Chapter 002 Dilen Liam

Song Recommendation: ADHD by Joyner Lucas

United States Of America.

Dilen sat on his king-sized designer bed, massaging his temple in frustration. His family members surrounded him, casting and ridiculing him for a problem he hadn't created.

Resting his elbows on his knees, his blonde hair dangled over his forehead, with his glasses set on the bridge of his nose. He exhaled.

"How in God's name will you even do something so stupid!!! Do you know what your stupidity has cost us!!! Our businesses!" His immediate older sister, Victoria Liam shouted, tapping her heel on the pearl tiled floor.

"I can't even believe you'd be so selfish not to consider our reputations! Do you know long your name has been trending on Twitter!!!" His oldest sister, Susan Liam pointed at him.

With his mother next to his two fuming sisters, she crossed her hands, giving her last child - her only son a disappointing look.

Her short brown wavy hair ended at her neck, outlining her gorgeous facial features despite her age.

"You have officially ruined the Liam's name in the industry! L!'s entertainment has lost more than one fucking million in less than God damned day!"

"Victoria! Language!", their mother snapped her eyes at her. Victoria clung her teeth, taking a step back to sigh in frustration.

Their mother, Mrs. Liam Marilyn stepped forward, having her goddess-like aura surround her son.

"Dilen, What you did today was utter folly and unreasonable! Why on Earth would you decide to voice out such worthless thoughts! As a matter of fact without consulting me?"

"Because I didn't do it, mother!" Dilen finally stood up.

His tall muscular body towered over his mother and sisters combined, with the sleeves of his shirt folded. The veins on his forehead were visible, alongside his stiffened jaw muscles.

"I didn't do anything mother-"

"But it was your Twitter account!" Victoria interrupted.

"Doesn't mean I wrote that fucking tweet!", he clutched his fist in anger.

"Language!" Their mother warned one last time.

Dilen's blood boiled. It had been more than two hours since his family had been nagging him about a tweet he had no hand in. A tweet that cost hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars for their companies and organizations.

"Dilen Liam, I want to believe you- I honestly do, but with the damages, you've cost–"

"I didn't!" Dilen growled.

"Then tell me", Susan finally stepped forward, majestically swaying her long slender figure forward. She pushed her face close to Dilen's.

"Tell me who? Who will be jobless enough to write five tweeted text; having each of them stand for the alphabets that spell out the word 'BlACK'— explaining how that race is nothing but worthless! And beneath us! Tell me! Who!?"

Veins grew on her soft skinned neck, as Dilen locked his eyes with her, feeling more provoked. He gritted his teeth.

No one was listening. No one wanted to listen. He was trying with every fiber in him to communicate with them like a good son and brother, but they kept pulling his string. He was being tempted to loosen it.

His lips twitched into a dishonest grin.

Susan scowled, narrowing her eyes at him. She continued, "I don't give a damn! About black people or racism as a whole! What I give a fuck about is how you managed to drag an entire empire into your pathetic pond of shit—"

The door was pushed open. All eyes snapped in one direction.

The butler gulped, casting his eyes unto the floor. He gave them a bow, standing by the door to announce, "Mr. Liam requests for young master Liam's presence in his study. Immediately".

They remained quiet for a few seconds, staring at the butler like a hare in a wolf's den. Dilen lazily pulled his eyes back to his sister, who followed his eyes. She gave him a burning gaze.

Dilen stared back at her through his lens with mirth in his eyes—his lips lifted into a subtle grin. Susan face reddened in triggered anger. The wrong switch in his head started flickering, causing him to find sudden joy in his siste's irritation. Huffing lightly, Dilen turned and walked out of the room.

Reaching the office door, Dilen froze, taking a deep breath. He held a stoic expression and knocked.

"Come in", came his father's stern voice. Dilen sighed and walked in slowly, "Father?"

"Shut the door behind you and sit down", his father, Mr. Rohan Liam said with his eyes fixed on his glass wall, taking a view of the beautiful field below. Dilen quietly obeyed.

"Dilen, I am sure you know what is trending number one on Twitter, don't you?".

"Yes, father", Dilen's eyes remained on the desk.

He knew where his father was going at.

