BACK AT THE ALTAR

Chapter 3: Whispers

I agreed and followed them. “We’ve arrived.” The driver said. As I stepped out of the car and onto the driveway, my eyes widening at the magnificence of John's house.

"Wow, this is...huge," I breathed.

John smirked. "Yeah, my grandfather got taste."

As we walked towards the entrance, a massive dog emerged from the side of the house. My heart skipped a beat. The dog's fur was a deep brown, and its eyes seemed to pierce into my soul.

"Ahh!" I screamed, jumping behind John.

But instead of comforting me, John pushed me away. "Don't be such a baby," he selfishly said.

The dog took a step closer, its tail wagging threatenly. My eyes opened wildly, searching for an escape route.

"I told my grandfather not to bring you here in the first place," John said, his voice dripping with mockery . "But he never listens. Always bringing filthy people into the house."

I felt a sting from John's words. "I'm not filthy," I replied.

John arrogantly said . "You're not even normal. You can't remember your name, and now you're scared of a dog. You're such a freak."

The security guards rushed out of the house, grabbing the dog's collar and pulling it back. John's father stormed out, his face thunderous.

"John, what's going on here?" he demanded.

John stained an eyebrow, still smiling . "Just showing our guest her way around, grandfather."

His father's eyes narrowed. "John. Apologize to our guest."

John's smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. "Sorry," he replied , but his tone was insincere.

I felt a surge of anger at John's behavior, but I bit back my response . For now, I was trapped in this extraordinary prison, at the mercy of John's cruelty.

“Let’s go in and have lunch, you must be exhausted from putting up with John” John father said with an understanding tune as he went upstairs

As we went in and sat down for dinner , I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose in distaste. "What's this?" I asked, pointing at the unappetizing mush on her plate.

John's face darkened. "You're complaining about the food?" he asked. "My grandfather went out of his way to pick you up from who-knows-where, and this is how you repay him?"

He leaned in, his voice dripping with anger. "You're ungrateful, you know that? You're just a charity case, a pathetic little thing who can't even remember her own name."

His words cut deep, and I felt a sting of tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry," l whispered, trying to apologize.

John's father stormed into the room, his face thunderous. "Enough! What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with anger.

"How dare you speak to our guest like that?" he thundered, turning to John.

John tried to defend himself. "Grandfather, she insulted the food! She said it was disgusting."

But his grandfather wasn't having it. "That's not an excuse for your behavior. We employ a chef to cook for our guests. If she doesn't like the food, we can easily prepare something else."

John's grandfather turned to him, his expression strict. "You know, John, your rudeness and arrogance are why you're still single. No woman wants to marry someone who treats others with disrespect."

John's face reddened with anger. "I don't need this," he muttered , pushing back his chair.

His grandfather's voice rose. "John, sit back down! We're going to have a civilized dinner, even if it kills us."

But John was already on his feet, his eyes flashing with anger. "I've lost my appetite," he spat, storming out of the room.

The tension in the air was palpable, and I felt a surge of discomfort. I glanced at John's grandfather, who sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.

"Let's just sit down and try to have a pleasant dinner," he said wearily.

As we sat down at the dining table, ready to begin the meal, John's father suddenly received a call and excused himself, mentioning he had a very important meeting to attend to.

Before he left, he instructed the chef to ensure she cook whatever I desire for , saying, "Please, make sure to prepare whatever our guest wishes to eat."

As John's grandfather left for his meeting, I felt guilt for what had happened earlier. So I decided to go upstairs to clear my head.

Before I went up, John's grandfather came back inside and instructed the maid to show me to my room. "And make sure my room is close to John's," he added, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

The maid nodded and led me upstairs. As we walked, I couldn't help but wonder why John's grandfather wanted our rooms to be close together.

When we reached the top of the stairs, the maid opened a door to a beautifully decorated room. "This is your room, miss," she said with a smile.

I thanked her and stepped inside. I noticed that the room next to mine was partially opened. I pushed it open slowly, wondering if it might be John's room.

As I pushed open the door, I saw John sitting on the bed, staring at me with a mixture of annoyance.

"What do you want?" he spat, his voice dripping with anger

I took a deep breath and stepped inside. "I came to apologize," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

John raised an eyebrow. "Apologize? For what?"

"For what happened earlier," I replied. "I didn't mean to insult your family's food."

John looked at me . "You think that's what this is about? You think a simple apology will fix everything?"

He stood up, his eyes blazing with anger. "You're just a clueless, ungrateful little brat. You came into my peaceful house, insult our food, and then have the nerve to apologize like that makes everything okay?"

He took a step closer to me, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not even worth my time."

I quickly withdrew from the room, feeling a lump form in my throat. I couldn't explain why, but seeing John sitting there, looking so lost and alone, had touched me.

As I turned to make my way back to my own room, tears began to well up in my eyes. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, and before I knew it, I was crying.

I quickly wiped away the tears, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn't quite understand. Why was I crying? And why did I feel this strange sense of connection to John, despite his cruel words and behavior?

As I stood there, trying to compose myself , I heard a sound coming from John's room. It sounded like... whispering?