man with ink-sleeved arms raised an eyebrow.
He pointed at the tattoo catalog, but Cove doesn’t seem interested.
He took off his shirt, sat and just described the tattoo he wanted. The man listened attentively.
“You sure about placement?” he asked after the description, gesturing toward Cove’s collarbone.
“I didn’t stammer,” he said, voice low. His gaze wandered to the open window where clear clouds played in the sky.
He flexed his hand, the veins standing out like cords beneath skin.
“Start.” He told the tattooist.
The needle buzzed to life, a white-hot sound that seemed punctuate the silence.
He didn’t flinch as it touched him.
He didn’t speak.
Each line traced the meaning he already carried—ownership, obsession, inevitability.
It took just an hour for the tattoo to finish up.
It’s a neat latin phrase…
“Quod volo, meum est.”
Drawn right below his collarbone, and beneath the phrase, the delicate lines of a thin breaking chain was drawn too.
He examined it in the small mirror, and a faint smirk brushed his lips, cold and private.
The world outside could continue in darkness and remain ignorant, but here, on his skin, a message has been carved that would never be ignored.
What he wants is his, and nothing survives in his path.
He stood and paid without a word, but that was when Trinidad entered the shop with Roxy.
“Oh look who I met! Covey motherFuçkin Fabio!” She said a little too loud.
“And your tasteless third wheel isn’t with you?” Cove muttered.
“Elmira?” Roxy smirked. “She’s not a third wheel, she’s not just here you bastard,” she rolled eyes.
Cove ignored her.
“You came for a tattoo?” Trinidad asked.
“Isn’t that what this place is made for?” Cove muttered.
“Tattoo is the main, but there’s a small game house at the side. What do you say about a little snooker session? Tsk tsk,” she smiled.
Cove didn’t decline.
He followed them as Trinidad stuck hands with the tattooist, and they entered the side building.
Snooker, beer pong, video games, dartboards and wh@tëver.
This place is a gap away from being a arcade.
There are few people inside playing games over drinks already, so they just picked their own snooker table.
Roxy settled for a drink while Trinidad and Cove settled to play.
“You look effing hot when playing snooker, I swear,” Trinidad grinned in the fifth minute.
“I know,” Cove replied.
“You’re self-aware. You know you’re a ten, and that’s why you’re so darn arrogant,” Trinidad laughed, knocking another egg.
“You have a problem with that?” Cove knocked an egg too, confidently.
“Problem? I like your personality I’m a fan!” Trinidad threw the snooker egg and caught it.
Cove looked down at the table, blank as he moved to a different angle to knock. The stick looks like a weapon with him.
His phone buzzed, and when he pulled it out, a hard look crossed his perfect features.
Unknown Line: Lunch in my house at 2? It’s to apologize and talk.
His eyes stilled, then another text popped up.
Unknown Line: Albert Montana.
Cove continued staring at that name like it’s a taboo appearance, but now there’s something else in those eyes apart from the dark.
The flesh below his right eye bunched a little.
It’s his tell for intrigue.
He was still staring at his screen when Roxy came to Trinidad with her phone, grinning.
“Look! Zendaya Hippo is in the gym, working the fûck out!” She showed the picture.
Zendaya is on the treadmill.
“All for Ice prince?” Trinidad scoffed, shaking her head. “I think she has sawdust in her skull instead of a brain.”
Cove is still staring at his phone.
—
[San Francisco, Boulevard]
The private dining salon was closed to the public, sunlight pouring through tall windows overlooking the Embarcadero.
Crystal flutes caught the light, white orchids stretched low across the table, and every woman seated there carried generational wealth in her graceful posture.
It’s a luncheon for the extra rich women of San Francisco, and as usual, Kaylee arrived last.
She wore ceam silk suit. Structured shoulders and diamond studs that could pay off a mortgage.
She removed her sunglasses slowly and took her seat.
“Kaylee,” the closest woman to her drawled, swirling her champagne. “Still ruling the private banking universe?”
Kaylee smiled. “I wouldn’t say ruling. More like… directing.”
There was soft competitive laughter among the women.
