CHAPTER 11 Meeting the Crests
1308 Words
“Are you nervous?” Xavier asked, looking down at my fidgeting hands on my lap.
I didn’t respond. I sat rigid on the passenger seat, my seatbelt awkwardly fastened, staring outside the window and wishing this whole situation away. I was meeting the Crests—I mean the famous Crests.
I had a headache thinking about it. I was beyond petrified and nervous.
What if they don’t like me?
Are they even obligated to like me since I’m only a fake wife?
What are his siblings like?
What are his parents like?
Questions kept piling up, and the more I pondered them, the scarier the situation looked.
“Hey,” Xavier says softly. “It’s going to be fine and they are going to like you” He says reassuringly, caressing my hands softly.
I couldn’t help but blush at the physical contact. My cheeks reddened at his touch. It was the first time he was physically tender towards me. There have been a lot of firsts these days.
The first time I hung out with Xavier was after work. First time I’m in his car, driving me to his parents’ house. The first time he drove to my neighborhood because he insisted on picking me up, scratch that, he demanded to pick me up. It wasn’t much of a request. He demanded my address and about 45 minutes later, he texted that he was outside my apartment.
For a split second, Xavier dropped the version of himself he shows the world. The moment he realized he was touching my hands tenderly, he pulled away, his face hardening as the familiar unreadable mask settled back into place.
We drove in silence, the radio playing softly between us. I stared out the window, my pulse quick and restless.
The car slows as we approach the gates— which open on their own. Hmmm… automatic.
My breath catches before I can stop it. It was such a sight to behold. The gates open soundlessly, and the driveway stretches ahead.
White stone gleams under the afternoon sun, sharp and clean, accented with gold details that trace the edges like quiet declarations of wealth.
Tall pillars frame the entrance, each one carved with precision, as if even the architecture understood the importance of appearances.
Above the doorway, embedded into the façade in large, gold-lettered lettering, is a name that doesn’t need introduction.
THE CRESTS.
Not a house name.
A brand.
“This isn’t subtle,” I mutter.
Xavier’s mouth curves slightly. “It’s not meant to be…..Come on, let's go in.”
He stepped out of the car, and before I could open my door, he circled and pulled it open for me. I paused, surprised.
So he does have manners. Who would’ve thought?
He stretched out his hand, and I placed mine in it. He helped me out of the car, and somehow — whether he forgot to let go or I forgot to pull away — our hands remained linked.
We walked towards the gigantic, elegant-looking gold door. Hand in hand.
And I let it happen.
The walk from the car to the door feels ceremonial. Like crossing into territory I don’t belong to.
This isn’t just where his parents live. It’s where power resides.
A short, fleshy woman who has a striking resemblance to Xavier came to us and gathered him in a hug.
She was dressed in an ivory silk long dress. Gold jewelry catches the light at her wrists and ears, unmistakably expensive.
“Oh sweetheart, you haven’t been home in so long” she says affectionately as she hugs her son.
I could sense Xavier’s discomfort. He avoided my gaze in embarrassment as if ashamed of how his mom doted on him. She releases Xavier and turns to me with a smile.
“You must be Sydney,” she says, smiling.
“Good day Mrs Crest…. Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you” I said, returning her smile. My resolve broke a little because of the warmth she welcomed me with.
“Oh darling, you are very beautiful,” she said sweetly, taking me in from head to toe.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied shyly.
“Oh, nonsense!” she laughed lightly. “Call me Evelyn.”
I suddenly felt small in the knee-length floral flair dress that I wore. It looked too simple compared to her expensive dress. But upon sensing the genuineness in her tone, I felt more relaxed.
“No wonder he chose you” she says quietly, ushering us into the living room. I glanced at Xavier, taken aback by her comments but he shrugged in response.
Mrs. Crest is naturally cheerful. Thank goodness.
“Arnold! Come come!” She calls over her shoulder, not breaking eye contact with me. It must be Xavier’s dad. He appears a moment later.
“Hey, Dad,” Xavier greeted, giving the older man a brief half-hug.
Mr. Arnold stood tall — broad-shouldered and stern — his presence filling the doorway behind his wife. Xavier was taller, but his father carried a heavier air of authority.
He looks at me carefully, not cold, just evaluating. His wife turns toward him with a satisfied expression.
“Isn’t she lovely?” she says. “Absolutely lovely.” Her husband nodded in response.
For a brief moment, I feel like I’ve passed a test I didn’t know I was taking. I smiled genuinely. At least this is going way better than I expected.
Xavier’s mother squeezes my hands gently before releasing.
“Welcome to the family, Sydney.”
The words are warm, and my heart flutters in response.
But in a house like this, warmth can still mean expectation.
“Let’s move to the dining area,” Mr. Arnold said.
He turned to the butler. “Inform Jade and Kendrick that our guest has arrived. They should join us immediately.”
“Hi y’all,” a tall slender female announced walking in. She greets her parents with a brief kiss on the cheek. She pulls out a chair to sit. I’m assuming she is Jade, Xavier’s sister.
She’s tall and willowy, dressed in something understated but obviously expensive—cream trousers, a fitted blouse, no loud branding.
Her dark hair is pulled back neatly, exposing sharp cheekbones and a face that looks perpetually unimpressed, not out of arrogance, but calculation.
Her gaze moves to me. It lingers. It wasn’t curious or warm. Just… assessing.
“Hi,” I say, offering a small smile.
“Hello,” she replies, averting her gaze while picking cutlery.
She eats quietly, posture perfect, movements measured. Now and then, I catch her watching me over the rim of her glass—not staring, just observing, like she’s trying to access my every move.
A few minutes into lunch, between polite laughter and controlled small talk, footsteps echo down the hallway.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice says.
My spine stiffens.
No.
It can’t be.
My back is still turned toward the entrance. I should look. I know I should. But Xavier’s mother speaks before I can gather myself.
“Your tardiness is becoming unbearable,” she scolds, her tone sharp but measured. “You could have been here much earlier.”
“My bad,” he replies casually. Almost bored.
That voice.
It hits me like déjà vu wrapped in dread.
He walks around the table, the soft scrape of a chair filling the room as he pulls it out.
Directly opposite me.
And then I look up.
Our eyes meet.
The forkful of rosemary roasted potatoes lodges in my throat as I choke, coughing violently while reality crashes over me like cold water.
He freezes.
His expression mirrors mine — disbelief, confusion, something dangerously close to anger.
Drake?
Except—
No.
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
- Writer
