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“I’d say most men would be in that category. My brothers for one.”

“I don’t blame them. When I was a little boy, I was given a luxury Ferrari. Don’t look like that, it was one of those plastic toy cars.”

“Like those Matchbox cars? My brothers guarded them like precious jewels.”

“Yes. Except I was given mine by a rich boy I knew. I’ll never forget that moment. The way he handed it over to me one day before my mother finished her shift, very casually mind you, as if he were handing over a rock, or some sticks. It was the first real gift I had ever known.”

“Zane—”

“Let me explain. Ever since then, I had a burning inside me. You see, to that boy, that toy was worthless. He had five just like it, and a dozen more that were shinier, without all the nicks and scratches. But to me, it was the most priceless thing in the world. And I told myself that one day I would be rich like that little boy. And I would own the grandest, most expensive car. Not because it was given to me, but because I worked hard to buy it.”

“That’s an impressive story.”

“It’s the truth. I grew up poorer than dirt, and I’m not ashamed of that. But because of it, I appreciate what money can buy.”

“Freedom.”

“Exactly. To choose the kind of life you want to live. It affords you power so you never have to be caught in someone else’s web.”

He drove slowly up the winding path.

“So do you still have that toy car?”

Zane looked at her, as if weighing his words. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “No. I…it’s lost.”

“Did you ever see the boy again?” She studied his face, wondering at the truth.

“That’s a story for another day.”

Before she could ask more questions, the house came into view. More like an estate than a home, but nonetheless architecturally arresting. The driveway was lit with small lights, guiding their way along the curved path to the sprawling mansion that sat at the pinnacle of the hill. To the left was a series of garages, to the right a circular gazebo.

A man opened the heavy double doors, nodding at her and smiling at Zane.

When they walked through the entrance, they were greeted by another man. Impeccably dressed and softly spoken.

“Champagne and refreshments in your suite, Mr. Zane.”

“Thank you, Ahmed. I’ll not require anything further.”

Amira gazed in open admiration. Doors—now closed—flanked either side of the grand staircase. He held her hand, drawing her up two flights of stairs. They walked down more hallways, passing more rooms. What could a single man want with such a palace? The house was big enough for ten families, let alone one man.

They reached Zane’s private rooms at the end of the hall.

“You live in this mansion alone?”

“I’m never alone.”

“It’s massive.”

“And functional. But I wouldn't be paying my staff well if it weren’t.”

Zane opened double doors on the second floor. Opulent was a word she clearly knew not of, not at this level. Whilst she could decipher between one superior cut of fabric from another, wealth like this surpassed anything she had experienced.

Everything in his sitting room, as he called it, was made for comfort: big, over-sized couches, plush, thick rugs. A massive fireplace, already lit, burned bright. Parallel to it, in the middle of the room, sat a rectangular table set with champagne, glasses and an assortment of sweet treats.

A veritable Eden. Summer fruits in the dead of winter. Pastries glazed and golden. And chocolate truffles piled high. A gift from God, indeed.

Zane gestured for her to sit, and he poured them a glass each.