Page 1 of August and the Night

1

August

Drip, drip, drip. The sound of rain hitting my car fills my ears as I observe the beautiful woman sitting on one of the rusty café chairs. Despite the café's grim exterior and the subpar coffee it serves, she seems to enjoy being here. It's her favorite place, where she and her cousin always meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 9 am sharp to chat over coffee.

Today, she sits alone, exuding an air of elegance. Her petite frame is accentuated by unruly waves of dark, lustrous hair. With furrowed brows, she appears fully immersed in the book she's reading, as always, oblivious to the world around her. It's as if she could be engrossed in a fictional kiss that happened in one of her books even if a war unfolds around her.

The gentle winter sun's rays dance upon her nearly flawless complexion, marred only by a faint scar on her forehead—a reminder of a bike accident, according to my meticulous research. However, what truly draws me to her are her eyes—a captivating shade of chocolate brown, innocent and brimming with life. Yet, it's a life she doesn't deserve, just as her entire wretched family doesn't. They will pay for their sins, and the price will be steep. It's a promise.

Drip, drip, drip. The rain intensifies, mimicking the fire burning in my chest. The sound reminds me of my father's blood dripping onto the car seat as he took his final breaths. They will pay, and I will make sure they suffer. It's a promise I don't take lightly. I will ruin them, make them yearn for death.

Drip, drip, drip. The rain pours relentlessly, drenching the streets and me as I step out of my car, standing outside that rundown coffee shop. My gaze remains fixed on her—Layla Lexington, the woman who holds the key to my revenge. Today, the wheels of my plan will be set in motion. The storm outside mirrors the storm of emotions brewing inside me—darkness and an insatiable thirst for vengeance.

Adjusting my suit, raindrops cascade off my coat as I enter the coffee shop. Every step is calculated, and my eyes never stray from Layla, who remains engrossed in her book, oblivious to her cooling coffee. With a practiced smile, I approach her table. The pages of "Sense and Sensibility" are delicately held in her hands, a book I know she started reading last week. I've been observing her for some time, understanding her cautious nature, knowing she won't easily let a stranger approach, especially a man like me. And who could blame her? My imposing stature often intimidates people. She's the polar opposite of her cousin, who would have been an easier target, but that huge diamond engagement ring on her finger complicates matters. So, the second-best option for my plan is the little dove sitting before me.

I'm a smart man, and I know we need a common interest. If it's discussing a tedious 19th-century book, then so be it. Charm drips into my voice as I speak. "Jane Austen has a way of capturing the intricacies of the human heart, don't you think?" I gesture towards the book, seeking to engage her in conversation.

Her gaze lifts from the pages, surprise evident in her eyes. Momentary wariness flickers across her features before comprehension dawns, and she regards me with interest. "Oh, absolutely," she replies, her voice laced with intrigue. "Austen's insights into human emotions and the complexities of relationships are truly captivating."

Taking the seat opposite her, I ensure my voice brims with anticipation and genuine interest. "I couldn't agree more. I love how 'Sense and Sensibility' explores the contrast of reason and emotion. It is a beautiful read."

Her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she responds, intertwining her words with mine as we delve into a spirited conversation about the book. "How about I get you another cup of coffee, and we can continue our discussion? It's my treat, of course," I offer gently, mindful of her skittish nature. I must foster trust without pushing too hard and risk being labeled a creep.

Gratitude and curiosity mingle in her sparkling eyes as she accepts my offer. "That's very kind of you," she replies, her voice tinged with appreciation. "I'd love another cup. Thank you. By the way, we got so engrossed in our conversation that we forgot to exchange names," she chuckles.

Rising from my seat, I extend my hand for a handshake. "The name is August Steele. And yours?" I inquire, as if I don’t know when her last fucking period was.

"Layla Lexington," she responds hesitantly, her gaze shifting away, perhaps fearing that I would recognize the influence her family holds and demand undue favors. But I won't be swayed by her or her family, fuck them.

