Morning tension(1)

Back in Campbell residence, the atmosphere was not that of celebration, but of simmering resentment.

Maribel stood near the tall hallway mirror, her reflection an echo of elegance_ curled golden brown hair that fell over one shoulder, a pale satin robe cinched at her waist. Her manicured nails dug into the edge of the polished wood as she stared at her reflection with a storm brewing in her eyes.

"I should have been the one to marry him," she muttered bitterly, almost to herself but loud enough for the woman seated on the settee to hear.

Miriam, her mother, looked up from her tea which was still steaming. She sat in her usual spot, next to the lace_ covered table adorned with roses and a picture frame of the family.

"Don't start this again," Miriam said, voice laced with exhaustion but still calm. "You know he had specifically asked for Halle. His assistant had been very clear."

Maribel turned abruptly, eyes narrowing. " And so what? Why her? She's plain, quiet, and barely knows how to hold a conversation in high society. I have looks. I would have been perfect for him."

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, revealing the real emotion that throbbed beneath her vanity. Jealousy. Wounded pride. A sense of betrayal that ran deeper than the surface.

Miriam set her cup down gently, the clink of porcelain sharp in the silence of the room. "We got a lot of money out of this arrangement, Maribel. Do you think she'll keep it? No. She'll give us more once she adjusts. You know how soft she is."

"Soft?" Maribel scoffed and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "She didn't even look back. Didn't even thank us. That ungrateful little—"

"Watch your tongue." Miriam's voice turned icy, her motherly tone vanishing like smoke. "This isn't about gratitude. This is about survival. That man wanted her, and I saw an opportunity. We took it. Don't be a fool and ruin it with your pettiness."

Maribel's face twisted. "So that's it? She gets the rich, gorgeous man, the villa, the life? And I stay here in this house, waiting for scraps?"

Miriam rose slowly, smoothing down the front of her dress. She walked toward her daughter, her heels clicking faintly on the tiled floor, and placed a cool hand on Maribel's cheek. "You're my daughter. You're beautiful. Smart. Ambitious. You'll get your own opportunity. But you need to learn patience."

Maribel pulled away, her pride flaring. "You sound just like everyone else. 'Be patient, your time will come.' Well, maybe I'm tired of waiting."

Her mother didn't respond. There was silence, dense and uncomfortable. Then Maribel exhaled sharply, the anger slowly seeping out like air from a balloon. Her shoulders sagged, though her jaw remained tight.

"I'm going to bed," she muttered, turning her back on her mother.

Miriam nodded. "Fine. Rest. Tomorrow we shall come up with a plan to have him notice you."

~~~~

Dawn was quick to arrive. Halle stirred beneath the covers, her lashes fluttering open as the warmth of sunlight kisses her skin. A moment of calm greeted her as she blinked sleepily at the ceiling, registering the soft linen sheets tangled around her limbs.

But then as she shifted and turned to her side, her breath caught.

Raphael lay next to her. His eyes were closed, his face turned slightly toward her. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the way one hand rested over his eyes, and the peaceful composed expression on his face_ all of it made her still.

She didn't remember getting into the bed. The last thing she remembered was working on her laptop at the study desk.

Her eyes darted down. She was still in yesterday's clothes—a plain tee and soft jeans.

Carefully, she pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Every movement was measured and light, her eyes flicking nervously to him to make sure he stayed asleep. Slowly, she slid off the bed, her feet touching the floor without a sound.

She padded to the bathroom and stepped inside. The mirror reflected a girl with bed hair and flushed cheeks. She took a deep breath and turned on the shower.

A few minutes later, steam billowed faintly behind her as she emerged, a towel wrapped securely around her waist, falling just to her mid-thigh. Her skin still glistened faintly from the heat of the water. She peeked toward the bed.

Raphael hadn't moved.

Relieved, she tiptoed to the closet, her damp hair brushing against her shoulders. Her fingers reached out for a soft, casual dress. Just as she grasped it, a voice came from behind her.

"Good morning."

She jumped.

Blood rushed to her cheeks. Her spine straightened, and she slowly turned her head to find Raphael sitting up in bed, tousled hair falling just above his brow, eyes heavy with sleep—but unmistakably awake.

"Morning," she mumbled, clutching the dress tighter.

Without meeting his gaze again, she moved toward her side of the closet and opened the door, stepping slightly behind it as if it could shield her modesty.

She reached for the handle to close it—but when she turned around, he was there. Standing right in front of her.

Her breath caught again.

He moved slowly but with certainty, placing one arm on the closet door beside her, the other resting near her waist. The space between them vanished in an instant.

Her back met the door. Her heart thundered.

She couldn't look away from him—his eyes held hers with an intensity that made her forget the chill of the air or the towel barely clinging to her hips.

When she tried to sidestep, his arm shifted, blocking her gently but firmly.

"You don't need to run," he said softly, a flicker of something darker glinting in his eyes. "Not from me."

And just like that, the quiet room filled with a tension that crackled, quiet but powerful—an undercurrent of something yet unspoken, hovering just out of reach.