Can You Keep It Saintly?

2 “Saintly”

Year 2024

When you first meet Tatum Van Saint, you would feel a shiver run down your spine. The aura that he radiated was akin to the chill of a dark winter night, and the gaze he bore into your soul spoke volumes of his character. You would recognize his last name for what it was: the only saintly thing about him. He was the total opposite of his last name. He was someone you do not want to mess with. You instinctively know right away that Tatum was not someone you ever wanted to cross, no matter the circumstances.

Tatum Van Saint was a name in the wealthy affiliates and the business conglomerates that did not live up to its saintly connotations. He was anything but a saint. Instead of embodying the virtues associated with sainthood, Tatum was known for his cunning and manipulative behavior. He had a reputation for being ruthless and cunning, using people for his own gain and discarding them like pawns in a game. Despite the promise of righteousness suggested by his last name, Tatum’s actions have always been absolutely far from saintly.

“Are you the prostitute hired?” He asked as his voice was deep and cold, but his eyes were frozenly colder.

The man before Atlas Renee Pryce spoke with a chilling tone, his expression stoic and unchanging as he glared at her. His voice was like the winds of a frigid winter night, sharp and cold as ice. The way in which he posed his question implied a cold and relentless approach to handling business. This man was someone who did not enjoy being crossed, and yet she had the sense that she was not speaking with a man who could be persuaded or intimidated easily.

“Pryce…” Atlas muttered softly under her drunken breath.

“Price? Well, you look like s**t to be a prostitute.” Tatum’s piercing gaze fixed on Atlas, the woman who had earlier appeared confident and poised in the hotel.

He could see the pain and despair in her blue eyes, her once-confident demeanor now replaced by a weakened state. The canvas she held tightly in her hand was smudged with dirt, a stark contrast to the beauty of the vineyard surroundings. Tatum could not help but feel a pang of curiosity, mixed with a touch of pity, something he never really felt before, so he was curious why he was feeling that way for this nameless woman. He observed the vulnerable woman on the ground before him and for the first time, the sight was both intriguing and disheartening since she was crying while grasping her heart over her dress while grasping the canvas on her other hand.

“Why was I suddenly moved?” He mentally asked himself as he kept staring down at her.

“Are you deaf?” He asked emotionlessly with his cold eyes glued on her. “Or do I have to pay you to get up and get the f**k off my property?” His voice was stern, as if he was throwing sharp daggers at her.

To Tatum, everything can be bought.

Every single thing in this world, whether animate, inanimate, tangible, or intangible, was and will always be purchasable. If you could name a price, he can acquire it. Easily, like one, two, three.

“Get up.” Tatum kicked her thigh, as he made eye contact with his security guards, he silently communicated with them with a simple hand gesture. The guards, with their own guns in their hands ready to open fire when needed at the moment, understanding the gesture from Tatum, and the significance of the situation, gave their boss space, circling him from a distance to ensure his safety. Meanwhile, Tatum’s gaze fixated on the woman on the ground before him, a mix of intrigue and suspicion in his eyes. As the minutes ticked by and the silence hung heavy in the air, Tatum stood firm, his mind racing with thoughts and possibilities.

He angrily grabbed her on her arm and pulled her up from the ground, causing her to have redness on her porcelain skin. She was now wiping the tears from her cheeks while he grabbed the small canvas from her hand, he saw a painting of a place that looked like a house next to a lake. He read the written words on the canvas, Pine Ridge. His brows creased in the middle of his forehead while his eyes traveled back to the woman who was stumbling.

He kept his huge hand gripped on Atlas’ hand roughly and pulled her up from the ground and kept her up, her body stumbling and wavering as she attempted to stand. Her legs felt like jelly, and her head was spinning from the effects of the alcohol she had consumed. Despite her best efforts, she could not keep her balance after the glasses of wine that she had drank earlier from the two activities she did, and she stumbled forward, falling against Tatum’s chest. He grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her, holding her upright while she looked up at him with hazy eyes.

“Do you even understand whose presence you are in front of right now?” Tatum asked angrily as he was the reason why she was actually standing up, because of the fact that he was holding her and she was leaning on his chest.

“Mhm, a big douche.” Atlas laughed, raised her hand and playfully slapped his cheek.

“What the–”

She cut him off again from what he was saying by slapping his cheek again.

His eyes widened, “Hey–”

She slapped his cheek again, giggling drunkenly, “Does that help a bit, huh?”

As Tatum attempted to steady Atlas, she suddenly reached up and slapped him yet again. The force of her blow made him jerk back in surprise even more, but before he could fully react, she repeated the action again, her hand smashing against his other cheek. The sting of each slap reverberated through his cheeks, though it did not hurt, it still shocked him, causing a surge of anger coursed through his veins.

Tatum had never been struck by a woman before, most would kneel in front of him and suck his d**k and balls, most women would beg him, most women would do anything and everything just to get close to him, so the audacity of this anonymous woman’s actions stunned him, and his security team entirely and at the same time momentarily.

