This Crazy Rich Boy

For a moment Claire is stunned—she just stands there, staring at Karen's body on the ground. A bunch of conflicting feelings ȧssault her—resentment, pity, apprehension, confusion. Wasn't it just days ago when Karen and Russell tried to gang up on her? Which is why she's living in the Residence now, thanks to Gabriel's good graces. But then again, you can also take that as a good thing: if Karen wasn't such a bitch, then she wouldn't be ejected from the apartment, and wouldn't be enjoying time in her penthouse suite in that swanky Residence.

Meanwhile, Miguel is instantly upon Karen, as though he's about to resuscitate her.

"Let's bring her to my place," Claire says as she grabs Miguel's hand. "We have a doctor there and maybe she needs to have something to eat."

"Shouldn't we bring her to a hospital?" Miguel is starting to lift Karen in his arms. "People don't normally pass out if it's just nothing."

It's really just nothing, Claire wants to say, but she doesn't want to seem heartless. "The nearest hospital is still farther than my place. How about if we let her rest first and see how she does, then I'll have my doctor coordinate with the hospital."

"That sounds like a good plan," Miguel says as he gently places Karen in the car's backseat.

On the way to the Residence, Miguel shoots Claire with questions about the unconscious woman. Who is she? What happened to her? Why does she look like she's wearing the same party dress for days? Is she homeless?

If Claire had to be brutally honest, she'd give Miguel all the bullshit-free answers. But there's something about Karen's sudden reappearance in her life that gives her the screaming mimies. Something's off. Something's too contrived to be considered merely coincidental. And she has just met him—Claire doesn't know what he really wants. She carefully weighs the words that come out of her mouth. "Karen used to be my roommate. But a few days ago, we had a little misunderstanding, so I had to leave."

"How was she the last time you saw her?"

There's genuine concern in Miguel's voice, and yet, he has just met her. He treats her as though he has known her all his life. That's maybe the difference between the two brothers, Gabriel and Miguel—the younger one seems a bit naïve, too trusting of people, while Gabriel seems too jaded for his own good.

Claire gazes at Miguel's eyes, and all she sees is sincerity.

"The moment the doctor says he could not help, let's proceed to the hospital, okay?"

I'm sure she'll be completely fine, is what Claire almost says, but then again, she doesn't want to seem heartless; Miguel has no idea what kind of a person Karen is. "Absolutely," she says. "And besides, if she needs first aid, she needs it as soon as possible. Going all the way to the hospital might aggravate things."

"Sorry," he says, "but where did you say you're staying again?"

"The Residence?"

"The Residence? Where's that?"

"It's the former Ilustrados Hotel downtown."

"Oh, I know that. Gabriel loved that hotel. He used to take Michelle, err, I mean, his former girlfriend there a lot. They both loved the little fine dining restaurant there. That Michelin-starred place being run by that Italian chef called Gustavo What's-his-face."

"What? Michelle knows about that place?"

"Are you kidding me?" Miguel laughs. "Michelle does not only know about that place. She loved it. They used to occupy the penthouse suite overlooking the park for weeks on end. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that Gabriel seems to have missed mentioning that."

"Oh, sorry." Miguel looks at her. "Did I touch a nerve? Sorry I talked too much."

"Oh, no, don't be sorry at all. It's nothing." Claire smiles. But inside, she's fuming. That idiot, Gabriel Tan! Why on earth did he make me settle in the very Ground Zero of the memories he had with that bitch? What is he trying to accomplish? He could have easily made her stay at an actual house, maybe another apartment. No, he made her stay in the Residence. And all this time, Claire thought she was being given some special treatment! That Gabriel went all this way to make her feel as though she mattered.

Now Claire feels foolish. She almost loved him. Just an hour ago, she'd gaze at Gabriel with such longing. Now as it turns out, she's just an employee, after all; a pawn in his insane game of human chess. And for what? To get back at the woman who cheated on him—by doing one stupid thing after another.

She doesn't say another word until they reach the Residence. Miguel seems to "get" it, somehow, as he didn't badger her with more questions about Karen. He gets out, opens the door for Claire, then attends to Karen and lifts her in his arms. Claire takes a mental note of how well-toned Miguel's arms are, like he's a professional bodybuilder or something.

Dale meets them in the lobby and instantly he's calling up for ȧssistance.

While waiting, Miguel places Karen in one of the plush couches in the lobby. He feels her pulse and decides she's fine. "Color has returned to her cheeks," Miguel says.

It never left, Claire thinks, but keeps it to herself. It's hard not to be cynical when you truly know a person from the inside out. But she decides to let things run in due course; let Miguel realize that for himself.

Then suddenly, as if roused from a bad dream, Karen opens her eyes and bolts upright, looking around, her eyes going round at the obvious grandeur of her surroundings.

"Where am I?" Karen begins, her voice hoarse.

"You're not yet in hell, obviously," Claire says, smiling at Miguel to reassure him she's just trying to add some levity in this situation. "But maybe you can start telling us what happened to you."

Karen stares at Claire for a long moment, as if she'd forgotten who she is and is trying to remember. She touches her face, running her fingers through her raven hair. She gazes at Miguel. "You," she mutters, pointing at him. "I owe you my life."

Jesus, Claire thinks. If previously she doubted if Karen was just bullshitting them, now Claire's sure this is all an act—Karen is doing her moves again, and it's all unfolding right before her eyes. "Karen, stop it—"

"Claire," Karen says, "I owe my life to you, too. And I'm really sorry. I really am." She begins sobbing; it starts as a pathetic whimper at first, then it rises in intensity until her shoulders heave up and down as she dramatically sobs. "I couldn't even begin telling you what happened."

"Well, you can try," Claire says.

Miguel sits down beside her and puts an arm around Karen, trying to comfort her. "There, there. You're safe now. If you're not ready to tell us, it's fine. Get some rest here. Once you're rested, I'll try to contact your friends or anyone you know who can help you."

"I think there's no need for that," Karen says, as she stops sobbing. "I'm already here, with one of my good friends. Claire."

Miguel looks at Claire, who in turn looks at Karen. "Really? We're friends?"

"Good friends," Karen says, her tears returning. "We were, until I had the gall to do that nasty thing to you. I should have believed you. I should have followed what my gut said. That man was an ȧsshole. He really did try to **** you…"

"What?" Now it's Miguel's head's turn to spin. "Who's raping whom—"

"Long story," Claire cuts him. "But it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me, Claire," Miguel says, standing up. "I need to know the story, no matter how long. And if there's anyone in that story who tries to **** anyone, then I'd like to squeeze his neck with my bȧrė hands!"

Jesus Henry Christ, Claire thinks as he gazes at Miguel. This is going to be a hell of a long freaking day.