Over at his place, Carl picked up a bottle of fruit wine from the table, popped the cap with a lazy flick, and took a slow, satisfied sip like his job here was done.
"Meanwhile, I'm here, minding my one million per second businesses, and you're calling to—"
"She doesn't love me."
Carl "..."
He choked.
Then he sputtered.
Then PFFFFFFT the drink exploded out of his mouth, splattering across his shirt and the floor.
"WHAT?!"
Carl sat up, blinking. His voice jumped half an octave. "What do you mean she doesn't love you?! Are you sure you're Somto? Like, the Somto? Crown Prince turned King? Man who could blink and get six marriage proposals in the mail?! Bro, this doesn't make any sense!"
Somto didn't respond. He simply leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and exhaled.
He wasn't a narcissist. He didn't believe that every woman he looked at would fall head over heels.
