Chapter Ten-The Parent Visit
603 Words
Ethan was in his office, phone pressed to his ear, when the door swung open. His mother, Mrs. Beatrice Blackwood, marched in with fire in her eyes.
“What is wrong with you, Ethan Blackwood?”
Ethan froze. “Can I call you back?” he said quickly into the phone before hanging up. “Oh—Mom, what brings you—”
He didn’t finish.
His father, Mr. Stephen Blackwood, stepped in right behind her, dressed in a black coat and tailored office trousers, disappointment written all over his face.
If there were two people Ethan both respected and feared, it was his parents. His mind raced, scrambling through everything he could’ve possibly done wrong.
He stood abruptly. “I’m surprised you’re both he—”
“Sit, young man,” his father said sharply.
Ethan sat immediately. Their stares made his stomach twist with unease.
His mother was the first to speak. “Mrs. Penelope called,” she said, her voice trembling.
Ethan cursed under his breath. Ever since he left the Blackwood family house, his mother had assigned her personal maid, Mrs. Penelope, to take care of him.
“How could you treat Amara with so much disrespect?” his father roared.
His mother burst into tears. “We did not train you like that,” she sobbed.
Mr. Blackwood rubbed his wife’s back gently as she dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “Mrs. Penelope saw her crying in the room,” she added weakly.
Then Mr. Stephen Blackwood pointed at his son.
“Fix your marriage, Ethan.”
Without another word, they left his office.
Ethan sat there, stunned. Nothing about life had made sense since he met Amara. She was trouble.
A trouble he adored.
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Evening settled softly over the Blackwood mansion.
Amara was in her room, lying on her bed with her laptop open, taking her online fashion design course. She had refused to work in the Blackwood firm, insisting instead on mastering her craft.
The door opened. She didn’t look up.
“You can go home, Mrs. Penelope,” she said tiredly. “I’m not dead. At least the scumbag didn’t kill me.”
Ethan stood at the doorway, watching her.
Her hoodie, her short knickers, her bare legs tucked under her—everything about her looked effortlessly beautiful.
When Amara didn’t hear Mrs. Penelope’s voice, she finally turned.
And froze.
Ethan.
He was staring.
She rose from the bed, intending to leave the room, but he gently caught her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
But Amara’s next question knocked the breath out of him.
“Who is Natalie?”
Ethan stiffened. He couldn’t tell her the truth—that Natalie was his ex-girlfriend, the woman he was meant to marry before Amara came into the picture.
So he lied.
“I told you we were school friends.”
Amara nodded slowly. She knew he was lying. It irritated her. It made her jealous. She hated that she cared.
To cover it, she moved closer and began unbuttoning his shirt casually. “How was work?” she asked, acting uninterested, indifferent.
Inside, she hated herself for acting like she was competing with another woman. It made her feel small.
Ethan gently reached up and caught her wrist, stopping her next button from slipping open. His touch was softer this time—careful, almost afraid.
“Amara… I am sorry,” he murmured.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension between them shifted—less sharp, more fragile. Something uncertain… but possible.
Maybe—just maybe—this marriage could work.
- Writer
