Chapter Three: Whispers and Tension
1259 Words
"Aria, why didn't you tell me that your father had been discharged already?" Jane said the moment I opened the door. She walked past me into the living room, tossing her bag on one of the armchairs and slouching into another.
"I’m sorry, Jane. I should have called. I wasn't thinking straight," came my response as I walked behind her.
"Well, everything has been happening rather too fast," she said with a concerned tone. "How are you holding up? How is he? What did the doctor say?" Jane bombarded her questions all at once.
"One at a time, dear."
"Well, I am eager to get a feed of everything," she said, sitting up and focusing her full attention on me.
"The doctor said he is stable now. There will be subsequent checkups though," I replied.
"Phewww! I was worried it had something to do with Selena..."
"Jane," I called out a bit louder than I intended. She got the message, using her palms to cover her mouth. With widened eyes, she signaled a sorry with a wave of her other hand.
The last thing I wanted was for my father to know that there was something—or rather, someone—distorting my peace. It would hurt his feelings and take a toll on his health. He was the only person I wanted to protect from the whole mess, and so far, things were going well.
"I am so sorry. I should not have said that out loud," Jane whispered, leaning towards me.
"This would have been medicine after death," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Well..." she said, unsure of what to say next.
"I have not received any threatening messages from her for a while now. It seems she has decided to give me peace." I said this more to myself than to Jane. I wanted to say it and believe it to be true. She had caused me so much within the past few months that even the thought of her made my stomach churn.
Jane was not wrong to think that Selena had something to do with my father's sudden discharge. She had been on my case, trolling me right from Mirabel to my house. With the sudden issues concerning my father, she had withdrawn a bit with her threats. Perhaps she had some sympathy after all, I thought to myself.
Working at Mirabel didn't just give me a glimpse of hope; it exposed me to danger, hate, cruelty personified in the form of a fine, sophisticated, and desperate damsel known as Selena. She was the souvenir that came with my la-la land, posing as the villain in my romance story with Darian—or perhaps, I was the threat she had to do away with in her own fantasy.
Selena was the epitome of elegance—a woman who turned heads with her beauty and whose poise commanded admiration. She was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Europe, and she was fully aware of this privilege, wearing it with arrogance.
The first time I saw her was at the styling room. It was already disheartening that I did not start as a fashion designer but as a wardrobe assistant. My days at Mirabel had been filled with dressing up models, arranging stacks of fabrics, sketchbooks, and portfolios. I should not have expected too much. The "fake shoes" incident was enough to tell me my place at Mirabel: a place where I did not need to be seen but worked tirelessly.
"What did you do to my hair, you wench?" shrilled Selena as the hairstylist moved away from her tearfully.
Her shrilling had attracted an audience, and some of the crew members and models had rushed to where the scene was taking place. I didn't act differently; I was also curious to know what the commotion was about.
As far as I was concerned, Selena’s hair had been styled beautifully. She just didn’t like it, and she let curses rain on the hairstylist, who kept pleading.
"You can't stay at Mirabel and be this incompetent. I will get you fired at once," she said, snapping her fingers to illustrate how fast she could do it.
"Forgive me, I will do better," the poor stylist said amidst sobs. She had fallen to her knees and at one point tried to touch Selena’s feet but was pulled back by Selena’s bodyguard, whom I later learned was named Adrian.
"Take her away and make sure she learns," Selena said in rage.
Learn what exactly, I thought to myself. It sounded plain, but I knew there was more to it. I got scared for the lady and pitied her too. All she had done was work—and then be forced to "learn" when Selena wasn't pleased with her effort. The bodyguard picked her up while the lady tried to resist with the little strength she could muster amidst sobs and pleas.
"There will be no need for any tutoring," came a voice that sounded familiar. Everyone followed the voice until all gazes were fixed on the man who had interviewed me from behind his desk. He still wore that cold gaze. His sharp-cut jaw was quite alluring. He was wearing a jet-black suit that fitted his physique so well it seemed it was made for a god.
It was as if I were in a movie yet not part of it. Tension increased with every second that passed by.
"Oh dear, he wasn't going to hurt her, just a little..." said Selena with a smile.
It surprised me how quickly her countenance had changed. A few minutes ago, she had posed as a goddess vexed and ready to send lightning, and now, she appeared so calm and welcoming.
It dawned on me there and then that Selena both feared and liked Darian. She would only listen to and want to please him.
"Let go of her," he ordered.
His attitude towards me at the interview had been annoying, but I could not help but admire his aura and authority when he gave his order.
The bodyguard let go of the lady, and Darian immediately walked away.
"Darian..." Selena quickly followed, calling out to him.
It was quite an incident, but I did not let it take up my mind. It was their business and had nothing to do with me after all.
Jane had mentioned Selena, and silence had followed, with both of us unable to speak for a couple of minutes.
"Ehem... did he call? Return any text? Something, at least?" Jane said, breaking the ice.
"Who?" I questioned, fully aware of who she was talking about. I wanted to talk about him, but my heart felt too heavy. I had told her that I did not care if he bothered to know how I was doing, but it was a big lie because sometimes tears escaped from my eyes when I thought about him and his cold silence towards my calls and messages.
"You know who," she said.
"Nothing," came my short response.
"How wrong of him," she said quickly, walking toward me. I didn’t ask for it, but she hugged me anyway and allowed me to sob on her shoulders. She ran her hands through my hair and said, "It's alright, dear. Let it all out."
I was still trying to catch my breath when I got a notification beep from my phone. I quickly pulled the phone out of my pocket. A message popped up on the screen.
It was from Darian.
- Writer
