Page 21 of Wicked Trap

It was morning already, and he was running late. He sat up with a jerk. Despite the throbbing headache, he pushed the thick bedcovers away and went into his bathroom. He turned on the shower and set the temperature on the panel to hot, allowing steam to fill the glass cubicle. Meanwhile, he brushed his teeth. When he caught his reflection in the large wall-to-wall mirror, he grimaced. His eyes looked bloodshot, his hair was a wild mess and there were a couple of bruises on his neck and chest.

He looked exactly like a man would appear after having a wild, drunken night filled with partying and sex and with barely three hours of sleep. He normally spent most weekend nights similarly. But that particular Sunday morning was important. Very important.

It was his mother’s birthday. And he always spent the entire day with her that day.

Stepping into the steam-filled cubicle, he hurried with his shower. He finished rinsing off the soap and then turned on the temperature setting to cool until the icy cold water woke him up and dulled the throbbing headache somewhat. He stepped out wet and dripping and grabbed a towel on his way.

He got ready in five minutes. Even though he was meeting his mother, he wore a three-piece business suit. Ever since he graduated from Harvard and began his own software company, his default attire was business suits. He was more comfortable in them.

He finger-combed his hair before grabbing his wallet and the keys to his sports car. His mother didn’t like any of his sports cars. Not that she was too happy with him driving his bikes either. She thought he drove too fast, and there was no need for a car or a bike when New York had good public transportation.

He grinned. He and his two brothers were officially declared billionaires, but in his mother’s eyes, they would always remain her boys who grew up in a modest home in the New York suburbs.

Shaking his head with a smile, he went towards the bed to pick up his phone. There were five missed calls. And all of them were from his brothers. He knew the two of them were going to ride his ass for running late.

Grinning again, he slipped his phone into his pocket. His eyes then fell on the naked woman on his bed whose face was covered by her hair.

Shit.

He couldn’t recall who he had spent the night with. He had been too drunk to care. Hoping it wasn’t a woman who worked for him or any of his mother’s acquaintances’ daughters, he pushed the woman’s hair aside to look at her face.

He let out an internal sigh of relief. It was a familiar woman he had met before a few times in social gatherings. He recalled meeting her at the previous night’s party at his business partner’s house. She had come with another man. But as soon as she saw him, she ditched the other man and had come onto him pretty strongly. She kept whispering filthy, suggestive words into his ear. And since she didn’t have a wedding ring on her finger, he took her up on the offer.

He grinned, recalling how she had lived up to her wild promises.

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

He knew he wouldn’t spend another night with her. He didn’t date the same woman more than once. Luckily, New York had a big enough population of hot women to keep him going for decades. Hoping the woman would be gone by the time he returned, he stepped out of his penthouse to visit his mother.

He drove out of Manhattan. Thirty minutes later, he drove into a small gated community of a suburban neighborhood. He stopped his shiny red sports car in front of a modest house where two sleek black luxury SUVs with tinted windows were parked.

His brothers were already inside.

Grinning and knowing his brothers would be quite annoyed, he stepped out of his car.

Before he could ring the bell, the door was opened by a middle-aged woman whose beautiful face was lit up in a bright smile.

“Aryan!”

“Happy birthday, Ma.”

He hugged his mother. His petite mother hugged him back before pulling his cheeks lower and placing a sweet kiss on his forehead.

He scowled mockingly. “Ma, I told you so many times. You’ve got to stop pulling my cheeks in public. I’m not a child anymore.”

She grinned as usual. “Well, you are my youngest son and will always remain my baby.”

Laughing at their usual banter, he kissed his mother’s cheek before leading her inside the house.

Just like his mother, the home’s décor was bright and cheerful with several pictures and knickknacks of sentimental value. A photo frame with his late father’s picture was placed on the coffee table. Aryan knew his mother must have placed it there that morning like she usually did on her birthdays. She wanted her late husband to be a part of the celebration.

“Something smells delicious, Ma. Has the food arrived already?”

He had ordered breakfast and the rest of the meals for the day from her mother’s favorite restaurants.

“No. I made Bhargav cancel the breakfast order. I already made breakfast. Your favorite.”

Aryan shook his head. “Ma, it’s your birthday. You are supposed to relax and have fun.”

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