It had been long since her last time at a club. So long. But tonight, Linda decided to head there. She'd spent the last three years at home. Home sweet home. She was Linda Hemsway. Five feet seven. Slim. Pink lips. Long brunette hair. Brown eyes, slim curves. She looked at herself in the side mirror of the cab. Yes, she was okay… She thought with a w ink as the cab pulled up towards the street to the club. 'Delavigne…' Linda mumbled. 'How long it's been!' Without saying anything more, she straightened her dress, blinked twice to hide the sadness in her eyes, and stifled the pain that sat inside her chest. She knew some people saw the pain in them despite her attempt to hide it. With some people, she would never, succeed at hiding this for since her parents' train crash, things for her had never been quite the same.

Never the same for her. At least things seemed better for her older sister who had left to Clymene after home had seemed more than misery for her. Windowmill had nothing more to provide to a person of her endearment. After the burial, her big sister had gone with her husband to run a Charity organization somewhere at a place called Clemene. That was the last that Linda had heard from her sister and it was three years ago.

A sudden opening at the door brought Linda back to her senses. She'd not even seen the chauffeur pack outside the club. Swallowed by her own thoughts about her parents and long gone sister, she'd somewhat managed to forget and become insensitive to her surroundings. The cab-driver nodded as she got out and handed him the change with a smile across her lips. With a nod, she walked off.

The music was loud. The mood pure sherry, and the atmosphere bathed in excitement. At the upper section of the club, Bill Mayan starred at the dancers down the lower section. He leaned against the thin metal bar that caged the upper section of the club. Somehow, he managed to afford a nod slowly as if to himself and partially as though to the troubles that had pushed him coming to the club. At least he could go about all the stress with a bottle of wine to the club Delavigne each and every evening. All most the entire town of Windowmill did, treating themselves to the club each and every single day. Some went as far as spending entire mornings at the club, retiring at 10:00 am and returning as early as 6 pm in the evenings as though with very little to do with their own lives. Maybe it was because Windowmill was such a tiny Island where people knew each other quite personally, lived in firm old castles and never stressed about working because they had inherited large sums.

Bill was still thinking to himself when his eyes caught a thin brunette shaking her ass-off down below. He looked closely at her. Surely must be a stranger and if not, she was the rare one whose name he seldom had any serious person mention. He could tell that she had nothing to lose from the way she was dancing, like Windowmill wasn't such a small town.

With each closer look, Bill felt a twinge of emotion clutch at his guts especially with the sudden head-turn she had done when she looked up only to catch him staring at her. Their eyes locked. She was hot, like the devil himself. Or she-devil if he was a she, for whichever the devil chose, this girl was still hot. He gathered she was obviously drunk, not from the way her once steady balance on the floor started to tumble. The fact that she kept staring at him and yet never seemed to care about her actions bothered him even more. Was she some girl he had dumped back in college that had come to seek revenge? Nemesis wouldn't catch up with him. His lower tummy stiffened and he knew he was liking her with each 'I don't care' stroke that she did.

Bill Mayan. Young and hot. Black hair. Shoulder-length. A tall frame that would get him noticed in a distance, plus a well-toned body dressed so well that females never failed to notice. Tonight, he was wearing a cool Calvin Klein T-shirt that matched his blue jeans. 6ft tall and handsome, plus a pair of glimmering grey eyes that seemed to drink in whoever his gaze was fixed at in a firm ecstasy. He was Bill Mayan the legend and mystery of Windowmill. Youth-full billionaire who owned a conglomeration of enterprises in Rome and Paris and rarely to caught speaking with a resident of Windowmill. As if to make matters worse, his mansion stood far off, close to the age of the little island. Rumor had it that the incredible Bill owned and employed almost half of the island. No one really managed to figure out how he had mastered the craft of business, but either way, he was young and yet seemed to have it all. He had also encountered a few scandals with stalkers, both male and female. Young and aged, but mostly in pursuit of his money yet he still managed to keep to himself. Still a mystery.

He moved down the ground floor, his gaze holding the brunette's, who was then finding her way out of the club. People were paving way for her, some because they thought she was mentally perturbed, others out of sympathy, understanding the fact that she had lost almost her entire family and that her life had never been the same since then. Some said the girl was haunted while the rest either pitied or criticized her attitude and actions. A few minutes later, she was close the exit. Bill's gaze still fixed upon her.

Linda Hemsway. Twenty-five years old, orphan and not married. No career, no friends. A few years ago, everything she had cared about had vanished in an instant. Her parents' death in a train crash, her sister's departure to Clemene a place that Linda had had no idea existed until then. Linda had been modeling and running a fashion house for about two years after her high school thinking all was well, until life had proved her wrong. That fateful day when she had lost both her parents three and a half years ago. Goodness it was horrible! She stumbled and knocked herself of her treacherous thoughts. A bottle of vodka in one hand and a ladies' pass in the other, Linda almost fell as her stiletto pulled a prank on her. Carefully, she stood firm, held her bottle before her and staggered out of the club. The light s flashed on her cute skimpy dress and she found her path away from the club, in a direction opposite to where she'd come from.

Three hours later, an engine roared ruefully as its driver came to a stop. A few inches away from his tall frame, in the middle of the road, a solitary figure lay. With a money-pass and shatters of a broken bottle inches away from the figure's body. For a moment, he thought she was dead, only a closer movement to shake him out of his horror. He loved the grace that settled on her face while she slept in the middle of the road. The hot brunette thing from the club. Damnit! She had left him yearning for a bigger show in the club and now she had even afforded getting him out of his car. Bill bit his lips in frustration. The woman was ruining her life for Christ's sake! And she was not just any woman. She was a hot woman who looked like spoilt brains. Wasting her life, not on exhaustion or an abusive husband and some stubborn kid. But on a stupid goddam bottle of vodka