They began with caviar and brioche before the conversation drifted from investment portfolios to offshore expansions before landing exactly where Kaylee knew it would.
“And your son,” another woman said, delicately cutting into her truffle omelet. “Dorian the singer…
Kaylee’s gaze lifted.
“Not just a singer,” she corrected lightly. “He’s still the most streamed metal artist in the world this year despite his hiatus.”
There was a pause.
“He sold out arenas in Los Angeles, two weeks ago.” Kaylee added.
The woman’s smile tightened. “Isn’t metal a bit… aggressive though?”
Kaylee dabbed her lips with her napkin before talking. “Power often sounds aggressive to people who don’t have it.”
The table went still for half a breath.
“And he returned to school?” another woman asked.
“At RIDE in Los Angeles,” Kaylee replied. “I insisted that he should finish. Fame without education is fragile.”
The server refilled their glasses.
“Forbes is profiling him next month. ‘The Metal Prince of a Generation.’ Their words.” Kaylee continued.
Flaunting her son? Bragging with her wealth? Kaylee owns that spot. Dragging it with her only means you wanna get dragged too.
Her Private Banking Network is so insane she holds the secret to the wealth of so many people in this country, and she creates her wealth from that, so she’s untouchable.
Richest woman in the country.
Sickly wealth. Lavish. Extravagant.
Her only son is her life, and if she can’t brag with him in this lifetime, then what’s the purpose?
The women gave her secret jealous glances, and as the dessert arrived, she received a text.
From the guards in LA.
She excused herself from the table and went to the mobile section of the boulevard.
They’re pictures of Cove Fabio inside Dorian’s Mansion last night.
“He invited him to his last concert and I was quiet about it. Now he’s in his house? What was Angela doing?” She muttered furiously.
She dialled Angela, and Angela picked fast, sounding chic.
“Hey Kaylee!”
“The filthy garage boy in my son’s mansion? I trusted you, so I sent you there with him to manage him. What’s going on! The heir to my Network…and a mechanic? Angela what’s happening!”
“I swear to gawd, I was already asleep when he brought him in last night, and it was the guards who reported to me this morning but I could do nothing. Your son is stubborn about him!” Angel said.
Kaylee cut the call and dialled her own secretary.
“Yes ma’am?’ the make voice dropped.
“Flight to LA tommorow. I’ll be there throughout next week. Cancel all my schedules,” she ordered.
—
[LA, Montana Mansion, 1:50pm]
Kehlani left since 1 with the twins, and Stacy is currently planning to go meet her. She’s currently at the twins mansion cos it’s like she’s currently allergic to her own mansion.
But when Stacy came downstairs after her one hour sleep, she met Anita setting dishes on the dinning table carefully, and she yawned.
“What’s going on here?”
“Hey beauty!” Anita looked up, beaming. “Your dad is coming today, told me to prepare lunch for three people,”
“What! And why three people? Who’s the third?” Stacy raised her brows.
“That’s a secret, sweetheart,” Albert entered with guards behind him carrying armfuls of gifts for Stacy.
“You sure know how to bribe,” Stacy muttered with a sigh.
“Of course, I know I did wrong so here I am, bearing apology gifts,” Albert smiled.
“And I missed you, a little.” Stacy made faces.
Albert spread his arms, and she walked into it, hugging him.
“I missed you so much, sweetheart. Whole time I was thinking of your forgiveness,” Albert said.
“I missed you biggest, but I still h@të you,” she pouted.
“The h@të will dissipate after this lunch, trust me.” Albert chuckled. “We’re eating a French lunch.”
Stacy broke the hug.
“I’m gonna go shower, I’m eagar to see who this guest of yours is….” She broke the hug.
Anita took the gift bags from the guards, carrying them after Stacy as she returned upstairs.
She only dropped them in her room then returned downstairs.
Albert was lessening the grip of his tie around his neck when they heard car engines purring into the compound.
“That must be him,” Albert said.
“Who exactly?” Anita asked.
Albert just shrugged, and three minutes later, Dorian entered.
“Not who I expected, but Dorian Wesley?” Albert nodded.
Anita immediately faced the dinning, not making a single eye contact with Dorian like she’s scared.
