Rule No. 1: Don’t be too emotional : Chapter 17

I knew I was in trouble for the moment I laid eyes on you Dangerously.

I can feel the chemistry around the room Something deep inside told me to think twice.

I knew But I went ahead what a stupid ting to do Now I’m in trouble.

After that day, he truly vanished. He stopped calling. He didn’t wait for me at the university anymore, and his car was no longer parked in front of my house.

I started to think I was going crazy. When he didn’t show up, I found myself missing him. My eyes kept searching the crowds to see if he was nearby, yet when he actually used to follow me, I was nothing but irritated. Am I becoming bipolar or what? To make matters worse, our “relationship” had been famous on campus-thanks to P’Jane’s looks, the Cute Boy page, and whatever else.

Now that we were clearly apart, rumors spread like wildfire. People whispered, wondering if we’d had a massive fight or a permanent breakup. On our “couple page,” moderators and followers were digging for clues. Once someone commented that they’d seen us fighting by the third-floor lockers, the story moved like a forest fire.

When I appeared, the gossiping groups would go silent, but that didn’t mean the talk stopped. I didn’t feel like explaining anything to anyone. I didn’t have the energy. But the worst part was my mental health. I was constantly paranoid. Whenever someone talked to me, I wondered: Are they someone who owes P’Jane a favor?

During lectures, I wondered, which professors are indebted to him? How else did he get that login? Does it go all the way up to the Rector? I was so guarded I looked neurotic. I even felt suspicious of the campus security guards.

“Jane.”

“What?” I answered Gap one afternoon.

“Are you… still not made up with P’Jane?” “… ”

“I noticed you aren’t wearing the necklace he gave you. I thought it was just a tiff, but it’s been a week. Still haven’t made peace?” Some people, like Gap, were incredibly sharp-eyed.

“We broke up,” I said flatly. I didn’t want to give him details. I saw Putt glancing at us, but I kept my face neutral. I knew how Putt felt about me now. I was grateful for his feelings, but I couldn’t return them. I could never see him as more than a friend. My demeanor made it clear I didn’t want to talk about that night or P’Jane, so Putt stayed silent, for which I was thankful. Gap threw an arm around my shoulder.

“Man, new couples are like this. You fight until you adjust. I bet you’ll be back together soon.”

“No, Gap. We broke up. We aren’t getting back together.” I tapped my fist on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, just so you know-Jane and P’Jane are over.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” I put my head down and focused on my Business Computer sheets as if they were the most important thing in the world. I let my friends exchange confused looks. They knew enough. They didn’t need to know the rest and end up a paranoid mess like me. Four days without Jane Patrick in my life. Or rather, four days without the man-who knows which of his minions were still watching me. Whatever. Watching me is all they can do. I hoped I would sleep tonight without dreaming of him. I pressed my trembling hands together and pushed through the glass doors of the ballroom dance class. Everyone was in position… except for my partner, who stood alone. I nodded to the instructor in apology for being late. Luckily, Professor Raphee was kind and didn’t mark me absent. I dropped my bag and walked to my spot. I took his large hands, avoiding his eyes by looking far over his shoulder. I’m just attending class. There’s nothing to fear. I moved to the rhythm of the ballroom music, focused and precise. No words passed between us for a long time.

“You’re late,” that deep voice finally spoke.

“Yes,” I replied, still not looking at him.” Why?”

“None of your business.”

“Woo-hoo.” Asshole. I wanted to stop dancing and slap him. He was actually whistling. I glanced up and saw a small smile on his face. He wasn’t bothered. Not at all. I spun out with the beat and back into his arms.

“Let me ask you something,” he said.

“What?”

“Why do you have to hate what I do so much?” I finally looked him full in the face. I couldn’t believe a genius like him was asking such a stupid question.

“Because it’s wrong.”

“How is it wrong? Tell me, how?”

“You play with people’s hearts and minds.”

“I simply help them.”

“Ha!”

“Jane, do you know what a ‘favor’ is?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do me a favor. You know that phrase, right?” Of course I did. It’s basic English.

“It means ‘help me.'” He smirked, stepping back as the lead’s footwork required. He wasn’t looking at me either; he was looking over my head at the wall.

“Is that what Thai English teachers tell you? Help is help. A favor is different. Not even close.” 11 “If you’re stuck in a burning building, do you say ‘help me’ or ‘do me a favor’? You say ‘help me, ‘ right?”

“A favor is help that requires something in return. If I ask you for a favor, it means one day I must pay you back. Like when the US President asks a favor of the Speaker of the House-it means one day the Speaker can ask for something back from the President.” His whisper was magnetic. I couldn’t look away.

“It’s like trading goods, but the ‘goods’ are assistance and reliance. My profession is like any other merchant. It’s just that my product is help… a favor.”

“Yes,” he smiled wider as I muttered the word.

“I just did everyone a favor. It’s a shame there isn’t a direct Thai word that captures the true meaning of ‘favor.'” He was right. In Thai, there isn’t one word for it. It’s not a bribe, it’s not a commission, it’s not exactly a “debt of gratitude” (bunkhun). But it isn’t “help” in the pure sense either.

