'Eight.' Hadn't he said that he only had six or was she remembering it wrong? Whatever the count maybe, his boy didn't have a shred of fat on it. It was toned and muscular, but just the kind she liked in a man. He was not bulky and looked like a model who had come out from a magazine.

  When the video ended, she looked through it a couple more times, making sure that she had not completely lost her mind. After that, she went online and searched every possible surface of the internet to find this video. She failed.

  Her hands were on her forehead as she realized that Ray was way more than a normal man. He was something else. And she was scared——

  If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

  "Body of a 30-year-old," Cage said confidently, not taking much time to think about how he would answer.

  He already knew what it was going to be. Being in the entertainment industry meant that he needed to strive for perfection, be he twenty-something or sixty-something. He would need to be in his top form every day of his life, even after he retired, and that was saying something. Of course, he would choose to have the body of a thirty-year-old. He wouldn't mind the depth of experiences of a ninety-year-old, though. He would be a much more grounded person if that were to happen.

  "Any day. I don't want to be old and wrinkly," she agreed.

  "It's not just about the looks," he defended, suddenly thinking that she would misunderstand, "But I think it's important to tell you that… that… aging scares me. Aging means I am getting closer to death." She sucked in a breath in tacit understanding. She understood exactly what he meant.

  "And we don't know what comes after that. I want to be safe and protected, but then there is this chance that even after death I will retain my consciousness and be locked in a casket… in the darkness." She shivered. She had nightmares about these things and here she was, blurting them out in front of him, telling him exactly what terrified her.

  "It's one of my worst fears, too," he admitted, his voice far away.

  "I hate the idea of that happening. I am shocked to know that we have the same fears," she said with a nervous laugh. Not wanting to end the conversation, they decided on going over to the next conversation. This was the first time they had done this, but it felt natural when they saw the next question. Of course, these were meant to be spoken about in the same breath.

  Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

  "I… I think I will die in my bed and the fan falls on my head." Silence. There was dead silence.

  "Crazy stalker pulls a gun on me and my family and slaughters all of us," Cage said.

  "What does our fear say about us?"

  "Do you want me to comment on it?" he asked, his voice low and contemplative. He had a couple of thoughts about her fear and he didn't know if he should say them out loud.

  "Go ahead. I don't mind a single bit." He sighed in relief.

  "Do you sleep under the fan or not?" he asked.

  "No. I don't. I sleep away from it," she said. Damn her if she slept directly under it. She knew somewhere deep in her heart that her fear was irrational, but it could happen to anyone. The light swinging of the fan overhead scared the crap out of her, and it would be impossible for someone to tell her otherwise.

  "That doesn't mean that you have a hunch. It means that you have a fear of it happening to you." Firm. She was shocked. Of course, she knew this. But weren't all hunches fears? Which human had the power, the gut instinct to tell exactly how they were going to go? No one. She didn't believe in such a thing.

  "That is probably it. I mean… dying is my worst fear, so imagining myself in various situations is the only thing I can do to… I don't really know how to explain this. Urm. It's like I am avoiding death?" She thought about it. How many times in a day did she avoid things that could lead to her death? It was something to think about.

  "Well, I understand. Don't you feel hot when the fans are not switched on? Or you are sleeping away from it?" he joked.

  "It gets a little hot, I admit." She laughed lightheartedly.

  "I'm not a trained psychiatrist, but your fear needs to be worked on, love." He didn't put pressure on her, but her fears spoke volumes about how she thought. One never knew if there was more to something that meets the eye, especially when it was about mental health.

  "And what about you? Crazy stalker kills you?" she asked, not in the least offended by his words.

  "Oh, yeah. I have had crazy stalkers. It's a proven fact that I may be killed by one of them."

  "And you have bodyguards?" He sucked in a breath.

  "Yeah. A whole security team surrounds my house at all times."

  "I can't say you are paranoid if you have a legit reason." She shrugged. "Hmm. I'll try to sleep under the fan tonight, see if it falls on me. If I am on the news tomorrow, it's your fault for convincing me to not follow my instincts and do the rational thing."

  "I have a hunch that we will talk again tomorrow." They laughed before saying their goodbyes.