The city was a restless beast, moving with a heavy, grinding tension that never seemed to let up. On any given corner, you could see the faces of people who seemed perpetually behind schedule, frantic and busy with the weight of their daily lives. Sometimes, the city felt like it was moving through thick sludge, agonizingly slow under the heat of the sun. Yet, in the blink of an eye, the pace would shift, accelerating until everything unfolded like a blur at the speed of light. It was a place of extremes, where wealth called out like a siren song, though only a select few possessed the ears—or the luck—to answer its call.

Mr. Davis was one of those rare men who had not only heard the call but had mastered it. He was widely regarded as one of the most wealthy and influential figures in the entire state. To the common person on the street, he was a giant to be both admired and envied. They looked at his sprawling estate and his business empire with awe, wondering how one man could acquire so much power.

The irony, of course, was that Mr. Davis had not been born into this life. There was a time when he was just another poor man wandering those same busy streets, struggling to find his footing. But fate is a fickle thing; it had reached down and pulled him from the shadows of poverty, guiding him through decades of hard work until he became the successful titan he was today.

On this particular afternoon, Mr. Davis wasn't thinking about his bank accounts or his influence. He was thinking about family.

"George! George! Please hurry up and go pick up my son from the airport!" he called out, his voice echoing through the grand hallway. He spoke to his driver with a sense of urgency that usually accompanied a major business deal, but this was far more personal.

After giving the order, Mr. Davis turned and walked upstairs to his private quarters. He felt the weight of his years in his bones and wanted to take a short rest before the arrival of his son, Frank.

"Yes, sir!" George replied, snapping into action. He grabbed the car keys and headed straight for the garage, ready to navigate the city’s chaotic traffic to reach the airport as directed by his boss.

Inside his room, Mr. Davis laid back on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It has been so long since I set my eyes on Frank," he murmured to himself. The separation had been long—years of Frank being abroad for studies and experience. "I can’t wait to have you back home, my son".

While he rested, the mansion below him stood in a state of perfection. Every room had been set to a sparkling standard. The staff had spent days ensuring the floors were polished to a mirror finish and the chandeliers were shining, their crystals illuminating the foyer in a special, welcoming way. Everything was prepared specifically for the return of Frank, the only son and heir of the Davis legacy.

At the airport, the atmosphere was a chaotic symphony of rolling suitcases, shouting taxi drivers, and the hum of jet engines. Frank stood amidst the crowd, looking every bit the man his father expected him to be. He was a striking figure—gentle in his demeanor but gigantic in stature, tall and broad-shouldered. He had a rich, dark complexion and carried a warm, natural charm that made him seem approachable despite his imposing size.

He checked his watch, his heart beating with a mix of nerves and excitement. "Father and everyone must be waiting at home to see me," he thought to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. "I am so happy to finally get to see all of them after so many years of being away from them". He moved toward the curb, staring at the road and watching for the car that would take him back to his old life.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and saw an unknown number. "It must be the driver calling," he said as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Mr. Frank? I’m George, your driver," the voice on the other end said. "Your father sent me to pick you up from the airport. Where exactly are you so I can find you?"

"Alright, George. I’m at the cafeteria opposite the airport entrance," Frank replied, looking around to confirm his landmarks.

"Thank you, sir. I’ll be there in a few minutes," George promised before hanging up.

Frank tucked the phone away and stood still for a moment, letting the reality of being home sink in. He watched the movements of the motorcycles weaving through the cars, the noise and the heat feeling more intense than he remembered. It felt like a different city compared to where he had been living.

"Life abroad seems to be much easier than it is here," he whispered to himself. There was a ruggedness to his homeland that he had forgotten, a raw energy that was both exhausting and exhilarating. He took a few steps forward, scanning the horizon for George’s car.

In his distraction, he didn't see the young woman hurrying around the corner of the terminal building.

THUD.

They collided with enough force to send her bags flying.

"I’m so sorry, ma'am!" Frank exclaimed, his instincts for politeness taking over immediately.

"It’s okay," she replied, her voice slightly breathless from the shock.

Frank quickly bent down to help her, gathering the papers and small items that had spilled across the pavement. As he reached for a notebook, the woman paused, her eyes widening as she looked at his face.

"Wait! You look familiar," she said, her voice trailing off as she searched her memory. "Have I seen you before?"

She made direct eye contact with him, her gaze intense. Frank, still holding her things, felt a flicker of confusion. "Umm, I don't think I know you from anywhere," he replied gently. "And besides, I just came back from the States".

There was a minute of silence as they stood there in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, the world rushing past them.

"Are you not Frank Davis?" she finally asked.

Frank froze. "She seems to be someone who knows me well," he murmured in his head, his brain working fast to place her face. He looked at her again, really looking this time, trying to peel back the years. Then, it clicked.

"Stella Morgan? Is this you?" he asked. The name felt like a relic from another lifetime. As he said it, he recalled a name of an old classmate from high school, someone he hadn't spoken to before he traveled out of the country.

"Yes, Frank! It's me!" she laughed, her face lighting up with genuine joy. "Stella! Nice to meet you again, it’s been a while." She stretched out her hand, and Frank took it, shaking it warmly.

"Nice to meet you again, Stella," Frank replied, still stunned by the coincidence.

They stood there for a few more minutes, exchanging pleasantries and laughing about the odds of bumping into each other at the airport. Before the car arrived, Frank also collected her contact information, promising to get in touch so they could catch up properly.

"At least I’ll get to know more about my high school mates through Stella as time goes on," Frank said to himself as they eventually parted ways. It felt like fate had brought them together at the exact moment he set foot back on home soil.

Finally, the sleek black car arrived. George helped Frank with his luggage, and they began the drive through the city. When they pulled through the gates of the Davis mansion, Frank saw his father, Mr. Davis, standing at the entrance. Alongside him were other household members, including Frank’s cousin, Leonard, and Leonard’s wife, all waiting anxiously for his arrival.

"Welcome home, son!" his father shouted as Frank stepped out of the car.

"Thank you, Dad," Frank replied, embracing the older man.

The house was filled with the sound of laughter and talking for the next few hours. After his arrival and the warm welcome from the family, Frank went inside and exchanged pleasantries with everyone in the house. But as the evening wore on, the initial excitement began to fade into a quiet exhaustion. Eventually, everyone went inside to take some rest.

As they were parting ways to their various rooms, Mr. Davis placed a firm hand on Frank’s shoulder. His face, which had been full of smiles all afternoon, turned serious.

"Ensure you take enough rest, my son," he said, his voice low. "I have a lot to discuss with you, as time is not on our side. By tomorrow, we’ll have a proper conversation about the company and all that you need to know."

Frank looked at his father, sensing a hidden weight in those words. "Sure, Dad. I will," he replied.

That night, Frank lay in his familiar bed, but sleep didn't come easily. He stared out the window, wondering what his father’s urgency meant.

"I just got home, and Father wants to discuss something important with me? So soon?" he asked rhetorically as he finally closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep, the mysterious conversation of the morning already looming over him like a shadow.