"And you are aware of the harm and chaos you've bestowed upon our reputation and empire".

"Father, I didn't write that tweet. My account was surely hacked--". Mr. Liam rose his finger, shushing his son.

Mr. Liam finally turned to his son, having his dark brown eyes meeting Dilen's green eyes. His hair was raven black, compared to his son's dirty blonde hair.

He pressed his lips in a thin line as he continued, "I don't care whether you wrote that tweet or not. All I care is how you are going to fix it".

"But father I deleted the tweet, apologized to the public for a crime I didn't commit, and even posted numerous pleading videos to the media. Nothing is working".

"That's why I called you here. Because all your plans are failures".

Dilen quirked his brows at his father's words, then grinded his teeth in anger.

'Everything I do is always a failure to you father!' a vein popped on his forehead.

"Dilen, your tweet got on the worst side of every single black skinned person in the entire country. You did not only insult black culture and skin, but also every single thing related to blacks' history and heritage. Do you know how many black Americans immediately re-signed from our companies? Not to talk of our black-skinned customers. Your tweet is almost having the same effect as Donald Trump's regime". His father crossed his hands, cocking his head.

With Dilen keeping his temper in check, his father added, "I never knew you were racist. Rather, I never cared if you were. Why would I? But! I knew you'd be smart enough not to show it to the world so stupidly!".

"I DIDN'T TWEET THAT!!!" Dilen stood up, slapping his palm on the table. It was bad enough they didn't care about his innocent, he just least expected them to believe his words. They were blood after all.

His father held a stoic expression, without caring for his son's behavior. He turned around, walking to the bar section of his office. He began to serve himself.

"Now that the damage has been done, there is only one way to fix it".

"Which is?", Dilen narrowed his eyes at his father, sensing he wouldn't like the idea that was about to leave his father's lips.

"You'll have to date a black girl".

"What!?"

His father turned, taking a sip of his cocktail, "Not just any black girl. A complete and pure African girl".

"But why—"

"By doing that, you will help the media see part of your innocence and also believe the story that you were intoxicated the moment you twitted that bullshit".

"But I wasn't!"

"Not my problem", Mr. Liam shrugged a shoulder. He cared less about his son's innocent or opinion and more about the family's reputation and image.

"But why an African girl? I can get a black American--"

"No! It has to be a complete African. One that had never been in the western world. It's better to pull a weed out with the root. In that case it won't grow again".

"But, how--" Dilen tried to speak once more.

"You will go to an African country. A country you've never been to and pick any random girl who will sign a confidential contract, stating that she'll have to pose as your girlfriend for three good months. Do that, and half of our problems will be solved".

Dilen was about to oppose, when he swallowed back his words in anger, while grinded his teeth. It was useless trying to argue with his father after he had made up his mind.

Dilen exhaled deeply, looking down. After a whole minute of complete silence between them, he looked up. His lips carried small grin.

Without another word, Dilen walked out of the office, slamming the door with a bang.

• • •

"African!? Is he serious?" Roman Tylor, a white man with brown short hair said, resting his behind on the table in Dilen's room. He looked at Dilen through his medicated glasses.

"I've heard of that place. I hear they have a lot of issues here and there. Doing this is equal to doing charity, so I think it's a good idea", Andrew Saint nodded, taking a sip of his drink. His black hair was combed to the side.

"Ouch! Are they that bad?" The last man in the room, Paul Wilt asked.

Andrew shrugged, "That's what the news and documentaries show".

"Damn, sorry bro", Roman said, glancing at Dilen, who had his hands on his head and his elbows on his knees. He was beyond frustrated with all the accusations.

"What country do you suggest I pick? Because with the way things are going, I'll have no choice but to go by my father's orders", Dilen sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Hm, not sure", Paul stated, "I suggest you should pick a popular African country everyone knows".

"South Africa? I hear the place is decent enough to manage", Roman chipped in.

"No, I've been there. It has to be a country I've never been to", Dilen sighed.

"Hmm". The four white men in the room, all dressed in plush straightened perfumed suits, paused for a moment, fathoming over an answer.

"What about Nigeria?" Andrew finally broke the silence. Dilen rose his head up to look at his friend.

"Nigeria?"