Chapter 6
1280 Words
Daphne’s POV
I watch as she walks past me, her smile stretching from ear to ear. She throws herself into Miles' arms, hugging him like she’s afraid to let go. He holds her just as tightly. The way their bodies melt into each other, the soft laugh that escapes her lips—it’s obvious. This must be the love of his life.
"I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?" she asks, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Her hands remain on his shoulders, fingers squeezing slightly, as if grounding herself in his presence. "I really missed you."
"Bianca," Miles breathes, surprise flickering across his face, though there’s no mistaking the warmth in his voice. "I thought you were staying in London for the next three months."
"Yes, but I got lucky. I finished everything early, so now I’m here." She grins before leaning in to kiss him.
I snap my gaze away, heat prickling at my skin. That’s my cue to leave. I turn on my heel, but before I can take a step, her voice stops me.
"Excuse me?"
Miles clears his throat. "That’s Daphne."
I hesitate before facing them again. Bianca eyes me up and down, amusement curling at her lips.
"This is your contracted wife?" Her voice drips with mockery, her head tilting slightly as if she’s examining something pathetic. I don’t blame her. Who wouldn’t pity a woman bound to a man in love with someone else?
I swallow the lump in my throat. "I’ll be leaving now," I say, my voice steady despite the knot in my chest. Without waiting for a response, I walk away. They don’t stop me. I’m relieved.
Back in my room, I sink onto the bed, staring blankly at the wall. My thoughts are a tangled mess. How am I supposed to get through a whole year of this? Christmas is in two days. Maybe I could visit my uncle—he’s the closest thing I have to family. Or maybe I should just run away, disappear without a trace. If they can’t find me, they can’t make me pay any damages, right?
A sharp knock on the door jerks me from my spiraling thoughts. Before I can respond, the door swings open, revealing Bianca. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a smug smirk painted on her face.
I clench my jaw. "I don’t remember asking you to come in."
She shrugs, stepping inside anyway. "I don’t remember asking for your permission."
My fingers curl into fists on my lap.
"You know," she continues, her voice light with amusement, "when I heard Miles was getting married to some woman his grandfather approved of, I was worried to death. The love of my life, tied to someone else? It was unbearable. But now that I see you…" She pauses, giving me a slow once-over, her lips curling into a smirk. "There’s really nothing to be worried about. I mean, look at yourself."
I roll my eyes, refusing to give her the reaction she wants. But inside, her words settle like a stone in my stomach.
I cross my arms, my gaze steady as I meet Bianca’s smug expression. "What do you want?" My voice is cold, devoid of patience.
Her smirk falters for a second before she lifts her chin. "You better lower your tone when you speak to me," she snaps, irritation tightening her features. "You have no idea who I am or what I can do to you."
I let out a dry chuckle, tilting my head slightly. "Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re my husband’s ex-lover." A smirk tugs at my lips, challenging her.
Her expression darkens instantly. "I am his girlfriend, not his ex-lover," she hisses. "Don’t you ever say that about me again."
I raise a brow. "I’m his wife. That’s the only way to describe what you are. If you’re not his ex-lover, then you must be his mistress."
The moment the words leave my mouth, her hand flies up, ready to slap me. But I react faster. My fingers clamp around her wrist, stopping her mid-air.
"Don’t even think about laying a hand on me," I warn, my grip firm as I fling her hand away.
Her eyes widen, shock flickering across her face.
"How dare you?" she spits, her voice shaking with anger.
I step closer, my tone even but laced with steel. "How dare you try to hit me? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Something shifts in her gaze—fear. And I like it.
Before either of us can say another word, a voice cuts through the tension.
"What’s going on here?"
I turn to see Miles standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze darting between us.
Bianca gasps dramatically, clutching her cheek as if she’s in pain. "Miles!" Her voice wobbles, her eyes glistening with tears that weren’t there a second ago. "I tried to talk to her so we could be friends, but she—she slapped me!" A tear rolls down her face, her body trembling slightly. "You said she was calm, but you were wrong. She—she would have killed me if you didn’t come in time!"
I stare at her in disbelief.
"That’s a lie! I didn’t—"
"Shut up!"
Miles’ roar slams into me like a blow, his fury slicing through the air. I flinch, my stomach twisting.
His eyes burn with rage as he stalks toward me. "How dare you, Daphne?" His hand suddenly wraps around my throat, pressing hard. "How dare you lay a hand on my woman?"
I gasp, my fingers clawing at his hand, but his grip is unyielding. My vision blurs at the edges, my lungs screaming for air.
"Let me go," I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes—hesitation, realization—before he abruptly releases me. I collapse to my knees, coughing violently, my chest heaving as I gasp for breath.
Miles straightens, his expression unreadable. "Don’t ever lay your filthy hands on her again," he warns, his tone sharp, final.
Behind him, Bianca watches me, a victorious smirk playing on her lips.
"Let’s go, baby," he says, brushing a hand over her arm. "Come to my room. I’ll miss work today."
With that, he leads her away, their figures disappearing through the door.
I bite my lip hard, refusing to let the tears fall. They don’t deserve my pain. They don’t deserve my tears.
Instead, I pinch my arm, the sharp sting grounding me. The burning behind my eyes fades. I force myself to breathe, to swallow down the lump in my throat.
I won’t cry for them. I won’t break.
Hours pass, but I barely notice. I sit curled up in the confines of my room, staring blankly at the wall. My thoughts spiral, tangled and relentless.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t remember my parents—can’t recall their voices, their faces, not even the way they made me feel. It’s as if they never existed. Like they were nothing but a fading dream, slipping further away every time I reach for them.
The only memories I have—real, vivid ones—are with Reynold. And even those, once warm and comforting, have twisted into nightmares.
A sharp knock on my door pulls me from my daze. I don’t move. I don’t answer. It’s probably Miles, coming to finish what he started.
The knocking continues, firmer this time.
With a sigh, I drag myself to my feet and pull the door open.
The breath leaves my lungs. My heart stutters.
My jaw drops.
"Grandfather!"
- Writer
