Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten how to sleep truly.
By three in the morning, the heat inside the bake shop finally thinned out.
Luis squatted at the entrance, scrolling through his phone.
Suddenly, he clicked his tongue.
“Whoa, Boss, look at this! The Goldings threw a birthday party for their adopted son. They even chartered a whole yacht. This level of extravagance… damn. And his wife is ridiculously beautiful.”
The camera swept across the deck.
Philip had an arm wrapped around Celeste’s waist, leaning close to whisper something into her ear.
She smiled.
The same smile she had worn on our wedding day, all those years ago.
Nearby, my father, Archibald Golding, chairman of Golding Corp., stood with a benevolent expression, patting Philip on the shoulder like a proud parent.
“I heard the Golding family’s second son died of illness eight years ago,” Luis muttered casually. "If not, how's an adopted son supposed to get the money? Guess it’s all fate…”
He sighed, envy plain on his face.
“Forget buying a house. How many years would we have to sell buns just to afford one of their car tires?”
I looked at him and slowly shook my head.
That kind of life, I knew it too well.