She giggled drunkenly, yet he did not do anything as his eyes travelled towards her necklace with a pendant in a cursive letter A with tiny diamonds all over it. His brows creased again in the middle of his forehead, as his eyes glued on her necklace.

“I bet it does not.” She mumbled drunkenly as she chuckled dryly and lightly under her throat, “You big goof.” She slapped his cheek once again, a bit harder this time.

“Goof, huh?”Tatum raised his hand sharply, signaling his unwavering command for his security team to stand down. His security guards, loyal and attentive, immediately recognized the authority in his gesture and stood motionless, still gripping their guns, respecting his orders. Their eyes darted between Tatum and Atlas, their faces a mix of wariness and curiosity, but their bodies remained still, awaiting further instructions from their boss.

“You think this is funny?” Tatum gritted his teeth angrily.

“You think this is funny?” Atlas mocked and then laughed.

He clenched his jaws, his eyes burning with a simmering anger the more he looked at her. His words came out through clenched teeth, dripping with annoyance and more frustration. “You think this is funny, do you?” He repeated, his voice dripping with disdain, this woman was slapping him and disrespecting him.

Atlas, her eyes hazy from the effects of the alcohol, could not stop herself from bursting into a mocking laugh which annoyed him even more. Her words came out laced with mockery and sarcasm, “Oh, you have absolutely no idea. Of course I do,” she said, her voice dripping with false bravado. “This is just hilarious right now.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand as she laughed again, a fake one.

Her hand caressed his cheek, and then slapped him again.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed her wrist, “That is enough slapping, you had your fun?” He asked angrily, his grip on her wrist was tighter now, “One more slap and–”

She pulled her forefinger up and placed it against his lips, cutting him off again from what, “Shush.”

Tatum’s eyes widened in surprise and disgust as he suddenly felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek, followed by the sound of her belching and the sharp odor of vomit. The realization of what was happening hit him like a wave of shock, and he stumbled back a few steps, attempting to distance himself from the vile mess.

“You little b***h!” Tatum angrily yelled, raising his hand in a firm fist, letting them know not to move a single muscle. Tatum’s voice crackled with anger as he furiously cursed at Atlas, his raised fist quivering with pent-up fury. His guards stood frozen in their tracks, hesitant to intervene. He angrily pushed Atlas off him causing her to fall to the ground and cough as she fell on her back. Her eyesight was dizzy, as she was about to lose consciousness now, as his voice echoed in her ears when he angrily hollered out loud, “Get her the f**k up and bring her to the guest room!! NOW!”

Tatum saw himself as a godlike figure who believed he should be revered and respected by those around him. He did not want to be touched without his consent, and he certainly did not take kindly to being disrespected or mocked, and definitely not towards a woman who was a complete stranger to him. He saw any form of contact as a violation of his personal space, and any challenge to his authority as a direct attack on his self-perceived superiority. For Tatum, the world revolved around him and his desires, and those who dared to challenge him or defy him would feel his wrath and vile.

Which was why Tatum was ridiculously angry at the unknown woman for several reasons. First and foremost, her behavior was horrendously disrespectful and inappropriate towards him, a man as powerful and wealthy as him. Slapping him on the cheeks not once, but many times, was a blatant display of disrespect and violation of his personal space, and every single one who has been working for him knew that he does not want to be touched with people he knew nothing about. Atlas also showed a complete lack of control over her actions, as her behavior was seemingly fueled by the alcohol she had consumed previously that she no longer knew what she was actually doing towards a man as respectable and powerful as Tatum Van Saint.

Additionally, her mocking and sarcastic tone and actions further angered Tatum and stoked his irritation and bruised his ego since no one had ever mocked him or made fun of him in front of his employees. Overall, Atlas’ actions and behavior crossed the line and made Tatum feel disrespected and provoked, leading to his anger.

Tatum found himself gasping and panting as he woke up from his dream. It was morning now and he was naked under his duvet and just woke up from his dream where he was near a lake and it was a peaceful afternoon, the sunset glimmering on a piece of jewelry as he felt happy in his dream. The sweat on his brow was a testament to his emotional turmoil and what he actually dreamed about. As he lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, he suddenly heard a faint voice echoing in his mind, a familiar tone that he could not quite place.

Tatum sat up in his bed and groaned, rubbing his temples as a throbbing headache threatened to split his head in half, his headaches were getting tougher to handle. He glanced at the clock, and the red numbers glowed back at him, reading three oh three in the morning. Letting out a very frustrated sigh, he reached for the bottle of painkillers on his bedside table and hastily took a couple, downing them with a gulp of water. He lay back down on his bed, hoping the painkillers would take effect soon and alleviate the headache that was tormenting him.

“You big goof,” the voice whispered, sending a shiver down his spine, causing him to gasp.

He looked around, and it was alone in his massive bedroom.

Who had said those words? It sounded so real, yet it could not be.

He was alone in his bedroom, wasn't he?

Was he going out of his mind? He thought to himself.

“f*****g voices.” He muttered angrily under his breath.