You met Arthur when you were finishing your fashion course, despite being on scholarship at the rich and grand university in England, you managed to make friends and go to luxurious places for the country's elite, children of deputies, presidents, businessmen: The pure and funereal juice of luxury. This is how you discovered your plague and the reason for your declines and rises in life: Arthur and his family.

Your family being able to end or improve someone's life with a few calls was scary and relieving. Scary if you opposed them and a relief if you were their ally. But as time passed and the intense passion, intimacy, and cat and mouse dueling between you and Arthur grew, your father Senator Cameron's secrets were being exposed to you. The web of contacts and manipulation, the countless security guards, detectives, private assassins - the diabolicity of the Sherpans.

And you ran away, you knew that if you took some things from your past they would find you very quickly, so you just disappeared - even reported missing to your family, although they managed to hush up the case. The small, musty corner-of-the-wall, rustically cozy apartment in the English countryside seemed enough and six months flew by. But "seeming" isn't enough.

You found a part-time job at a diner that looks like an old joint, but enough to support yourself despite the difficulties. You disappeared because you wanted to breathe, to escape the web of control and influence, of the sadistic part of the rich. And now, after a hard day's work, the night is relieving.

You come out of the bathroom wrapped in your robe, and by God, you could have a heart attack. Doubts invade along with panic, Arthur's sharp celestial eyes boring into you as he stands cross-legged on his bed, studying you quietly - the apartment door ajar, how did he get in? With his hoarse, low and velvety thick voice, he says:

Arthur: "Don't despair, I bought the entire building, and the doorman, and the building manager. How long ago, right? I think we need to talk. Now."