“Gooday. I was here last night and Stacy said I could visit today,” Dorian smiled awkwardly.
“Of course she said that, otherwise the guards wouldn’t even open the gate for you,” Albert smiled. “She’s upstairs. Middle room”
Dorian went upstairs immediately.
“So who’s your own guest sir?” Anita asked, unable to push her curiousness away.
Then…the doorbell rang.
“Must be him!” Albert smiled.
Anita went to the main door, impatiently throwing the door open.
She gasped when she saw who stood there in a black hoodie and black jean, black sneakers too and a presence that made the room shift.
“Cove?” She sounded.
“Come on in!” Albert sounded from the expansive dinning, and Anita stepped out of the way.
Cove entered.
—
[Upstairs, Stacy’s Room]
When Dorian arrived two minutes ago, he heard the running shower, so he knew she was in the bathroom.
He just sat in front of her vanity table, peeking at his own perfection in the mirror at times, but he’s also peeking around the room.
He smelled pink rose, and he inhaled healthily.
Her bed is messy with teddy by a side, a small bra by another side, and then her laptop and a textbook.
But other than that, other parts of the room are neatly arranged.
He sighted the bra again, and he smiled before looking away.
His phone buzzed, it’s Angela.
Angel: The fûck are you? The guards can’t track you!
Angel: You sneaked out of their protection? Are you for real? You’re Kaylee’s son, there are enemies!
Angel: do you wanna get killed? You want Kaylee to kill me?
Angel: Reply my messages.
Angel: Do a video of where you are!
Angel: Riri please!
Angel: wait…. you’re not with Stacy, are you?”
Angel: I’m coming to that mansion right now!
Angel: No, that’d make me look like a mad person. Rian come back!!!!
Angel: Rian!!!!!!!
As he read the messages, he could nearly hear her screams in his ears.
That’s not all, but he got fed up and stopped reading.
The bathroom door opened, and Stacy came out.
His phone fell off his fingers immediately cos…
She doesn’t use the usual thick bathroom towels. Hers is thin, transparent!
The water on her cherubic skin made the thin towel material gum completely to it.
It outlined that killer waist, the little hips, and he could see the waist chains too underneath.
Even the navel ring.
Her soft wet hair is gummed to her back and shoulders skin.
Ethereality? Yes.
He stood before he knew it, and when Stacy saw him in her room, she almost screamed, but then she contained it.
Is he her dad’s guest?
“Rian? Why are you in my room? Are you…the guest?”
But instead of answering, Dorian took dangerous steps close.
She didn’t want to move before, but seeing the lethality in his eyes made her move back.
Her back smudged the bathroom door, and she stopped.
When he stepped right in front of her, her breaths caught. Water dropped from her wet lashes to her chest.
“Rian?” She whispered.
He lowered his face.
—
[Downstairs]
Cove already sat with Albert, across each other at the dining, but none of the food impressed him.
Not the hors d’oeuvre or the main dishes. He’s not a sucker for food, but he’s not planning to decline.
“With your GPA, you can work part-time while schooling, and trust me, AI robotics companies will be dying to have you. Before you graduate, you’ll become a millionaire. I can link you up if you don’t mind,” Albert offered.
“I don’t appreciate visibility. I’m fine, like this.” Cove replied curtly.
Albert frowned, wondering what kinda human doesn’t hoard connections in the slightest.
“Why is Stacy not back?” He wondered.
“Should I go check?” Anita asked.
“No, he will,” Albert relaxed, nodding at Cove who looks frozen.
“Third room, chop chop.” Albert smiled.
Anita stepped back, and a minute later, Cove is going up.
“That’d be the second boy you sent up to her room in space of ten minutes, sir.” Anita said.
“I’m very open-minded,” Albert shrugged.
Anita went silent.
Cove didn’t count the rooms, his eyes just alerted him when he arrived at the door of the third room.
He wanted to knock, but the silence is suspicious.
Dollface isn’t the quiet type.
He pushed the door open, and what he saw made his jaws grit so hard his face nearly split in two.
Stacy’s thin towel is already….
On the floor.
TBC.
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