"I don't own the company. I am just a shareholder."

I pause momentarily, feeding the tickets in the machine and glance up at Dakota with a puzzled look. What does he mean?

"The real owner of the company is someone else. He is a silent investor and holds maximum power and shares of the company. Whereas I am the acting CEO, face of the company, but my share is the second-highest, not the first." He clarifies.

"Oh.. So the company isn't actually yours?" I look at him shockingly. The revelation catches me off guard, changing the entire picture of him in my mind.

"No. I get my salary, and other amenities, including the car all under company's name. The only major thing I own personally is my home, which I bought this year." He tells me, when the machine signals the end of the ticket counting process.

Dakota passes me the card with 2800 points, from where I excitedly choose a smiling sloth plushie for myself and a double meal at McDonald's for both of us.

"But the media says it's your company. They.. don't know the truth?" I ask him, cradling my new sloth plushie as we head towards the fast-food restaurant.

"The company is set up on my brain and his resources. All the infrastructure, funds, even the initial clients, they were all provided by him. That's how HighBar became one of the fastest growing AI companies in 2022. It would be impossible without his grace."

"And nobody knows him?" I ask Dakota curiously, as I settle the slot on the table while we take our seats in a cozy corner, waiting for our free meal.

"Except me and the lawyers, of course." He comments.

I feel a strange thud in my heart, knowing I am probably the only unnecessary person in his life who now knows his deep secret. Why would he even share it with me?

"That's what silent investors do. They don't let their names out for obvious reasons." He explains further. "But he is a good friend of mine, someone I trust. So, I don't have a problem if I am working for him. Maybe someday I'll start my own thing, when my mind will be capable of handling shits."

Dakota smiles, almost pitifully. His eyes appear gentle, yet deeply mysterious like the sea itself, holding a billion secrets in the darkness.

Meanwhile, our double meal arrives. I couldn't help but feel conflicted from inside. He is already so smart, so wicked, so powerful to handle any shit. Then why would he say something like that?

My train of thoughts break as I watch Dakota's strange action of customizing his chicken burger by placing an unhealthy layer of fries and ketchup beneath the bun and packing it back up.

"What?" He jerks his brows at me, before taking a big bite from his burger.

I realised I was staring at him continuously.

"Nothing." I shake my head. "I am just surprised to see you eating fast-food, considering how strictly you follow your health-conscious time-table." I say, taking a bite from my own burger.

"Sundays are my cheat-days."

I look up as I take a sip of my Coke, watching him add even more fries to his already loaded burger.

"I believe it's essential to break the routine once in a week. It's like giving your mind and body a mini vacation from the constant discipline and rigors, so they can charge back up. Otherwise, you will feel burned out and eventually, lose your mind."

Dakota-Complex-Black explains to me scientifically, taking more bites from his fried chicken burger, and avoiding his Coca-Cola glass, like it's invisible.

"It has happened with me a lot in the past. That's why now I keep Sundays completely off. I relax, do whatever I feel like doing, and eat what I crave. It's liberating in a way, and helps me stay focused and driven for the upcoming week."

I nod my head, taking in his words and piecing together the puzzle of his unusual behaviour. However, there is still something, a missing link that I can't seem to connect with his sudden, unpredictable.. mind.

"You don't like soft drink? Because of diabetes?" I let my curiosity ask him.

"No." He promptly responds, passing me his untouched cup of Coke.

"Though I used to empty cans of Red Bull and sodas, almost daily." He reveals, with a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"Really?" I blurt out, not able to mask my surprise.

"Yeah!" He continues with a smile. "I remember, I used to bring a McD cup always with me while dining out, as McDonald's have a policy of refilling cups and I would get a free soda every time with my burger." He says, with mischief brimming his eyes.

"You are sooo wicked, Mr. Black." I tease him, yet genuinely get amazed at his cunning ways.

Just how much more smart this man can be!

Dakota laughs, a boyish laugh that makes him look so carefree and handsome. I couldn't help but smile in return at his jolly personality.

"I agree, Ms. Stone." He says, pointing a potato fries at me, before biting it.

"But now, I avoid such antics and even free sodas. I prefer staying away from sugar, as it releases unnecessary dopamine, which messes with my brain and course."

Course? What course? My anxieties ask me anxiously.

But then, visions of pills on his bathroom floor flashes in my mind. Those were psychotic drugs, prescribed by a proper psychiatrist.

Those weren't just supplements!

He is definitely going through something, for which he is taking all those medications. Something very serious.

Could it be a case of amnesia? Where he loses track of things he says and does, like hiding my clothes, or worse, like his violent personality, then suddenly behaves normal.

Because the man sitting in front of me, funny and chill, is far anything than the man I have witnessed at night. He was brutal, even his eyes and voice were different than what is in front of me.

It's like I am living with two different people.

Then it has to be one thing!

"Dakota." I call his name and he looks me in the eye, focused and attentive.

I take a deep breath, before gathering courage to voice my suspicion.

"Are you Bi-"

"No Emara, I am not bi." Dakota instantly corrects me.

"I am a completely straight man, one hundred percent into females. Cute ones, if I have to add." He says defensively.

I blink at him numerous times, trying to process his rapid response, before realizing the misunderstanding."

"No.. That's not what I was trying to ask.." I say, setting my burger down and adopting a more serious tone. "I meant to ask if you might be.."

But just then, his phone rings on the table, breaking the moment. Dakota glances at the screen briefly before silencing it, then turns his full attention back to me.

"You were saying something." He reminds me.

I gulp hard, before finally asking him, "Dakota, are you Bi-polar somehow?"

Green eyes stare at me sharply, as if I stepped on a you-should-have-not-gone-there nerve.

His phone rings again, but this time, he raises his hand to silence it without taking his penetrative eyes off me. I feel a hit of déjà vu, as he keeps me under his pissed off predatory gaze, unflinched and unwavering.

"I know it's not my business to question you." I swallow under confidence. "But it's just, after spending the last several days with you, I have observed your strange, contradicting behaviour and sudden, extreme mood swin-"

"I do not have bipolar disorder." Dakota cuts me off abruptly, as if he have heard enough.

"I had myself tested, and it's not what you or other people think of me." He says curtly, changing his cool demeanor into that of a cold-guarded person.

And suddenly, I feel the knot of guilt tightening in my stomach for probing into his personal life. It almost sounded like I was accusin-

"But, I have something else."

Dakota's words abruptly halt my train of thoughts.

I watch him take a deep breath and meeting my gaze. There is a fluctuation of emotions flickering in his eyes, almost like he is struggling to mask his inner turmoil.

"What is it?" I question him with heavy beats.

Dakota leans towards me with raw seriousness.

"Something which is very critical." His voice barely above a whisper, as if revealing a secret he has never uttered before.

"And dangerous."

My insides turn and twist at the sound of his low voice, with the growing anticipation of what he might say.

"I have.."

Suddenly his phone vibrates on the table, drawing his attention to the message popped up on his screen.

I watch his eyes get narrow to slits as he reads the text, and instantly, his jaw clenches so tightly that I can almost hear it grind.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, my voice spiked with concern.

In return, his hand grips the phone with such a force that the veins on his wrist stand out starkly.

"Emara."

Green eyes, which appeared gentle and vulnerable seconds ago, now appears dark and piercing. "I need to go meet someone. I'll drop you home first."

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