Chapter 21

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Jeremiah

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Jeremiah

Basketball.

That was one of the things I loved doing to blow off steam. Not like I was good with it, as I was with football, but since I couldn't really play football anymore, basketball had become my safe place.

To everyone else, it was just basketball, but to me it was taking all my anger and frustration, and throwing them all into a basket that was a few feet taller than me, just like how it was for me with football. I needed this, I needed this to be an escape place, a distraction for all the crazies that have been happening in my life. I had come here from the restaurant, and I just couldn't stop myself from asking myself why?

Why she didn't even bother to see me, even for a second? A second would have been enough. Didn't she miss me? After all these years, didn't she ever want to be reunited with me again? Why did she keep throwing me away? Why did she keep pretending like I didn't exist? How on earth was she able to live her life like nothing happened? Like I wasn't there? Like I'm not there?

I threw the ball into the basket, and called it a day. I was tired anyway, I just needed a cold bath to rid myself of all that sweat, and then something to eat, perhaps. Good lord, I was starving. I could feel the sweat dripping from my face as I dabbed it quickly with my face towel. I slowly turned to the bleachers surrounding the really huge basketball court, taking the towel down my face slowly, I frowned.

Right in the middle of the third row, she was sitting right there, waving at me with a huge smile on her face the moment we made eye contact.

My fiancée, Oma.

How on earth did she find me? I wasn't even ready for this. I rolled my eyes the moment I watched her reach for the shopping bag on the chair beside hers, she got up with it. I could tell she was trying to come to me immediately.

So here's the tea.

Oma and I, we are betrothed. Soulmates, as a lot of people usually called us. We've been engaged since I was nine years old. Funny, but true. I guess that's the thing about rich people, they always find a way, some form of insurance for the future and somehow, their kids end up being a part of it most of the time. Unlike like me, Oma could never relate to poverty. She had lived in a mansion and had maids at her beck and call all her life. She owned shares in her name and properties too even before she was born. Oma Richards.

Oma's father and my father were the closest of friends, and business partners too. Her father owned Richwell, one of the biggest oil companies in the country and also the company with the biggest oil-wells. Richwell owned about three oil wells, an oil well more than Benoil, but it was not only that, Richwell was one of the only few companies in the continent that produced her own cars. Trust me, it was a big deal. My father always talked about her father, about how goal oriented and smart he was. The guy for every business, and that was why he always said they thought alike. That was why they were friends, friends for a long time, and they wanted to turn family, to unite both families, and so the idea to wed Oma and I came along, at least to my knowledge.

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