Betrothed

I strode away from the unsettling encounter with the lady, her instability leaving me bewildered. A surge of frustration welled within me, a sensation of suffocation enveloping my senses in this stifling atmosphere.

"I wonder what she thinks of herself, just because she arrived with Mr. Dean," a voice whispered, making me halt my steps. I remained still, a weight settling in the pit of my stomach.

"Well, it doesn't matter what relationship she claims with Mr. Dean. The truth remains—he's betrothed to the daughter of the Dalton family. She's simply wasting her time," another voice chimed in, their words like a dagger to my heart. I struggled to swallow, my throat constricting, denying even the intake of saliva.

"Their words shouldn't hurt," I murmured to myself, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. "We've never been equals; our relationship is that of master and servant," I reminded myself, the bitter truth stinging my heart. But why did the pain cut so deep? Why were my own words failing to console me?

He had called me his woman, promising to ensure the world respected me. And I dared to believe him, to trust his words. Yet now, I felt a sense of betrayal creeping in, suffocating me.

"Miss, allow me to escort you to your room," the young man, introduced to me by Mr. Dean as the butler—approached, breaking through the haze of my thoughts. I could only manage a nod, blinking back tears.

As the elevator doors slid open, we entered, the weight of my turmoil pressing down on me. "You may leave now," Mr. Dean's voice, the source of my turmoil, filled the small space, and I averted my gaze. Peeking from behind, I couldn't deny the truth in what others had said. He was a gentleman of class and standards, while I... I was nothing. His betrothed must surely be of the same ilk, and I was a mere fleeting fancy.

"You must be wondering about this building," his voice pierced the heavy silence, though I wished for nothing more than to drown out the unnecessary information. "Others may call it a hotel, but I prefer to think of it as a guest house, with fewer rooms," he continued, his words falling on deaf ears as I stood there, a statue of pretense.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as the elevator doors opened, revealing a floor with only three rooms. "Only Justin and I have access to this floor," he explained, swiping his card to open the door. I followed numbly, devoid of the usual thrill of adventure.

Standing in the room, I fought against the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Mr. Dean's scent surrounded me as his arms enveloped my form, chin resting upon my shoulder. "Are you alright?" his voice, laced with concern, pierced through the walls I had built around myself.

I wanted to scream, to demand answers to the questions tearing through my mind. Was I truly just an object to while away his time, as others had suggested? Was I simply a distraction until his betrothed took her place?

With clenched fists, I stepped away, creating a necessary distance. "I..." the words caught in my throat, a lump forming as tears welled in my eyes. "Bathroom," I managed to choke out before fleeing, the sound of my own sobs echoing in the sterile silence.

"At least I hadn't fallen for him" I lied to myself, trying to seek solace in the reassurance. I was merely growing accustomed to his presence—a temporary phase I vowed to overcome.

I released a weary sigh, my gaze drifting lazily to the shower, its sole purpose reduced to a mere water source. My feet seemed anchored in place, unwilling to carry me forward, as I pondered the state of my existence.

With a sense of lethargy enveloping me, I made my way toward the door, enveloping myself in the oversized towel that had been idly waiting for me. Standing beneath the stream of water, I wrapped it around my form.

Returning to the room, my eyes fell upon the clothes neatly laid out on the bed, prompting a fleeting thought of whether I truly needed to wear them. "You have no choice," I muttered inwardly, reaching for the hair dryer on the dressing table.

I had successfully evaded any contact with Mr. Dean for the past twenty-four hours, and the prospect of continued solitude brought a sense of relief. Observing his busy schedule, I found solace in the knowledge that my recent change in demeanor would likely go unquestioned.

Without delay, I slipped into a black, free-flowing skirt, its hem reaching just above my knees with delicate pleats at the edges. Paired with a white, off-shoulder, body-hugging top, I opted for simplicity, eschewing makeup and instead donning the provided mask along with black boots.

Tucking my already sleek, ironed hair behind my ear, I sauntered out of the room and into the garden, where vibrant flowers bloomed. Though modest in size, the garden exuded a wealth of inspiration, and I couldn't help but envy the autonomy of those delicate blooms.

"They seem to have captured your thoughts," a feminine voice interrupted my reverie. Glancing to my side, I found a woman clad in a fitted white dress and dark shades, an air of sophistication and grace enveloping her.

"Your presence here is new to me," she remarked, extending a hand gracefully. "I'm Ella." I accepted her hand with a polite nod, her perceptive gaze seeming to penetrate beneath my calm exterior.

"Your demeanor exudes tranquility, yet I sense an underlying turmoil," she observed, her eyes tracing the path of the flowers. In that moment, thoughts of Mr. Dean's betrothed flooded my mind, her elegance mirroring that of the lady beside me.

"Could his betrothed possess the same air of class and presence as this lady?" I pondered silently.

"Miss, the boss requests your presence in the car," the butler's interruption brought me back to the present, and I nodded in acknowledgment.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," I managed to say, preparing to take my leave. However, Ella's parting words gave me pause. "I hope our paths cross again, and that we may become good friends," she said warmly, leaving me with a lingering sense of unease.

"I hope to avoid such encounters," I wanted to retort, but kept my words locked within, the reminder of our differing social standings weighing heavily.

"Sister," a familiar voice called out, causing me to halt in my tracks. Turning, I found Justin approaching with a warm smile.

"I apologize for not having the chance to speak with you properly earlier. Nix had me occupied," he explained, presenting a small box. "This is a gift from me to you. Please keep it safe."

I stared blankly at the box in my hand, then back at him, his awkward smile breaking the silence. "Awkward, isn't it? Calling you 'sister-in-law' felt odd, so I've decided to call you 'sister.' I hope that's alright, and..."

"Boss," a voice interrupted, and Justin let out a frustrated sigh. "I'll make sure to visit soon," he assured, patting my hair before departing, leaving me speechless.

"Must everyone look down upon me? Why did he pat my head as though I were his blood sister or a pet?" Strange anger simmered within me as I made my way towards the waiting car, with the butler at my side.

...

I scoffed upon reading Ken's message, fully expecting the urgent call for a board meeting following news of the old man's plans. Soon, the AN Group would be engulfed in turmoil—a spectacle to witness indeed.

"The helicopter is prepared, and I've instructed the butler to escort her there instead of using the car... Also, here's what you requested," Justin handed me a small bow containing a tightly sealed vial of yoghurt before I made my way to the rooftop.

Entering the elevator, I took my place beside Carmela, who had been unusually silent during our stay here. "You should have this at least, to ward off any potential stomach troubles," I offered her the yoghurt, which she accepted without a word, contrary to her usual demeanor.

"What could have caused her to act this way?" I pondered to myself, only to be interrupted by the beep of my phone.

"It's all set," the message read, and a grin spread across my face as I saw the pieces falling into place. I could only hope that all four of my uncles were prepared, for the downfall of the Aron family was imminent.

A twinge of pity for the old man, despite his place in the family, flickered within me. Nevertheless, nothing brought greater satisfaction than watching one's enemies turn against each other. Yet, would it be as straightforward as it seemed?

My encounters with the third and fourth uncles had revealed their incompetence, making me anticipate no retaliation from them. However, the first and last uncles were akin to silent, cunning snakes—preferring to lurk in the shadows while others took the blame for their misdeeds.