Damian's POV
Bentley entered the car, and we drove to the shopping mall. I put on my black sunglasses, stepped out, and he did the same. I led the way to the brand shop, unable to ignore the way Bentley turned his head in wonder at the interior design, like he’d just migrated from Rock Island.

We entered the first shop, and I immediately loved its dark aesthetic. I darted a glance at him. "This is where I buy my suits. Look around and see if there's anything you like." Bentley hurried over to pick up a gray T-shirt he had been staring at. He turned the price tag, and his smile quickly transformed into a frown.

"This much for a shirt?" he half-yelled, then quickly dropped it back in line. "I don’t want this one." Wide-eyed, he glanced at multiple price tags. "I don’t like this shop. Let’s go somewhere else," he scoffed and walked away.

I grabbed his hand. "Are you running away because of the price?"

"N-No, I don’t like them. Let’s go," he replied, avoiding my gaze.

I sighed and picked up the gray T-shirt he had dropped. "We’re taking this," I told the cashier.

"W-What?" Bentley gasped. "I said I don’t like it."

"I didn’t say I was buying it for you," I interrupted. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped.

They packaged it in a bag and handed it to me. We went to the second shop, where different kinds of shoes were displayed. I glanced at Bentley, who was ogling the sneakers section.

"You like sneakers?" I asked.

"A little," he mumbled, as if telling me not to bother.

"Well, let’s have a look." I walked to the section, and he followed behind. I sat on the couch. "Pick the ones you like," I said.

Bentley walked over, starry-eyed.

"Hey," I called, and he looked back. "Do me a favor—don’t look at the price tags," I said indifferently.

Bentley hesitated, as if considering what to say. "Oh... okay."

An employee in blue jeans, a white shirt, and a red baseball cap rushed over to me. It wasn’t a surprise she recognized her regular customer.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Giovanni. Welcome!" the young woman bowed. "How may I help you today?" she asked, smiling to reveal small white teeth the size of a teenager’s.

"I’m here for someone else," I said, gesturing to Bentley with a nod. "Please assist him."

"Sure! Don’t worry, sir, he’s in good hands," she grinned, hurrying over to Bentley.

I chuckled, resting my head on top of the couch. "Youngsters," I muttered.

"Sir... sir, we’re done," a feminine voice said.

I peeked at my watch—thirty minutes had passed already. I turned to Bentley. "How many shoes did you pick?"

"Six—"

"Six? What do you mean by six?" My eyebrows furrowed. Thirty minutes, and he’d only selected six shoes. I had expected ten to fifteen.

He bowed his head, guilt written all over his face. "I can drop some," he said softly, his voice trembling.

"Make it ten," I said firmly.

"T-Ten?" Bentley’s eyes widened.

"Did I stutter?" I asked, raising a brow.

"N-No, you did not." Bentley gulped and turned to select more.

The cashier tapped the keyboard for a few seconds. "$10,000," she said.

Bentley’s eyes widened. As I handed over my black card, he stared.

We walked out with white bags embossed with the brand’s logo.

"I noticed you picked more bright colors. Do you like them?" I broke the silence.

"Yeah, I do," Bentley answered.

"Hmm... I know the store for you."

I strolled into a large shop filled with brightly colored clothing. "We won’t be doing this often. Pick everything you need," I said firmly.

I sat on a cushioned couch for hours until he finished. As we approached the cashier, a thought crossed my mind.

"Are you into accessories? Watches, chains, anything?"

"I picked some bags and caps," he replied with a small smile. "Thanks."

"It’s not a big deal," I said, drawing a card from my breast pocket. I slid the golden card back and handed over the black one.

***

By the time we got home, it was already evening. I went to my room to wash up before heading to the ground floor, drawn by the sweet aroma of food. I dropped onto the couch and turned on the television, waiting for dinner to be ready.

Bentley spotted me from the kitchen. "Oh, you’re here... I’m making something for dinner. Give me a few minutes."

He called me to the kitchen after setting the table. We had grilled chicken salad for dinner. I crunched on the fresh mixed greens and tender pieces of marinated chicken. Every bite was a harmony of beautifully balanced flavors.

"Have you worked in a restaurant before?" I asked.

"No," he shook his head.

"Where did you learn to cook so well?" I inquired, curious about why his cooking was always so mouthwatering.

"It’s a hobby. I also went to a cooking school when I was much younger," he replied.

"Oh, I see." I paused briefly before continuing. "Are you looking for a cooking job?"

Bentley’s eyes widened for a moment before he chuckled. "That’s not a real job. I need to work in an office... I want a job that can take care of my necessities," he said, his voice poorly concealing pain and hesitation.

"You don’t sound very convincing," I said, glancing at him. "Think of your unfortunate circumstances as a chance to start over. Instead of doing something you were forced to do in the past, why not seize this opportunity to follow your dreams or do something you love?" I shrugged.

He froze, contemplating my words.

"I’ll give you time to think about it," I said. "Want to go for a house tour?" I stood and turned to him.

Bentley blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Y-Yes!"

He was already familiar with the ground floor, which consisted of just the living room and kitchen. We went to the first floor, which had multiple rooms. Most visitors stayed in one of these rooms if they stayed overnight. The last floor was where my room and important belongings were located.

For some unknown reason, I wanted Bentley’s room to be on the last floor. Maybe it was because he looked innocent. Or maybe I was just bored. Plain stupid would be the right word.

"Hey, Bentley," I called.

He raised his head to look at me.

"Would you like this room?" I asked with a poker face, pointing to the one opposite mine.

Author's note:
Getting closer, are we? 😏

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