My Perfect Lady 113 The Secret Of The Hunters

Jimmy Hunter.

The 31 year old, high and mighty heir of the Hunter Corporation. The cold, indifferent b.a.s.t.a.r.d who was revered and admired, feared yet loved from afar. He stood in a perfect world, where everything was under his control – or under the Chairman's. He calculated every move, planned every breath. His life was organized.

His history had been tumultuous, but the world he had built for himself was unmoving and calm. Perfect and unperturbed. Like the silence that haunted a storm.

And now it had crashed.

The storm had come.

Jimmy watched Miya with dread in his eyes, feeling like he was standing against a force that wouldn't stop, but never could move. The hush of his world had collided with the tempest that her own world was, and he didn't know how to stand still anymore.

How could he, someone who had never even been touched, understand the depth of a pain that came from a history as dark as hers?

How could he, who stood so high he could only look above and soar through the sky, think of the ground and be afraid of a fall?

Jimmy looked into the girl's eyes.

For the first time in fifteen years, he felt a cold chill run down his spine – one that made him afraid of defeat. Not because he couldn't understand Miya's ache, but because history was repeating itself. And it was preparing for his defeat once again, making him return to his sixteen year old self.

To the story of that one fateful day that had always remained untold.

It had been buried deep beneath the Hunter grounds. And it never spoke.

Once again, things were threatening to spiral out of his hands, and he stood there uncomprehending, unable to act, unable to save what he loved.

Quietly, and with a heart that threatened to rupture through, he took one fearful step towards Miya.

His reaction was hesitant, but he held her face and pressed his lips against hers. He closed his eyes when they touched, afraid of the quiver of his mouth. Miya let out a surprised gasp, but his hold on her face was weak, his kiss too gentle. He was afraid to break something in that moment, and he feared the beat of his own heart.

He hadn't felt this scared for a long time.

He was quick to withdraw his lips from hers, to look quietly into her confused, mesmerising eyes. He knew he was a fool for not knowing how to react, and for kissing her in these abnormal circ.u.mstances.

Silently, he murmured.

"I don't know why I did that."

Miya searched his eyes, and whispered a single question.

"Are you pitying me?"

"Never."

The word only just left Jimmy's mouth, when the girl grabbed his collar and pulled him further down. He was still standing, crouching over to reach her as she remained seated on the bed. In one pressing moment, their lips met.

Miya's hold on him was forceful, her kiss hard. She explored the insides of his mouth with wild outrage, until he felt the taste of blood on his tongue. She bit at his lip, catching it between her teeth, until he was moaning from the touch.

After a long minute, she let him go.

Jim���s heart beat into his eardrums, while she looked at him with desolation in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," her words were quiet. Her gaze was fixed on the stain on his lip.

Unknowingly, Jim smiled.

"You're too violent, missus," he whispered.

"I know," she said.

Jimmy walked into the kitchen, feeling slightly better.

He prepared two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for his girl. Black, with no sugar and no milk for her. Two spoons of milk and one cube of sugar for himself. When he returned, he was satisfied to see her lying on the bed with her legs spread out, her back supported against the headboard. Jim gave her a small smile, then handed over her mug to her.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He nodded.

Then taking a seat beside her, lying in a similar fas.h.i.+on, Jimmy supported his back against the headboard of the bed too. He pulled up a sheet, so that it would cover both their legs. Then putting one arm around her shoulder, he silently sipped on his coffee.

Miya liked the soft touch of his hand. It made her feel safe, comfortable even. As if she were in a fortress that was impenetrable and strong.

Instinctively, she moved closer to him. The heat from the coffee mug between her hands felt nice too, and she safely placed her head on his chest.

"I've never told all of this to anyone else before," she said in a soft voice.

Jim looked down at her, captivated by the warmth in her eyes. Her gaze was different somehow. He automatically dipped his head and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you for telling me."

And for surviving what you did. Had you not, how would I ever have met you, my love? He was thankful in that moment, for not believing any of the investigation reports. For waiting for her to come to him with her truth. His heart raced.

Jim closed his eyes.

They remained still in that position for a long while, with Miya sometimes raising herself from the protection of his arms to sip on her coffee. When their own raging emotions had calmed down, she could collect the strength to speak.

"What about you?" she asked.

Jim caressed her shoulder, lost deeply in thought.

"What about me?"

"Won't you tell me anything at all?"

"Ask."

Jim's heart steeled, for he knew what her most probable question would be. He told himself he could tell her. Fifteen years of shutting himself down had to have some effect – he must have at least become capable of talking about the past without growing cold and numb.

She was looking up at his face. He didn't match her eyes.

"Your worst memory, Jim," she asked.

He knew it.

"I told you already," he simply said.

"Why?"

Of course.

Jimmy let out a cold breath. Before he began, he couldn't help but say,

"Then welcome, my dear, to one of the dark incidents of the Hunter family. Are you sure you want to find out?"

She nodded. Jim sighed.

"My worst memory is my mother, Miya, like I told you before. And it is attached to the sweetest memory of my life too – to the only girl I've ever loved."

Miya's heart missed a beat at that. She raised her brows in question.

Jimmy didn't look at her again.

"I had a sister," his voice went low, "Her name was Zaila. She was born in 1996. She died in 2003. She was seven then, and she was the thread that held everything together. When she was gone, everything else went cras.h.i.+ng down too."

Miya gasped.

What?