•Dichotomy•
|"A division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different."|
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How many silhouettes can one trap in oneself? How many faces can a mask hide...
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Exactly as he had expected.
Once again, the actions of Alexandra Bridgette deviated from his expectations.
The President's breath became more pronounced and deliberate when he heard the footsteps ascending the stairs get closer.
Alexandra had climbed in through the hallway after wandering outside for a long time, even though he had left the door remaining open for easier entry. Even though he had purposefully left his office unlocked and the guards informed, she still chose to be so cautious.
She was a woman who always diverged from his expectations; she always left him an impression. He lay still on the sofa, letting her feet move closer.
Alexandra's sigh of relief came after she heard the hardwood floor creak smoothly.
The President scoffed silently and lowered his gaze from the ceiling.
It didn't take long until she entered the reception room of his personal 63rd floor. She eyed her surroundings stiffly, then she took a careful step forward and began to inspect places near the window.
The President's eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, instantly captured her petite figure. The moonlight that flowed in through the window shone upon her, who stood in front of the table.
By the time he narrowed his eyes, Alexandra had moved to her following location, the cabinet.
The skirt of her dress wrapped around her slender calves shook along with her footsteps. The sheer white dress made of a see-through fabric exposed her torso line and made her seem like she was in her nightgown.
'What do I wish to attain from this?'
He caressed the glasses' delicate frame with his fingertips. His consciousness was rendered clear by its cold, smooth texture. Meanwhile, Alexandra had shifted to the front of the console table, which was angled opposite his sofa.
The President glanced over her moonlight-illuminated back.
'That woman'.
He now got the answers he was searching for.
The reason for his unending patience in waiting when setting up this ridiculous trap.
To be able to have that woman.
That woman, Alexandra Bridgette, who was no longer a little girl from the photograph.
Who was so much divulged from the printed image, hiding behind a well - maintained veil of . . . . . . . vagueness.
"Are you looking for this?"
He broke the silence and shook the glasses in his hand slowly.
Alexandra immediately turned around when she was about to open the console table's drawer. She seemed to be on the brink of fainting.