“So, since I only help people with what they ask for, and I only collect when I need something… tell me, Jenalee. Am I really that evil?” He gave a broad, sweeping smile.

“Hmm… ?” Ask him for anything and get it, but you have to pay.

“Yes, you are evil, Jane Patrick,” I finally found my voice. He tilted his head, looking at me with interest while his arms guided me through the dance. I looked him dead in the eye.

“You’re evil because you play with people’s souls. You force them into a corner where they have no choice but to do what you want. No matter how many fancy words you use to describe it, that’s what it is.” I didn’t blink.

“It’s exactly howv the mafia behaves.”

“Jane, Jane, Jane… ” He said my name rhythmically, his voice laced with laughter.

“Nothing in this world comes for free. They were all more than willing to ask me for a favor, so of course they need to give back.” He leaned down and whispered into my ear.

“So please, baby, don’t be too emotional.” I crossed the road to meet my dad. I kept thinking about that word: Favor. Since it wasn’t “help” from a pure heart, no other word fit better. The night air was chilly. Usually, on dance days, we’d go to dinner together… he’d drive me home. I felt more sensitive than usual. Don’t be too emotional. There it was again. People telling me not to be so sensitive. Is it really that annoying? As I walked past the smoking area, I couldn’t help but look inside. He wasn’t there. He was probably back at his condo, hunting for more names for his list. But then, I saw him. He was sitting on a stone bench, leaning against the table, smoking. Four or five of his “friends” were around him. And I couldn’t believe it-I was actually walking toward him. I had one question I couldn’t shake. He had asked why I hated his work; why couldn’t I ask him my question? We locked eyes from a distance. As I approached, P’Jane waved his left hand. His friends immediately scattered. I remembered what P’Dan said-he doesn’t have friends. Those were his minions, people who owed him their souls. He had a small smile.

“What’s this? Is Jane coming to ask me for a favor?”

“No. But I have a question for you, P’Jane.” He nodded, his smile staying put.

“I want to ask… why did you bother with me in the first place? From the very beginning… that day.” I thought of the first time we locked eyes. I was playing football; he was in the stands. I remembered his smirk. I remembered all the good times-times that made me so emotional I could cry. It was so sad that it was only me who felt those things. To him… it was nothing. I thought of him saying he’d never liked anyone as much as me in twenty-seven years. His invitation to go to America… it felt like a proposal. I couldn’t let go of that.

“Why did you get involved with me? Why did you make me like you? Why were you so good to me… took care of me… why did you bother with me at all? Answer me!”

“Because your face looked stupidly easy to fool.” His answer felt like a sledgehammer to my skull. My hands went numb; my heart shook. The sound of my memories shattering was like glass breaking into a million shards. Because my face looked stupid… That was it. That was all. He blew out a cloud of silver smoke.

“Well? Are you satisfied with an answer from a ‘bad guy’ like me? If you’re satisfied, you can go now.” Cruel. He was the cruelest person alive. Don’t ask me what I said back. I only remember turning and running as fast as I could. I cried harder that night than the day I found out the truth about him. What did you expect, Jenalee? Did you expect him to say he did it because he loved you? Yes. I did. In my flickering hope, through my anger at being fooled and my pain, I had hoped that would be the answer. But it wasn’t. It all started that day in the stands for one reason: my face looked like an easy target.

Special Note: P’Jane’s “Business Model” For those wondering how P’Jane pulls off impossible things (like getting someone into showbiz or stealing university logins): He doesn’t just use his parents’ power. He starts small. * He grants a small “favor” to someone. * He builds a web of connections. *Example: A director owes P’Jane a favor for funding a movie. Later, someone else asks P’Jane to help them become an actor. P’Jane “collects” from the director by forcing him to cast that person. There are occasions where P’Jane asks for direct monetary repayment-treating it as a straightforward transaction. After all, he still needs money to live his life. However, this rarely happens. P’Jane much prefers to keep the favor “on the books,” choosing to let people remain indebted to him instead. For anyone who is rebellious or refuses to follow through on their end, P’Jane will come to collect… ( take what happened to Thee, for example). This doesn’t mean he kills them; from the beginning of the story until the current chapter, P’Jane hasn’t killed a single soul. Instead, he will unearth the dark secrets that person has hidden away and use them to destroy them. He has to do this to ensure no one else thinks they can make a mockery of his “favor business.” The rules must remain sacred. But of course, even with rules this strict, there are always exceptions to the case. Besides, P’Jane is the one who wrote the rules-and he’s the one who enforces them. So, that’s the gist of it! It might sound a bit like a fantasy or a novel… but well, this is a novel after all! lol.

P. S. I (Sol/ the author) got the idea for this story from watching American series like Suits and Designated Survivor. In those shows, characters are constantly owing each other favors-like, “Okay, I’ll help you get an audience with this person, but one day, you have to pay me back.” Watching that gave me the spark of inspiration to create the character of P’Jane.