The Secrets Of Grey Street

III.

After a lot of debating and inner dialogues with myself, I take Lucas’ phone from him and write down my new number that I have worked very hard last night to memorize.

The rest of the drive is surprisingly comfortable after that. We talk more, and we actually click. I feel less awkward talking to him. He seems like a really cool and nice person, and I truly feel like I have made a new friend.

The four-hour long train ride passes by faster than expected, and soon, we are at the train station in the city. While alighting, Lucas offers to help me with my bag. He only has a duffle bag, so he has his hands free to help. “That’s not really necessary. I can handle it,” I say, but Lucas doesn’t take no for an answer. “I insist.” I see the sincerity and willingness to help in his eyes, so I just nod and let him carry my bag.

He carries it out of the station, and we walk side by side. “Is there someone coming to pick you up?” he asks as we reach outside the station.

I shake my head. “No. I was given an address of where I need to go, so I’ll just take a taxi there.”

He nods, then asks, “Did you write it down?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“Let me see,” he requests.

I take the note with the address from my pocket and give it to him. He reads what’s written on the paper, and the look on his face tells me he knows where that place is. “This is a 20-minute drive from here. Let me get you a taxi.”

Hearing that, I smile ear to ear. He is so helpful, and I feel lucky I sat next to him on the train. “Thank you,” I say from the bottom of my heart.

While calling a taxi, he says with a sly smile, “You can thank me by promising this won’t be the last time I see you.”

I chuckle at that. While he puts my bag in the taxi trunk, I tell him, “Well, you have my number, don’t you?”

He looks at me, his smirk growing. “That, I do.”

Closing the trunk, he looks at me one final time, and for a fleeting moment, I can almost swear his eyes sparkle as they meet mine. “Goodbye, Laila,” he finally utters, and I nod in response.

“Bye, Lucas.” I wave him goodbye, and he starts walking away in the opposite direction.

I get inside the cab and read the address to where I am heading to the driver. The driver puts the location on his car GPS and takes off, and my heart starts racing too. I feel my excitement brewing even more now.

On the way, I gaze out the window and marvel at the size of the city. There are so many tall buildings, and I even spot a couple of malls and an amusement park. I am eagerly looking forward to exploring everything here. With a smile on my face, I lean back in my seat and rest my head on the headrest as we leave the city and head towards the suburbs. As we enter the neighborhood, I notice that all the houses are large and fancy. I almost get the impression that royalty lives in this area. I knew that the Sullivans were wealthy, as my mom had previously told me, but I didn't expect them to be this rich to live in such a neighborhood. There are barely any people on the road, except for a little girl and someone dressed in a maid uniform walking a small white dog on the sidewalk.

I smile at the sight.

Soon, the driver stops, and it has been exactly 20 minutes since he started driving me here. Lucian is quite accurate. When I look at where we have stopped, my jaw almost drops to the floor in awe. The gates themselves scream, ‘rich people live here,’ and the building inside that is visible from here looks so massive that I almost feel lost. “Ummm... Mr. Taxi driver, sir, are you sure we are at the right place?” I inquire.

“Yes, miss. This is the exact address written on the note you gave me,” he assures me with confidence.

Just to be sure, I ask again in a low voice, “Are you sure?”

He chuckles and replies, “I am, miss.” I nod and ask him how much I owe him. After paying, I step out of the car, and he helps me retrieve my bag from the trunk. “Do you want me to help you take it inside the house?” he offers.

“That won’t be necessary. I can manage. Thank you anyway,” I decline.

“Okay, very well,” he says before getting back into the taxi and driving off. I am left standing there, gazing at the grand house in front of me, trying to take it all in and calm my nerves about going inside. My anxiety doubles when I realize how fancy and prestigious the Sullivan residence is. This is more than just a house; it’s a villa. Or should I call it a manor?

I take a deep breath and press the bell. I look at the neighborhood surrounding me one more time. This is a neighborhood for rich people only, obviously. And this house in front of me—pardon, this mansion in front of me—is the biggest one of all. It feels intimidating to even stand in front of it. I hear a voice coming from the intercom. A man’s voice, and by the way it sounds, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the butler or something. They look like they would have a butler for sure. “Yes?”

“Hello. I’m Laila Ariti, daughter of Melodia Ariti.” Am I supposed to mention the reason for my visit? I don’t think so, right? My name and my mom’s name should be enough for them to know who I am and why I am here. I hear a rustling sound before I hear the same voice from before saying, “Come right in, Miss Ariti.” I smile at that. While holding my bag, I push the big doors back. With my heart in my hands, I hold my breath all the way to the house, walking on the long beautiful path that leads to the stairs of the front door. The compound is just as pretty as I imagined it to be, if not more. After climbing the stairs, I find myself standing before the door, ready to knock. However, before my hand can make contact, the door swings open, catching me by surprise.

Standing before me is a tall, middle-aged man attired in a black suit, complemented by a black tie and pristine white dress shirt. I can’t help but wonder, if he is the master of this house, why would he be dressed in formal attire, in suits, while in his home? But then again, what do I know about the customs of mansion owners? I don’t possess such a grand dwelling myself. As the rich people call it.

“Follow me, Miss. The Sullivans have been expecting you.” He has the same voice as the man on the intercom. And with the way he is dressed and said ‘the Sullivans’, I am now almost sure he is a butler. So my previous thoughts of him being Mr. Sullivan have been thrown out the window.