Keon's POV:

I fidget with the tie on my pale beige suit as I watch my father socialize with his business associates and wonder once more why I thought it was necessary to be with him at such a social gathering. I hate huge events and would rather be in my room working on some research.

It was already enough of a shock to find him downstairs preparing breakfast while conversing in Yoruba with Quinn, my mom laughing along. I barely ever see my father since he spends most of his time conducting his business in Nigeria, yet here he was turning up like nothing significant had happened, preparing waffles (I must admit they did taste quite exceptionally good), and making conversation with the family. It was during this that he mentioned the party that was taking place, and I used the opportunity to invite myself, much to his astonishment.

I thought he would refuse, but aside from his initial shock, he seemed pleased.

Why was he pleased? I haven't the slightest idea, but it could not be for the pleasure of spending time with me. There has to be more of a reason. My father is a shrewd business man. He always has an angle.

Unlike my mother and sister, I could see right through the façade he had built.

A passing waiter walks by with a tray full of glasses of champagne and I take one, drinking it slowly to savor the taste. Rich and expensive as expected of an event such as this. Normally I would not even consider drinking at any event, but I figured I need it if I am to survive tonight while being in such close proximity to my father.

"Do you plan to keep in a random corner all evening?"

I turn to find my father's eyes on me. He has untangled himself from his business partners and is studying me as though I am a complicated rubik's cube.

"There does not seem to be anything that requires my attention", I respond to my father, my eyes refusing to meet his as I turn to study the event hall.

"There's me", he says with a grin. "Don't I warrant your attention?"

I can't help but give a small smile. My father always has a way of melting through my normally cold and aloof nature. And why not? After all, I have spent the better part of six years with him, when we moved to England. Quinn would have come too, but the doctor had advised my twin not to travel for the sake of her health. My mother had then been performing a part in a movie and had stayed with her.

It had been such an enlightening time for me, growing up with my father. He had gone for business meetings and during the meantime he had arranged for me to be taken to museums, science fairs, meetings held with great scientists. He had seen my passion for research and had hired the best scholars for me to home school me. I had never tired of the vast world of knowledge and I never needed to be with anyone else, because I was never alone; encyclopedias were my company, and at the end of the day when my father was back from his meetings, I would tell him what I had learnt while he prepared us dinner, reveling in the attention that he showed to my interests, astonished at the contributions that he made. My father was a businessman, but he had a vast yet detailed knowledge of science and literature. Late nights were for studying The great Gatsby and Pride and Prejudice.

I was happy and content. I planned to live in England forever.

And then it happened. Till today, I can never know how I did not notice it sooner.

Quinn and I video called every single day. We were as close as regular twins, maybe even close because we spoke more than regular people, without the boundaries of rooms and tantrums, only the distance between us. Sometimes Quinn would get angry or moody and refuse to speak unless mom called me. I was her rock, her confidant. I was her best friend.

And then it stopped. Quinn would stop taking my calls, and on the rare occasion we did speak, she spoke in a near whisper, as if scared that we would be overhead. I thought it was a phase. I thought it would pass.

The next thing I knew Dad came into my room, a worried expression on his normally jovial face.

I still remember the conversation till this day. I'll probably remember it forever.

"Quinn had an asthma attack. We need to go back to America now"

I had looked up from my work in concern. "What happened to her inhaler?"

"It wasn't with her"

I could tell that I was not being told the full story and I felt my hands go cold. We flew back that day and drove straight to the hospital where Quinn was barely concious, and looked like a shadow of herself.

It was a week before I knew what really happened, and when I did, I ordered the rest of my luggage to be brought to America immediately. I vowed to never leave her alone again.

My father clears his throat bringing me back to the present.

"You still here?"

I barely start, turning to look at him as I nod. "Just taking a trip down memory lane"

My father looks at me as if he knows what I have been thinking of, and for a moment, we share a look. A look between two people who nearly lost someone important.

And then the trance is broken.

"Look, I know I haven't been around for long, but I do want to be a part of your life. I want to talk..."

But I am only half listening as my gaze travels behind my father, landing on a shock of red hair. My breath hitches in my throat. I can swear that my palms are sweating.

Stephanie Young and her father are standing right behind us. She has not spotted me yet, but her father looks away from the woman he is in conversation with and his eyes catch me staring. Before I can even look away, he dismisses his partner with a single wave of his hand and makes a beeline straight for us.

"Good evening", his voice is deep baritone, the cultured voice of the rich who are used to having commanding power. I fix my eyes on him making sure not to even offer a glance to Stephanie who's eyes are boring holes into my body.

"Good evening", my father and I say together.

Finally, I turn to Stephanie.

"Hello Stephanie".

I watch her grit her teeth at the nickname and allow myself a smirk at her expense. Other than the shock of red hair and the piercing gaze of her eyes, it would be almost impossible to notice her. Her wardrobe and aesthetic seem to have changed overnight. In the place short skirts and crop tops, she is wearing an b off the shoulder strapless emerald green dress which clings to her upper body all the way to her waist before flowing down like a ballerina's tutu. Her arms which would have normally been sporting tattoos are covered in glove. Her normally wild hair is as sleek as a polo horse's mane, and her make up has been touched up to exude elegance.

