A thousand bulldozers could not compare to the stomping headache that was drilling inside Ryan’s head as he was forced to peel open his eyes when the sunlight leaking through the light curtain became too bright to bear early the next morning.

“Bloody Virgin Mary, help me!” He groaned while massaging his temple to dispel the ache.

“Virgin Mary will help you if you ask her politely,” a female voice whispered seductively in his ear.

“Jesus Christ!” he blared, jerking up from bed, startled at seeing an unknown woman beside him, clad only in bed sheets. “You’re Virgin Mary?”

The woman giggled and winked at him. “Not necessary a virgin, but my name is Mary.” Then she winked at him again, licked her lips, and asked, “Wanna go for another round?”

Ryan looked at her like she’d just grown a pair of horns atop her head. Someone please kick me in the ass. Did my taste run that dry?

The woman lying next to him was definitely not his type. She was too big, too tall, and too bulky. Definitely not his style. What was he thinking going for her? Then his memory of the night before came flooding back to him.

The cute petite woman sitting on the stool!

That’s right. The small woman who had him hooked from the first moment he saw her, that pixie who’d brought him the roses just a week back. It was that same woman who spat on him because she’d asked him to buy a drink for her.

Damn that woman. What was she thinking spitting all over him like that? And it had to be on his new baby-blue shirt too. At that moment, his hands wanted so much to wring her neck, but she was just too much his type to truly hurt her. If he saw her, next time he would surely strangle her, or maybe kiss her, depending on his mood.

Hell! No woman had ever treated him that way before. It hurt his ego.

“Well, baby, are we gonna go for another round?” Mary asked, her arms and legs draped over his body like an octopus’ tentacles, sucking its favourite prey.

Of course not, Ryan was about to say, but before he could reply, his cell phone rang. He signaled for the girl to stop speaking for a bit, then removing those long tentacles of hers from his body, he sat up again and retrieved his cell phone on the bedside table, then flicked it open.

“Bloody hell.” Ryan let out another groan. It was from his goddamn cousin Anton.

AGAIN!

Anton had been relentlessly calling him nonstop since last night. He had to shut off his phone before he went mad and checked himself into Cherry Farm, aka the mental institution. Again, Anton was reminding him about the upcoming merger meeting between his father’s company, Silverton Enterprises, and The Bass Ltd. later this morning.

Ryan rubbed his jaw in frustration. What role did he play anyway? He didn’t actually have a part in the decisions of the company. All he ever did was entertain people and party. It was Anton who had to deal with all the merging.

Anton had been nagging him nonstop about work since the discussion of the merger came up. If he didn’t know Anton any better, he would have assumed he was a woman. He’d tried escaping a few times just so he could get some peace and quiet (although his definition of peace and quiet usually meant squandering women at night, doing vigorous bedroom exercises with them), but Anton had always seemed to catch up to him.

Flicking the phone closed again, he got up, shuffled on his dirty clothes from last night, and made his way out the door while saying, “Sorry, Maisy, gotta go.” “It’s Mary!” he heard her shriek as he pulled the door closed.

Ryan chuckled. God, he loved one-night stands. Even if those women got pissed with him, he would never have to face them again anyway. That was the beauty of it. He didn’t have to deal with the heartbreak, heartache, or midnight blues.

Ryan had just one rule. Girls were like bed sheets—best changed every night. With the world at his fingertips, he got a chance at any girl he chose. It was like a variety of women presented to him on a silver tray. Chuckling at the thought, he slid into his red Ferrari, slammed the door shut, and drove off at a dangerously high speed. He owned the road.

Driving on the open road cleared his head a bit. When he saw the gate to Silverton Estate, an isolated area protected by guards all around, he swiveled the car to a brief stop to say hello to Chase, their security guard, then slowed to park outside the main entrance of Silverton Mansion after a further five-minute drive in.

Silverton Mansion was a colossal estate, covering many thousands of hectares. There were vineyards and orchards all around and a stream in front, boasting a scenic view year round.

The Silvertons owned many businesses. Under the parent umbrella, Silverton Enterprises, founded by his father Clinton Silverton, they owned department stores, farmlands, and various real estate, but his father’s specialty was hotels. At the moment, they owned one in every city of New Zealand and Australia.

But Ryan couldn’t understand his father’s mind. With the amount of wealth he owned, why did his father choose to live in New Zealand, a country that was even smaller than the state of California? Not to mention the weather could sometimes be temperamental too.

Breathing a sigh of satisfaction after having not been to Silverton Estate for a good month, since most of the time he was cooped up in his private apartment in Central Lagos, Ryan stepped out of the car. Before he could fully straighten, a big golden terrier ran and tackled him.

“Hey, Dori.” Ryan scratched the dog’s ear as he rolled around on the ground.

“Long time, no see, little bro.”

In response, the dog just lay near Ryan’s feet, wagging his tail, his tongue lopped out on one side in satisfaction.

“Ryan!” A deep voice sounded from inside the house.

“Crap!” he uttered. When he looked up, he saw his father heading his way. “Hey, Dad. How’s life on this side of the equator?”

“Ryan, I’m going to strangle you,” Clinton Silverton said by way of greeting his only son. “Why did I send you to the States? You wasted my fortune!”

Ryan’s father, Clinton, had wanted him to go to the US to negotiate a deal. But his son had failed him. Not only that, but he had partied each night away and spent all the money meant for the expenditure of the deal on his midnight pleasures. He didn’t report back until Anton told him the news about the deal being off.

“Come on, Dad. People make mistakes. I’m sure we didn’t lose much.”

