Amidst the sound of my shower, I heard the bedroom door open. I froze, my heart skipping in my throat. I heard movement in the room, and my fear got worse.
"Ryan?"
The movement stopped as his voice answered.
"It is me," he reassures me, as if knowing that I am scared. "I am just setting out the clothes for you."
I relaxed, now I know it isn't an intruder.
"Thank you."
"You are welcome. I will be in the kitchen making dinner. Come find me when you finish."
There was rustling of movement, and then the sound of the door closing.
He was gone.
I resumed my shower, allowing the water to run down my nakedness, while I asked myself again what I am doing in the house of the man I hate.
Hiding from bad men, my mind supplies. But do one hide from bad people by hiding in a bad man's house?
Ryan's actions have proven that he is not who I feared. Something about him is very different. Maybe I am overthinking things, and nothing will happen.
After my shower, I left the bathroom to find a long-sleeve shirt waiting for me on the bed, alongside a brand new pair of boxer shorts.
I threw them on, and while drying my hair with the small towel I found, I walked out of the room in search of Ryan.
I didn't see his tall frame anywhere, so I called out his name. Ryan!
Silence greeted me.
He said to find him in the kitchen, but where is the kitchen? The house looks like a labyrinth
I was just about to wander off into another session of the house when the doorbell rang.
What is the protocol for answering the doorbell when you are just a visitor? Should I answer it?
Amid my internal debate, the person at the door grew impatient and pressed the bell so hard that I believe even the dead heard it.
Where is Ryan when you need him? Surely, he can hear the door.
He's not expecting me to answer, is he?
I will give a minute; if he doesn't make an appearance, I will go to the door.
A minute passed with no sign of Ryan, and the visitor was as impatient as a three-year-old waiting for his meal.
I guess I have to answer the door lest the person rings it down.
I opened the door to find a very gorgeous middle-aged woman standing on the other side. She was richly dressed, so there is no doubt that the woman is swimming in money, and her chiseled face was perfectly made up.
She looks familiar, but I can't say why. Her glossy blonde hair was stylishly pulled back, and her designer handbag hung fashionably from her forearms.
While I was staring at the woman in admiration, partly intimidated by her gorgeous get-up and feeling very drab in comparison, the woman was looking at me like I was some trash that deserved to be in the bin.
The haughty look on her face said everything. I do not deserve to be here.
Her judgmental look clued me in to who she might be, but I still had to make sure.
"Who are you, ma?" I asked, making sure to be very polite. The last thing I want to do is to tick off the Godzilla woman before me.
Despite my caution, I still managed to anger her somehow. Her nose flared, and those familiar pale blue eyes glared at me like I had committed the worst sacrilege by asking for her identity.
The next thing I know, a hot slap landed on my cheeks, causing me to see the stars that I couldn't see tonight because of the stormy night.
What the fuck! I gawked at the woman in disbelief, while holding my aching cheeks. Why the hell did she slap me?
"Are you the whore trying to ruin my son's life?" she snarled, her expression full of rage.
"No, ma'am. Just his assistant," I quietly corrected, and the woman replied with a humorless, sarcastic laughter, one that grated on my nerves and made me want to cover my ears.
"Mum!" I heard Ryan speak behind me.
Now he comes.
I wanted to turn around and slap her mother just for the slap she had given me. Where the fuck has he been?
"Don't Mum me," the woman snapped, pushing her way into the house and me in the process. I stumbled into Ryan, who caught and steadied me, mumbling, "Sorry," before hurrying after his mother.
The woman stormed into the house like she was on a warpath.
Great! I threw my hands sarcastically, with a frustrated look on my face. My evening has just gone from bad to worse.
This is what I was afraid of, and had believed we escaped it, and somehow it managed to find me here.
Once again, the idea of Ryan's parents being behind the suited men struck my mind, and the temptation to make a run for it gripped me tightly.
So tightly that I opened the door and glanced outside to gauge how far I could get on foot under this rain.
What awaited me in the darkness was more abysmal than what awaited me inside, so I shot the door and dragged myself inside to face the music.
I walked into the living room in time to hear Ryan's mother question his sanity.
"Have you lost your God-given mind, son?!" The woman demanded, looking at her son as if he had broken her heart, with an angry Mum expression.
It is so terrifying to witness.
I turned around to go back from where I came from, preferring to give them some privacy to iron out their differences, but the woman's next words stopped me in my tracks.
"Son, how can you dump a smart and beautiful young woman whom your father and I arranged for you, for some trash you picked from the gutter?" The woman demanded with a haughty sneer in my direction. "I believe she is the one I met at the door."
"Mum!" Ryan scolded, but I don't think it had any effect on the woman. She is a woman used to feeling important because of her social status, and anyone beneath her is not human in her eyes.
I thought about ignoring her words, but my pride wouldn't let me. I don't care that I do not have the wealth that the Blackwells boast of, but I am flesh and blood like them and therefore deserve to be treated with some fucking respect.
I turned around and faced the bitch. "Excuse me!" I got her attention, my voice calm but chilly. She looked at me as if saying what does this fool want to say, while Ryan stared at me with interest.
"I need to correct something, because I believe there seems to be some misunderstanding here—"
"What misunderstanding?" The woman rudely cuts me off without letting me finish, and I had to take a deep breath to stop myself from losing my patience.
"Are you saying you are not my son's whore?" She smirked at me, and that did it. I have been trying to be respectful to this bitch, but she is not giving me a breathing space.
"First, I would have thought someone of your caliber would have better manners, and would know better than to throw accusations around without having the facts—"
Her jaw dropped in shock at my words, before her eyes narrowed angrily at me, but I ignored her. It is my turn, and she will let me speak and listen.
"I am going to say this very slowly so even a slow-witted person can understand. I am your son's assistant, not his whore."
"Are you calling me slow-witted?" The woman asked sharply, and I gaped at her. Of all the stuff I said, is that what she capitalized on?
"No, ma, I said, a slow-witted person with no one's name mentioned," I explained with a forced, patient expression.
She narrowed her eyes at me as if trying to decipher if I was pulling a fast one over her. "You are a smart one, huh?"
From her tone, I knew that wasn't a compliment, so I kept quiet. At least I have passed my message across.
"So tell me this," the woman began sweetly, and then her expression hardened as she went for the jugular.
"If you are not fucking my son, why are you dressed like that?" She pointed at the clothes I am wearing.
Ryan goes to answer, but I stop him. I do not want him defending me against his family, making them think I am someone they can bully. That I have no power unless Ryan is with me. If I am ever going to earn their respect, I need to speak for myself.
"Let me," I tell Ryan with a softened look, letting him know that though I appreciate his protection, I am not that fragile.
He relaxed back, letting me have the floor, his expression proud. He doesn't seem concerned
"I am wearing this because earlier on, I was attacked by some men." I watched her face as I said these to see if she would give anything away, but she looked like she didn't give a rat's arse if I was attacked.