It Calls For A Celebration
1050 Words
Although Becca was still in awe of the beautiful room, the exhaustion in her body refused to be ignored. Every muscle ached from the emotional and physical toll of the day. She barely had time to process her new reality before a soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," she said.
A maid stepped in quietly, carrying her luggage.
"Thank you," Becca said, taking one of the boxes from her.
The maid genuflected slightly in respect before leaving without another word.
Becca exhaled softly and wheeled her box into the dressing room. The wardrobe doors were transparent, revealing neatly arranged clothes—everything organized, everything in place. Carefully, she placed her belongings inside before stepping back into the bedroom.
She was exhausted.
Completely drained.
She walked toward the bed and sat down slowly, letting her body relax for the first time that day.
That was when her eyes caught something.
A picture frame.
Curious, she reached for it.
It was a photo of Alex and a young girl—his sister, she assumed. Alex was smiling in the picture, a genuine smile she hadn't seen before, while the girl beside him looked annoyed, glaring at him like he had just teased her.
Becca couldn't help but smile.
"She's cute…" she murmured.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Her heart skipped.
That voice.
She turned sharply and instinctively hid the frame behind her back.
"N-nothing."
"Give it."
"G-give what?"
Alex didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward her, his steps slow, controlled. He stopped right in front of her, then crouched slightly, bringing himself to her level.
His eyes locked onto hers.
Unblinking.
Then, without another word, he reached behind her and took the frame from her hand.
"I… I was just looking at it," Becca said quickly, trying to ease the tension.
Alex didn't respond. He simply returned the frame to its original position with precise care.
Then he straightened, adjusting his tie.
"Look," he said calmly, "if we are going to stay in this room in peace, then we need to set some ground rules."
Becca stayed quiet.
"I don't like people touching my things," he continued. "Or moving them from where I kept them."
His tone wasn't loud.
But it was firm.
Clear.
Final.
Becca slowly got up from the bed, removing her earrings as she spoke.
"Then you'll have to rearrange your dressing room to make space for me… unless you want me to keep touching your things."
Alex's hands paused slightly.
"I'm not rearranging anything," he replied. "This is my room."
Becca turned to face him fully, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Our room."
The words hung in the air.
A challenge.
A reminder.
Then, without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the bathroom, her steps steady despite the storm inside her chest.
Alex watched her go, his gaze lingering, unreadable, as he slowly unbuckled his wristwatch.
---
Meanwhile, at the Wilson mansion—
The atmosphere was anything but calm.
"Desmond, that was completely wrong of you!"
Mrs. Wilson's voice echoed through the grand living room, sharp with anger.
"You got my son married without my knowledge! And to who? A complete stranger! A nobody!" she continued, pacing angrily. "You chose her over Reese? Do you even realize how insulted the Clinton family feels right now?! Do you know the embarrassment I went through finding out my own son got married without me being present?!"
Her voice cracked slightly—not just anger, but hurt.
Real hurt.
Mr. Wilson stood his ground.
"Ruth, I told you I wanted to call off Alex's engagement to the Clinton girl," he replied calmly. "And what did you say? That it was too late. That Alex was happy. That you didn't want to hear anything about ending it."
"That doesn't justify what you did!" she snapped. "He is my son too, Desmond! And I wasn't there on his wedding day!"
"That's because you refused to see the truth!" Mr. Wilson's voice rose slightly now. "You were too blinded by your admiration for that family. The Clintons are not who you think they are. That man is manipulative—he only cares about what he can gain!"
Mrs. Wilson inhaled sharply, her expression hardening.
"Mum? Dad… Brother Alex is married?"
A softer voice interrupted them.
They both turned.
Anabel stood there, wide-eyed.
"Yes, darling," Mr. Wilson said, his tone softening immediately. "He got married today."
Anabel gasped. "What?! Dad, when? Who is she? Where is she? Wait—please don't tell me it's that Reese girl!"
Mr. Wilson smiled faintly. "No. Someone else."
He pulled out his phone and showed her a picture.
Anabel's eyes lit up.
"She's beautiful!" she said instantly. "I can't wait to meet her!"
Across the room—
"Desmond!" Mrs. Wilson snapped again.
But he cut her off this time.
"That's enough, Ruth. Alex is married. Rossa is his wife. The sooner you accept it, the better."
Anabel glanced between them.
"Mum… Reese isn't a good person," she said carefully. "She doesn't deserve Alex—"
"Will you keep quiet!" Mrs. Wilson snapped harshly.
Anabel flinched.
"Don't silence her," Mr. Wilson said firmly. "For once, listen to the truth. But no—you never want to hear anything negative about that family."
Mrs. Wilson's lips pressed into a thin line.
"No problem," she said coldly. "We shall see."
And with that, she turned and walked toward the staircase, her heels echoing sharply with each step.
The room fell into a tense silence.
"Dad… why is she this upset?" Anabel asked softly. "If Alex didn't tell her about the marriage, doesn't that mean he didn't want to marry Reese?"
Mr. Wilson sighed, handing her his phone again.
"She'll come around," he said. "Don't worry about her."
Anabel looked at the picture again, smiling.
"I like her already," she said brightly. "You know what, Dad? This calls for a celebration! The end of that terrible Clinton alliance… and the beginning of something new!"
Mr. Wilson chuckled.
"That's my girl."
"Let me get the wine!" Anabel said excitedly as she ran off.
Mr. Wilson leaned back slightly, a small satisfied smile forming on his face.
For the first time in a long while—
Things were finally going his way.
But upstairs…
Mrs Wilson continued fuming
- Writer
