Diamonds Dancing

Seven

'Not even six months after that tragic death of his wife, Slater Ivanov and his daughters; Nessie & Lia Ivanov, have been pictured with a mystery lady whilst vacationing on a private beach in NYC.

The woman who has yet to be named, appeared in front of the paparazzi in a yellow number.

Ever since the producer decided to take a well-deserved music break following the recent death of his wife, the thirty-four-year-old has been keeping a low profile. Or, that is what we all thought until now.

Battling a lifelong secret illness that left the world in shock, it has only been six months that news spread confirming the death of thirty-two-year-old Russian supermodel, Dasha Ivanov.

From what we have gathered, the nameless lover has not been received well by the public. Fans have felt that Ivanov has not mourned his sixteen-year-relationship and ten-year-long marriage long enough, and has moved on too quickly. And we can't say we don't agree, we're not ready to say goodbye to Hollywood's favourite couple just yet!

What we can say is that the pair were spotted in a private beach at s...'

"What is this bullshit?" He murmured, utterly disgusted to have wasted five long minutes of his life that he would never be able to get back.

Slater slammed the laptop screen shut, not wanting to read on any further. He had been emailed well over ten articles in the past hour all stating the exact same thing.

New lover. New girlfriend.

He couldn't keep reading the repetitive words otherwise he would end up ripping his hair out. The intensity of his headache was growing the more he sat there and thought about the ridiculous gossip sites spreading lies.

He didn't know where to begin.

Did these people really have nothing better to do with their lives?

A sigh of annoyance filtered out of him as he reached over to pick up the Cuban cigar he had been smoking. Putting it to his lips with two fingers, he took a slow drag, inhaling the intoxicating smoke.

Smoking relaxed Slater Ivanov, it wasn't a big surprise that the Russian's lungs were constantly littered from the deadly habit. It was seen as a common pass time in his home country, something he had not thought twice about until migrating to the country he currently called home. Smoking from an early age, and drinking copious amounts of vodka was normal to him, but even he could recognise his clear addiction towards smoking.

His chest always felt tight, like he had a buildup of emotion lodged inside. He hated it.

And so, he smoked to get rid of that god awful feeling.

The abrupt sound of his phone vibrating against the desk didn't faze him whatsoever, he hadn't even inhaled his second hit and he was already being interrupted. Alone time appeared to be a myth for the famous producer.

Tapping the ash off in the tray in front of him, he placed the cigar down and sighed loudly.

Hazel eyes honed in on the expensive smartphone, he let it ring for a couple times before grabbing ahold of it.