"What's up Google?", she rolls her eyes before turning back to her father. I can feel my own father's eyes on me, so I hurry to explain.

"Stephanie and I go to the same school. I am responsible for tutoring her for her upcoming exams"

I see my father nod, a boyish grin in his eyes, and I fight the urge to roll mine. Stephanie and I are just tutor and student. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I'm friends with your daughter Mr Jacobs", Stephanie's voice breaks what was beginning to be an awkward silence. "Quinn and I adore each other"

I have a feeling she mentioned Quinn's name so that her only connection would not be me, but my father's gaze softens instantly. "Yes, you seem like you are such a good influence on her"

How wrong he is

Now it is my turn to grit my teeth as Stephanie smirks.

"We'll leave you two kids now", Mr Young's voice breaks through. "I'm sure Mr Jacob and I can find some business to talk about"

I nod, putting my arm on the small of Stephanie's back and guiding her away from our parents who have already seemed to forget about us, their voices a deep blend in the language of business.

"You can stop touching me now", Stephanie snaps as soon as we are out of our parents' view. I turn around to find her brown eyes glaring at me, her face flushed with anger.

I let go of her, though for some reason, my hand wishes for nothing more than to linger. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sip at it. Stephanie cocks her head to the side watching me in mock horror.

"No way. The almighty Keon Jacob is drinking alcohol. Will he get drunk and – heavens permit it – become an interesting person?"

"Very funny Stephanie"

"Don't you need to ask your fathers permission before drinking?"

"I'm a nineteen-year-old adult. I think that I am quite capable of handling myself without permission"

The band starts, a soft violin tune which floats through the room almost like a presence. Around us, people are pairing up and being led onto the huge and spacious dancefloor.

"I think our fathers would expect us to have at least one dance", Stephanie's voice comes out sarcastic and mocking as she shoots them a glance. "They are probably planning our marriage already"

Though her tone is bored, I cannot help the quickening of my heart's pulse when her gaze fixes on me. Her eyes don't look bored. They look oddly inquisitive, as if she wants to study my reaction.

"We might as well get it over with", I keep my voice bland and steady, a direct betrayal of the emotions which are at war inside me.

I hold out my hand to her, and she takes it, allowing me to lead her to the dancefloor. Her skin is soft to my touch, but I try to put all that out of my mind as I settle my hands on her upper back, a position as far away from her waist as possible.

"Do you know how to dance?", I inquire of her.

"I proved that to you yesterday, didn't I?", she responds rolling her eyes.

I glare at her. "That was informal. This is a formal dance and you may not be able to handle it"

She gives a soft giggle, a sound but scornful yet musical. "It would seem that the only person unable to handle it is you Keon". She grabs my wrists, forcing my hands down onto the soft curves of her hips. "Are you scared of me Google?"

My throat is dry causing my words to stick in my throat. I shake my head.

"Well, you should be", she smirks. "Now show me that you can actually dance or else I might assume that you're just a brain with no other talent or skill"

I glare at her. How does she do it? Go from sweet and seductive to utterly infuriating.

"Better try to keep up", I snap. "I won't slow down if you can't handle it"

That's the only warning I give her before I practically sweep her of her feet. Dancing the night away was not in my plans for tonight, but Stephanie is a surprisingly good dancer, keeping up with me as gracefully as a swan settling on a still lake. By the time the music is over, I am nearly out of breath, but she remains as cool as an iceberg.

"Not bad Google", she says as we slip off the dancefloor. "I'm going to need a drink after all that dancing"

I nod. I need a drink too, mostly to calm my nerves which are practically frayed from being in such close proximity to someone so exasperating yet... yet what?

We make it to the makeshift bar where a slightly older bartender is mixing drinks. He sees us coming and fixes his gaze on Stephanie, promptly dismissing me.

"What would you like to drink Miss?", he asks, wiping the seat of the bar with a flourish. Stephanie gives him a warm smile and a flirty look from under her lashes.

"I need something strong. I'm looking to get drunk tonight"

He nods and turns away and begins to mix her drink with exaggerated gestures, obviously trying to impress her. I cannot help but look away in disgust. Why anyone would want to win Stephanie's attention is beyond me. And what is so amazing about fixing someone a drink anyway? From the way Stephanie is gushing, one would think that he had offered her the Eiffel Tower.

"Your drink Miss", he bows as he offers it to her, and she giggles.

"What a gentleman", she gives him a smile as she collects the drink, their fingers brushing over each other. She takes a sip of the drink and shudders.

"Wow", her voice is energized. "It's really strong"

"You asked, I delivered", his dark eyes are raking over her face and body, and she seems to be relishing the attention.

I clear my throat, annoyed at his rudeness. Obviously, I do not care about he and Stephanie's flirting, but he should have served me by now.

The barman lazily lifts his eyes to me. He's a foot taller than me, but I could probably take him in a fight.

