Chapter 93: You freak... Die!
*Beep Beep!*
The sharp chime of Augustine’s ringtone shattered the quiet of the room, echoing off the walls like an unwelcome intruder.
With a tired groan, Augustine furrowed his brows, blindly reaching for his phone on the bedside table.
His fingers brushed against the cool surface before grasping it, yet he made no move to open his eyes, exhaustion weighing heavily on him.
Still groggy from the exhaustion of the previous day, Augustine barely mustered the energy to lift the phone.
The mere thought of getting up for work felt unbearable.
Letting out a frustrated hiss, he lazily brought the device to his ear, answering the call without even glancing at the screen.
"Good morning CEO Augustine." The person from the other end of the line greeted me.
It was Augustine’s secretary.
"Hmm," Augustine mumbled, replying to the greeting of his secretary which came from the other end of the phone call
"Sir, we have a big issue," the voice on the other end rushed out.
"One of the models for the launch of our new designs has tragically passed away in a car accident. Also, the meeting from the previous day, which you couldn’t attend, has now been moved to another country. The clients are unhappy about your absence, and—" there was a brief pause before the voice continued hesitantly, "your mother called. She insisted that you pick up her calls. She said she has something important to tell you."
Augustine’s secretary had only listed a small portion of his packed schedule, yet it already felt overwhelming.
There was still so much more to handle.
He had only relayed the most pressing issues.
Augustine hissed, groaning in frustration as he pushed himself upright on the bed.
Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled sharply. "Where was the meeting moved to?" he asked, his voice flat and firm.
"It was moved to Country F, and Mr. Will stated that the meeting is scheduled for two in the afternoon at Valney, the country’s most prestigious hotel," the secretary informed him.
Augustine nod.
"I’ll be at the company in the next thirty minutes. And the next time my mom calls, don’t you dare pick up," Augustine ordered.
Before his secretary could respond, he ended the call.
He sighed loudly, rolled out of bed, and made his way to the bathroom.
There, he brushed his teeth and took a refreshing shower before emerging with a towel wrapped securely around his waist.
Stepping into his walk-in closet, he reached for a sleek black long kimono, a crisp white trouser, and a fitted black turtleneck—an effortlessly refined ensemble for the day ahead.
Swiftly, he dressed inside the walk-in closet, the soft rustle of fabric filling the otherwise silent space.
Slipping a sleek wristwatch onto his wrist, he took a deep breath before stepping out, his gaze instinctively drifting toward the bed.
There, Charles lay, lost in the depths of sleep, his face serene, his head resting against his hands.
The gentle rise and fall of his chest made Augustine pause for a moment, an unspoken warmth stirring within him.
He knew he had a demanding day ahead, yet part of him longed to stay, to watch over Charles just a little longer.
Augustine sighed, his fingers grazing over Charles’s arm for a fleeting second before he gently pulled the blanket higher, tucking it securely around him.
With one last glance at Charles’s peaceful face, he turned away, grabbing his suitcase.
Stepping out of the bedroom, he moved through the quiet hallways and into the kitchen.
Augustine placed his suitcase on the counter, unzipping it briefly to retrieve a small sticky note and a pen.
His fingers hesitated for a moment before he tore off a the stinky note, pressing the tip of the pen against the paper, lost in thought.
"I am traveling out of town today, so I won’t be present at Gyapm Corporation, but I’ll try my best to return home early so that I can spend some quality time with you."
After writing what he intended to say, Augustine placed the sticky note on the door of his refrigerator.
"Last night, I placed the flask of chicken noodles soup inside the refrigerator and you can either heat it or dispose it."
Once more, Augustine added the sticky note on the refrigerator door.
He sighed, heading toward the entrance door of the sitting room, but just as he was about to open it, he paused, realizing he had forgotten to add one more thing to the sticky note.
Quickly, he turned back, grabbed the pen, and scribbled down:
"I want you to take care of yourself today, and you don’t have to go to work. I already took a sick leave for you."
Satisfied, he placed the note back on the kitchen island, his fingers lingering on the paper for a moment before he finally turned away.
He opened his suitcase and pulled out a bundle of cash, placing it on the kitchen island.
Grabbing another sticky note, he quickly wrote down:
"Use this to get whatever you need. It’s the only cash I have, but if you need more, please don’t hesitate to call."
After placing the note beside the money, he ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling softly before finally making his way toward the door.
Sigh!
With a proud smile, Augustine proceeded to walk away as he stepped out of the mansion compound.
He made his way to his garage, grabbed his black Ford car and with that he drove off.
Meanwhile...
Charles continued to lay on the bed as he slept with a twisted frown on his face.
’You... you shouldn’t have lived.’
’You have ruined his life.’
’You made Augustine gay and now it’s only fair that you die in shame.’
’Such a disgusting gay freak.’
The harsh murmurs of passing strangers filled the air as Charles lay motionless in a pool of his own blood, his vision blurring with unshed tears.
Pain seared through his body, but what hurt more was the cold indifference of the crowd gathering around him.
He had just been in an accident—his body battered, his breaths shallow—yet instead of rushing to call for help, they only stood there, their gazes filled with disgust, their words sharp like daggers.
Whispers turned into insults, their voices laced with judgment.
No sympathy. No urgency. Just cruel stares and crueler words.
"You freak... die!!!" A lady yelled as she lunged at Charles with a knife in her hands.
The knife launched straight into Charles’s chest, and as he gasped to breathe, he suddenly noticed that the lady was none other than Freda Logan.
"Arghhhhhhh!"