Chapter Four
1416 Words
"Should I call you back? I need to attend to something," Annabelle said quickly, lowering her voice. She didn’t want Derek to hear her, especially when she was talking to her foster father. She knew he could easily make her say something Derek might misunderstand.
"So, you’re now too proud to speak to your father because you’re living in that house?" Leonardo replied, his tone harsh and intimidating. Annabelle felt her pulse quicken as she quickly ended the call.
"Always so demanding," she thought angrily, peeking out of the bathroom to check if Derek was nearby. The bed was empty.
"Did he hear me?" Her mind raced, uneasy at the thought of him misinterpreting her conversation. She shook her head, trying to reassure herself. "I hope he didn’t hear anything."
With determination to push her worries aside, Annabelle took another quick shower to freshen up for school.
"I don’t even know why I care so much about what Derek thinks of me," she thought as she dressed in her favorite denim jumpsuit. It was comfortable and free, just perfect for her personality.
As she was lost in thought, a knock on the door brought her back to reality. It was Dominique. A flash of anger crossed Annabelle’s mind as she remembered the cold treatment in the kitchen earlier.
"The Boss requests your presence immediately," Dominique said, looking around the room before turning her gaze back to Annabelle with a faint smile.
"I’ll be right there," Annabelle replied curtly, focusing on packing her school books into her tote bag. She kept her head down, trying to ignore Dominique's presence.
When she finished packing, she noticed Dominique still standing by the door.
"Do you need anything else?" Annabelle asked politely, remembering her foster mother’s lessons about treating everyone with respect, even if she was frustrated.
Dominique hesitated before speaking. "I just wanted to apologize, for earlier. Daisy is… very protective of the Boss. I hope you understand." She paused, then added with a shy smile, "But I like you, Mrs. Morano."
Annabelle forced a small smile. "Don’t worry about it. You can go now," she replied dismissively, not wanting to linger on the subject.
Dominique’s smile faltered, but she nodded, leaving the room with a determined look. She seemed to think to herself, "I’ll try again another time."
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"Are you enjoying your meal?" Annabelle froze halfway down the staircase when she heard Daisy's voice float from the dining room. She peeked in and saw the older woman bustling around the table, setting down one dish after another in front of Derek, who sat silently at the far end.
He didn’t answer.
Annabelle’s chest tightened, and she quickly descended the stairs, entering the dining room with determined steps. Her husband deserved her attention—not the cook’s.
"Mr Morano," she said softly, standing near him, at the head of the table. "Let me serve you. I’m your wife. That’s my duty, remember?"
Her voice was calm, but the way her fingers curled into her palms gave away her unease. She glanced at the man sitting there in his sharp black suit, dark shades obscuring his eyes, and waited for him to respond.
Derek didn’t even lift his head.
Annabelle turned to Daisy, who was still fussing with the dishes. "Excuse me," she said, her tone polite but firm. She gestured at the woman to move aside, her meaning clear: “You’ve done enough.”
Daisy hesitated, a dangerous look on her face, but before she could react, Derek’s deep, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Daisy is my cook. And my personal maid," he said evenly.
Annabelle froze. Her hand, which had just started reaching for a plate, stiffened mid-air. She turned her head slowly to look at him, trying to gauge his expression, but was met with his impenetrable shield of his shades.
"But—" she started, her voice catching slightly.
"Drop it," Derek interrupted, his tone final.
Before she could respond or even think of a reply, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm enough to make her sit down beside him without resisting.
“Sit down,” he said sharply.
Her breath hitched as she settled into the seat. She opened her mouth to speak, but the weight of his presence and the way his fingers lingered on her wrist rendered her silent.
“Is he treating me this way because he overheard me earlier? Why is he doing this?” various thoughts filled her mind.
"Derek, if you need anything else, let me know," Daisy said suddenly, her voice tinged with something Annabelle couldn’t quite place. The older woman stepped back, pulling Dominique, who had been observing them with her as they retreated to the kitchen.
Annabelle’s gaze shot up. "Did she just call him by his first name?"
Her eyes narrowed as she caught Daisy’s expression before she disappeared through the door—a smug, contemptuous look that sent shivers down Annabelle's throat.
"What am I up against here?" Annabelle thought, her hands fidgeting as she clenched them in her lap.
She turned back to Derek, trying to mask what she's feeling inside her. "Mr. Morano… what are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She hated how small she sounded, but she needed answers—something to make sense of this humiliating display.
Derek didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned in closer. Her breath hitched as his face drew near, his sharp cologne invading her senses.
"You’re such a butthead," he said, his tone calm yet infuriatingly dismissive. "I told you to call me Derek—or better yet, ‘my love.’ Isn’t that what wives do?" He added totally ignoring her question.
Annabelle’s mouth opened in shock, but no sound came out. Her heart pounded as his lips hovered near hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
"What are you doing?" she whispered again, this time, successfully sounding firm.
"Showing you where you stand," he said, his voice calm but full of weight, like a heavy door closing on hope.
"What?—What did he mean? Where I stand?" The words trailed in her mind like a cruel taunt, each repetition chipping away at her composure.
"What do you mean by that?" she finally managed to whisper, though her voice wavered.
He tilted his head slightly, his bliqque eyes looked like a teacher disappointed by a student who had failed a simple test. "I don’t need a wife who forgets her place," he said coldly, leaning back in his chair as if the conversation bored him.
Annabelle’s chest tightened. The humiliation burned, but she bit her lip to keep from snapping back. "Forget my place? What place is that? I know I'm just a pawn in this marriage, but then respect should be important right?" she thought bitterly.
"And hurry up," he continued, cutting through her silence. His tone was brisk, dismissive. "You’ll be late for school."
"School. Of course." As if nothing else mattered. As if her place in his life was secondary, a convenience he could discard at will.
He pushed himself up from the chair, his walking stick scraping against the floor as he steadied himself. Annabelle’s eyes darted to his movements, but she stayed frozen, unsure whether to follow or remain seated.
"Did you hear me?" he asked sharply, his eyes narrowing. "I said, hurry up."
Annabelle swallowed again, this time fighting the tears threatening to spill. "Yes," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She stood quickly, but her mind was a whirlwind of questions. "So is the rumour true?—is he truly a monster like I heard?"
The sound of his stick tapping against the floor as he walked away felt like an exclamation point to his words, leaving Annabelle rooted in place.
She watched his retreating figure, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest like a stone. For a moment, she thought about running after him, demanding an explanation. But the coldness in his voice replayed in her mind, and she couldn’t find the courage to move.
"Is this what my life will continue to be?—Silent submission and cold commands?"
Her nails dug into her palms as she tried to steady her breathing. No. She wouldn’t let this be her forever. But for now, she picked up her bag and walked out the door.
She had no other choice.
- Writer