“We didn’t lose much?” Clinton’s face fumed with madness and he pulled at his hair in frustration with his no-good son.

“We lost a good three hundred grand,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Holy shit! That much?” Ryan asked, surprised. Surely he didn’t spend all that much. He knew the negotiation didn’t go well, so he assumed they would lose the deal anyway. Instead of coming home immediately, he stayed in the States a few days extra for some much needed holiday—the last one over two weeks prior. Plus, it was an extra bonus to see Fern, his best friend from college, too.

“That much,” Clinton confirmed.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry. How about if I make it up to you somehow?” Ryan asked. He didn’t like to disappoint his father; the old man did fund his living expenses.

Anything to make him happy.

“Good. You will go to the meeting today,” Clinton declared.

“No. Not the meeting,” he moaned. “You know how boring it is. The last time I was there, I fell asleep.”

“Well, you’ve got to learn somewhere. You’ll be taking over this empire pretty soon. I’m not going to be here forever,” Clinton said, persuading his son.

Clinton knew his son loved him and would never intentionally disappoint him. Sure, he was a little bit of a rotten egg once in a while, but the boy just needed some responsibility to toughen him up and straighten his path. This time he was sure to make his son take full responsibility, and good practice starts with having a good mentor. He was certain Anton would be his perfect mentor.

“Come now, Dad. Don’t talk like that.” Ryan led his father to the azalea trestle that shaded the roof from the sun, where there were a few outdoor seats. “Here, sit down.” He gestured for his father to take one of the seats and started massaging his father’s arms. “A young man like you will live up to a hundred years.”

“Only a hundred?” Clinton smiled at his son, a sparkle of love in his eyes, no longer angry.

“Okay, a hundred and fifty, then.” Ryan smiled, happy his father was no longer mad at him.

“I don’t need to live that long. I just want to see you and Anton get married, settle down, and have a family.”

“Well, for Anton, there won’t be a problem, but for me, well, let’s just wait and see how the future pans out.” He scratched his nose.

“Can’t you do this much for your old man?” Clinton asked in desperation.

Clinton knew he was getting old. He wanted his son to have a family. More importantly, he wanted a grandchild. He was way over sixty. His first wife, Andrea, conceived Ryan when she was in her early thirties, while Clinton was in his forties.

Once Ryan was born, his beautiful wife had passed away, due to cancer, leaving him to look after their baby.

He missed his wife dearly, still holding on to their cherished memories, but he really regretted having his son at such a late age. But Clinton was the type of man to look towards the future. He would not let his past gloom affect his judgment for the future. That was why it was imperative his son look for a girl now, to stop the cycle of conceiving a baby at an older age.

“Dad, I can’t just go up to some random girl, ask her to sleep with me, then marry her. It doesn’t work that way with me.” Ryan interrupted his father’s train of thought.

“You’ve been doing that already. So just ask the question once you’ve done with the sleeping bit.” Clinton half-heartedly argued with his son’s statement.

“Dad, I told you I can’t. I need to love the girl. When my time comes, I’m sure I’ll find the right one for me.”

“But if you get the girl pregnant, wouldn’t you have to marry her?” Clinton took in his son’s suggestion, smiling at the thought. “Yes, that could be a very strong possibility. Then you could marry the girl.”

“Dad, I won’t get a girl pregnant. I practice safe sex, so don’t dream about that,” he declared.

“Well, how do you propose to go about getting a family, then? I’m not getting any younger. I want to see my son married.” Clinton was back to square one again.

“I can’t answer that for you.” Ryan folded his arm and relaxed into the chair next to his father, having had enough of the massaging now, since his tactic of sweet action didn’t work on his father. The man was just so adamant on finding him the perfect girl.

“You’re not making this old man happy.” Clinton moaned like a child whose toy had been taken away.

“Ah, come now, Dad. Stop acting like a kid.” Ryan patted his father’s hand in comfort. “I’ll call Betty to make you your favourite chocolate cookies. Okay?” He turned towards the main house and shouted, “Betty, make Dad something to eat. He’s upset again.”

Betty was Ryan’s stepmother, or more precisely their housemaid who had turned into his stepmother. His father had remarried when Ryan turned sixteen. No woman was like Betty. She was amazing. In fact, she was the only woman he could tolerate living in the same house. She was a sweet soul, and he was glad when she agreed to marry his father.

Betty, upon hearing Ryan’s shout, came rolling out of the kitchen door at the back of the house, dressed in an apron, a rolling pin in her hand. Her face was white, covered in flour. She must be baking again, Ryan thought.

“Betty, what are you doing? You have flour all over your face,” Ryan said as Betty got closer.

“I was cooking something for Clinton,” she said, waving the rolling pin in her hand.

“Right,” Ryan said, nodding his head.

Betty came closer and sniffed him.

“Master Ryan, did you bathe in alcohol? You stink. Go and clean up.” Betty pushed Ryan towards the house entrance.

“I didn’t bathe in it, Betty, but a maniac woman suddenly thought it would be fun to spray me with the alcohol she was about to ingest.”

“Serves you right, Master Ryan, for always changing your women like you change your clothes.”

“She’s not my woman, Betty,” Ryan retorted.

“I’m sure you’ll be chasing her up until she becomes your woman. Am I right, Master Ryan?” Betty teased.

“Argh, all right, all right, enough with the master,” Ryan said, wanting to shake his stepmother. She had been his mother for over six years now, and not once did she ever call him her son, always referring to him as Master. Maybe she was scared he might be like one of those kids who would resent her for marrying his father. Well, at first he did resent her for coming into his father’s life, stealing away all his attention, but after seeing how Betty had lightened his father’s life, he’d given in.