Not that there's going to be a fight of course.

"What can I get you?", he raises his eyebrows, looking amused.

"A vodka", I shouldn't be taking alcohol, not after all the champagne I drank, not when I don't hold alcohol very well, yet I order one. He turns around to serve me my drink, and I take of my glasses, wiping them against the lens cleaner in my pocket. I replace them back on my nose.

The barman drops my drink in front of me without the flourish he previously showed, before taking his gaze back to Stephanie who has been oddly quiet. I turn to find her staring at where our parents are talking, but now a woman is with them. They are laughing and Stephanie turns away from them suddenly, catching me staring at her. She sticks out her tongue at me before finishing the contents of her glass in one large gulp.

"Another one please", she smiles at the bartender, leaning on the bar. He gives her a lopsided grin as he takes her glass, refilling it and setting it before her again. I take a long drink from my glass, instantly feeling the alcohol spreading through my body.

"What's your name?", Stephanie asks as she takes a sip of the drink. Her voice is beginning to slur, or maybe its my ears. I take another drink as the bartender replies.

"I'm Josh. You?"

"Steph"

"Pretty name", he smiles at her. She smiles back.

I do not want to be here anymore. I finish my drink and walk back to where my father is.

"Keon", he smiles at me as I approach. "I was looking for you"

"Where's my daughter?"< Stephanie's dad asks. I gesture towards the bar, but as I look over, it's empty. Neither Stephanie nor the bar boy are in sight.

"I'll get her", I say, walking back to the bar. She isn't there. A quick scan of the dancefloor also tells me she isn't there either.

Where is she then? The ladies room? No I doubt it, but I could wait around just to be sure. I am passing by when I hear Stephanie's voice. A deeper voice follows – the barman.

Where are they?

Theres a cupboard nearby, and the sounds seem to be coming from there. I open it, expecting to see the worst.

Stephanie is pinned against the cupboard, her hands on the barman's face and, as I watch, he leans in and kisses her.

A blinding rage overtakes me. She's drunk. And he knows it. Even if she consented that's still wrong.

And maybe I'm drunk too. That's the only explanation for why I'm seeing red, my hands moving of their own accord, ripping the barman away from her.

"What the hell-", he starts, right as I reach for his throat, choking him.

"Keon what the hell", Stephanie's voice reaches me from a distance as I toss the barman by his collar.

"I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend", he pants in Stephanie's direction.

"He isn't", Stephanie's voice is slurred but angry. "He's just drunk"

Am I drunk? Probably.

The barman makes a step towards Stephanie, but I glower at him.

"I dare you"

He looks at me, then at Stephanie.

"I'm out of here", he throws up his hands in frustration. "I don't want any trouble". And with that he disappears down the corridor. I watch him to make sure he is really gone, then turn around to find Stephanie glowering at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you Keon? Are you fucking drunk?"

Her hazel eyes are glowing in anger.

Maybe I am drunk because all I can focus on is how her perfume smells, the amazing shade of her eyes.

How infuriated she makes me, how annoying she is. How reckless she is.

She grabs my shirt and pulls me towards her. "What. Is. Your. Problem."

She spells out each word yet all I can focus on is her lips, so close to mine, her body pressing against me.

Maybe I am drunk. Maybe that's the reason I pull her towards me, my lips on hers.

She doesn't move, and I pull back, reality dawning on me. I back away.

"Stephanie I-"

And then she tightens her grip on my shirt as she drags me closer, her lips claiming mine in a kiss of passion. One of her hands leaves my shirt to pull on my hair as we stumble backwards, back into the closet. My back is against the wall, her body in front of me, her warm lips on mine, firm and demanding as she stole breath after breath from me. I place one hand on her hips and the other in her hair as I pull her even closer to me roughly. Our kiss isn't hearts and flowers, it isn't sweet. It's a fiery volcano, filled with passion and emotion, hard and demanding and desperate. Explosive.

I hate how much I am enjoying it.

Her hands slide to my chest, reaching for my buttons, when reality seems to hit us both like a thunder clap. We push ourselves away from each other as we stare in horror. The deathly silence is broken by the sounds of panting as we try to recover our breaths and the loud thumping of our hearts.

"Your father is looking for you", my voice sounds hoarse even to my own ears. Stephanie nods, but doesn't leave, her eyes on the ground.

I can't be in here. I push past her, out of the cupboard and towards the restrooms.

Luckily, they are empty and I am alone. My reflection stares at me from one of the mirrors. I have never seen myself look so... disheveled. My hair is a mess, lipstick smudges on my cheek, my glasses askew. I take of my glasses and clean them then wash my face. I rake my fingers through my hair trying to return it back to its normal immaculate form. I spend over fifteen minutes attempting to return myself back to my normal state. Finally, I look somewhat presentable and I put on my glasses and walk out of the bathroom.

As I walk past the cupboard, I feel sweat beads break out. I open the cupboard carefully, but it is empty, the faint smell of Stephanie's perfume lingering in the air.