Betrayal
I sit alone at the far end of the long dining table.
I could have any dish I desire. I could eat anywhere in the world.
But the outcome would be the same—
I would still be alone.
I will probably never find that sense of belonging.
Never warmth.
Never comfort.
I dismissed the maids the moment they finished setting the table.
I don’t want them watching me like this.
Pathetic.
How did I end up this alone?
That’s a good question.
Painfully good.
Since childhood, I’ve owned everything.
Money. Cars. Designer suits tailored to perfection.
Everything—except companionship.
I know how I must look to others.
Spoiled. Cliché.
The bored rich man who has it all and still complains.
I don’t care.
No father.
No mother.
No siblings.
Just me.
Even when I grew up and met countless people—
there was a brief, naïve period in my life when I believed I wouldn’t be alone forever.
I was wrong.
They betrayed me.
Used me.
It was never about me.
Maybe it was the car.
Maybe the mansion.
Most likely the money.
Honestly, I can’t even blame them entirely.
I might have tolerated their greed—if only it had been subtle.
If they had at least tried to hide it.
I don’t know what I would have done then.
All I know is this:
They never wanted me.
They forgot my name.
We were “friends,” and yet they kept calling me by other names—
names that weren’t mine.
Being rich makes you desirable.
Not lovable.
Just desirable.
What an exhausting reality.
Sometimes I wish I could trade it all.
Become someone else.
Someone surrounded by people who love him simply for existing.
For years, I’ve wondered—
Will I ever get what I want?
Maybe I need a strategy.
A calculated plan to acquire something as simple as affection.
Or maybe I should just accept it.
Live quietly.
Die quietly.
Alone in my luxurious bed, inside my royal wing.
Wonderful, isn’t it?
I only hope they discover the body quickly.
I’d rather not rot alone for days before anyone notices I’m gone.
Would they even feel guilty?
I should probably get rid of this table.
It’s unnecessarily long.
Just like this palace.
Too large.
Too empty.
I walk slowly through the vast corridors. I’ve memorized every inch of this place, yet not one corner offers peace.
Well… maybe the office does.
Only because I practically live there.
It’s the most important room in the palace, after all.
I spend endless hours inside it—
like any dull businessman.
Coffee.
Stacks of paperwork.
A laptop glowing endlessly.
A bookshelf filled with titles I barely remember buying.
Deals.
Meetings.
Calls that never stop.
Speaking of calls…
There it is. My painfully boring phone.
The first business call of the day.
From that strange man.
What was his name again?
Mike… maybe.
The executive who’s been relentlessly chasing me for weeks, desperate to secure a deal.
I don’t trust him.
He appeared out of nowhere—suddenly the CEO of some company I had barely heard of.
Suspicious.
I roll my eyes and answer.
“And so, Mr. Jonathan, I’ll be waiting near the international airport. We can discuss the deal before my flight.”
The airport?
“ wait! ” I say flatly.
“The international airport?”
“Yes,” he replies confidently. “I have my own arrangements. Of course, if it’s inconvenient, we can reschedule, or I could postpone my trip—”
Please let this end.
“Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
His voice brightens instantly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Jonathan. I’ll send you the exact location.”
“I’ll be there.”
That was… odd.
Why insist on meeting near an airport?
He’s planning something.
I can feel it.
Still, I return to my files.
Hours pass.
I work relentlessly—too relentlessly.
I didn’t even allow myself a moment to breathe.
Work has become my escape. My anesthesia.
I finish tasks weeks ahead of schedule.
I complete a month’s workload in a single week—
then drown in the emptiness that follows, so I move on to next month’s.
It isn’t the work that exhausts me.
It’s myself.
I’m terrified of being alone with my thoughts.
If this even counts as living.
My doctor says I’m on the verge of depression.
That if I continue like this, I won’t survive the coming years normally.
A body alive.
A spirit already dead.
The dark circles under my eyes say enough.
Can you see them?
I can’t.
Time drags.
I stand from my desk, feeling something inside me slowly deteriorating.
I leave the palace and head toward the car.
Let’s just get this over with.
My beautiful armored car waits.
Beside it, my elderly driver.
I slide into the backseat and politely ask him to drive to the airport. I send the location.
Minutes later—
I fall asleep.
.....
This isn’t the right road.
The car has clearly been moving for hours.
When I wake, I look outside.
Desert.
Dry.
Abandoned.
Endless.
I smell something familiar.
Betrayal.
Silence fills the car.
The old man hasn’t noticed I’m awake.
The sedative has worn off.
So that’s what he used.
I close my eyes again and pretend.
His phone rings.
He answers.
He assures the caller he’ll “finish the job” and collect the promised money—or else he’ll turn against him.
Classic.
Even my assassination attempt is predictable.
He ends the call and turns onto another path.
He stops the car.
I watch him slowly turn toward me, a gun in his hand.
Before he can aim, my arm wraps around his neck.
He chokes.
I muffle his voice with my hand and drag him out of the driver’s seat.
Guards’ voices echo outside.
So it’s a group effort.
How thoughtful.
I slide into the front seat and start the engine.
They notice immediately.
Gunfire erupts.
Bullets hit the armored exterior but fail to penetrate.
Strong car.
I lower the window slightly, lean out carefully, and fire back—
aiming at their tires.
They return the favor.
After several attempts, I manage to burst one of the massive tires.
The car flips.
The ones behind it crash into each other.
Three large vehicles overturned in seconds—
their speed and size working against them.
I expected an explosion, but nothing happened.
Good.
They chose betrayal.
Fate chose otherwise.
Do I feel guilty?
No.
I drive away.
And then—
My luck runs out.
The car suddenly swerves.
I lose control.
A massive tree stands at the edge where the desert meets farmland.
Where did that even come from?
I crash into it.
Not violently—but hard enough.
I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.
My head and arm take the impact.
Blood trickles down.
I try my phone.
No signal.
Of course.
I step out of the car, dizzy, forcing myself to stay upright.
But my body gives in.
I collapse.
From the ground, I glance back at the overturned vehicles.
Was money really enough to blind them all?
I shouldn’t be surprised.
This isn’t new.
People are endlessly capable of ugliness.
I never harmed anyone.
Yet somehow, I’m always the one bleeding.
The pain in my head intensifies.
I fight it.
But it’s exhausting.
So I make a decision.
I crawl further away from the wreckage before letting myself fall completely.
I don’t think my life is worth much.
But I refuse to die beside traitors.
In the end—
I still have principles.