I nod, offering a forced smile before leaning in to kiss her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, love," I rasp, suppressing the anger that simmers within me. Her girlish giggle fails to charm me; it merely makes me angrier.

"How about a caramel macchiato?" I suggest, well aware that it is her preferred drink at this café. Her excited squeal confirms my knowledge. "That's my favorite! How did you know?" she exclaims.

"I couldn't say for certain. I just had a hunch that you'd enjoy something sweet, just like you," I reply, injecting charm into my voice. With that, I make my way to the counter, noting the faint blush on her cheeks. Anticipation courses through me as I order our drinks—a caramel macchiato for her and an espresso for myself. If we are to continue discussing the book, I will require caffeine.

Returning to the table, I balance two steaming cups of coffee in hand. The rich aroma permeates the air, slightly elevating my shitty mood. Carefully placing her cup down, I take my seat, watching as steam swirls between us. Our conversation flows effortlessly, each sip of the warm beverage fueling our exchange. A twisted sense of excitement surges within me as I witness the walls crumbling, forging a connection between us. It is easier than I initially surmised. Watching the ice break between us so fast only confirms to me that she is just as easy as her pathetic cousin.

"So, what do you do, August Steele?" she asks with a warm smile on her face, a smile reminiscent of her father's when he managed to get that monster out of a jail sentence—a memory that sours my facial expression momentarily, I quickly mask it by blaming the hot coffee. She can't get suspicious. I won't allow it.

"I run a security company, love," I say, softening my voice as much as possible. I watch as recognition passes over her delicate features. "You're the owner of Steele Security? My father-Arthur Lexington, employs most of our security guards from your company!" she says, shocked.

"Does he now? What do you think of them?" I ask, feigning nonchalance. All the guards in that mansion report back to me. I know exactly what its residents do. I have access to all their security cameras. I need to know if there has ever been any suspicion.

"They do their job too well," she says, scowling, a response I don't miss. "And why don't you seem too happy about that?" I ask, with a practiced chuckle. I need to keep the conversation light-hearted, so my little dove won't be scared.

"Um, well, we can't really sneak out and such," she says, with a slight laugh. "Once, my friend threw a birthday party, and my father didn't want me to go. So, I decided to sneak out, but I was carried back to the house within minutes. Safe to say, you have a good company," she says, with humor in her voice. But I don't find it funny at all. Being carried? Why were they so comfortable touching her? Something dark and unwanted claws at my chest.

"Carried?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light-hearted. "Well, I wasn't willing to go back to the house, so they did what they had to do," she says, with a slight laugh. But again, I don't find it amusing, and I hate knowing they touched her and I blame that on the months of fixating on every detail about her. I'll have a talk with them later. I suppress the possessiveness I feel, reminding myself that she's just a project, someone I don't want anyone interfering with. I won't feel anything for this spoiled little princess. Ever.

Forcing a chuckle, I glance at the time. We have spent two hours in this shitty café, and the uncomfortable chair digs into my back. "It seems I'm running late for a meeting, love. I must take my leave. Would you mind sharing your number?" I inquire gently, maintaining the illusion of the gentleman.

"Um, sure," she replies nervously, her eyes avoiding mine as she recites her number. I confirm its authenticity, assuring myself it's not some disposable burner number.

"Allow me to walk you out," I say, a practiced smile on my lips. She stands up, and we make our way towards the exit. It continues to rain outside, and I drape my coat over her head, ensuring she remains dry. A good first impression is crucial.

We stroll together towards her car, where I notice one of the bodyguards I assigned to her sitting in the driver's seat. His face reveals no recognition of me, a testament to the competence of the guards I handpicked. They are among the finest in my company. After bidding her farewell, I assist her into the backseat, watching as the car drives off. I have executed my plan well. Her infatuation with me is evident, this was far simpler than I thought.

2

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