Chapter 5 Ex- cuse me

As her words hung in the air, Yazmin felt a twinge of sadness and sympathy for the teenage girl. She was caught in the crossfire of a situation she hadn't chosen, just as Yazmin was.

With a determined nod, Yazmin addressed her firmly yet gently, "I understand that. But I hope that with time, we can at least find a way to coexist peacefully."

She didn't respond, her gaze hard and unyielding. As Yazmin watched her walk away, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the role she was now playing.

As she took a deep breath, one of the maids, a pretty young lady came to her side and collected her bags from her. As Yazmin followed the maid through the opulent corridors of the mansion, she couldn't help but be awestruck by the sheer grandeur of the place. The walls were adorned with intricate artwork, and the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling cast a warm, golden glow. The air was scented with a faint hint of floral fragrance.

The maid led her to a set of double doors, which she pushed open to reveal her room. It was spacious and tastefully decorated, a blend of elegance and comfort. Rich, earthy tones dominated the decor, and a large, ornate mirror graced one wall. The king-sized bed was adorned with plush pillows and a luxurious comforter, inviting her to sink into its embrace.

With a grateful smile, Yazmin thanked the maid and watched as she left the room, leaving her to her own devices. She dropped her bag onto the plush carpet. Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled, the tension that had gripped her finally releasing its hold.

Shedding her clothes, she stepped into the en-suite bathroom, the cool tiles soothing against the soles of her feet. The shower was a welcomed oasis, the warm water cascading over her body, washing away the weariness and uncertainty that had clung to her. The steam filled the space, wrapping her in a cocoon of tranquility.

Emerging from the shower, Yazmin wrapped a plush towel around her chest, the soft fabric absorbing the moisture from her skin. Droplets of water clung to her body, and she made her way out of the bathroom, her bare feet padding against the carpeted floor.

Her heart skipped a beat as she entered the room, coming face to face with Blaine himself. His presence was unexpected, and his demeanor was cold, the air around them suddenly tinged with tension. He regarded Yazmin with a detached expression, his apology sounding more mechanical than sincere.

"I had no idea you were using my room," he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "I'll use the guest room instead."

His indifference stung. His nonchalant reaction to her presence in a towel caught her off guard, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration rising within her.

Yazmin met his gaze, her own expression a blend of defiance. "You know, an 'I'm sorry' with a little more sincerity wouldn't hurt."

Blaine's gaze flickered with a hint of something Yazmin couldn't quite decipher, but his response remained curt. "My apologies. I'll be in the guest room."

As he turned to leave, a whirlwind of emotions churned within Yazmin– confusion and resentment. The door closed behind him, leaving Yazmin still standing.

With a sigh, Yazmin released the towel from her chest, allowing it to fall to the floor. As she walked toward the bed, her body still warm from the shower, she couldn't help but wonder how she would be able to fall asleep. But soon, she yawned and slowly drifted to sleep, her tiredness wearing her out.

...

Blaine Sinclair stook a deep breathe as he stood at the door of his daughter's room. He needed to talk her into going back to boarding school or at least another boarding school. The principal of her school had called him earlier today about Ayra running away. This wasn't the first time.

Each time she ran home, Blaine always sent her back. Their father-daughter bond wasn't like any other father-daughter bond because Ayra always reminded him that she hated him, that she regretted having him as a father.

It only deteriorated when she clocked thirteen. Blaine got complaints from the school authorities everyday. At first, he had thought it was just teenage hormones but it continued. Ayra kept running away from the boarding school and Blaine kept sending her back. He had thought all teenagers rebelled but Ayra's was out of hand.

He knew it wasn't her fault, growing up without a mother and having an absent father all contributed to her rebellious behavior.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine pushed open the door to her room, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the disarray. Clothes strewn across the floor, posters haphazardly hanging on the walls. His gaze settled on Ayra, who was slouched in one corner.

"Ayra," Blaine spoke her name, his voice a mix of sternness and concern. "You can't keep running away like this. You're to going back to the boarding school tomorrow."

Ayra's response was swift and explosive. The vase she held in her hand crashed onto the floor, shattering into pieces. Blaine's frustration surged, a primal anger bubbling up within him. "Ayra Sinclair!" He barked her full name, his voice laced with anger.

Tears welled up in Ayra's eyes. As her tears spilled over, Blaine watched her crumble before him.

"Why do you always control my life?" she cried, her voice a fragile whisper amidst the shards of broken glass. "You never let me do anything I want."

Blaine knelt before her, his voice softening as he tried to bridge the gap between them. "Ayra, I'm just trying to look out for you. I want what's best."

She looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mirror of her hatred towards him. "Why did you let her leave? Why didn't you make her stay? You should have let her take me along! Why did you stop mum from taking me with her when she left thirteen years go?"

The question hung in the air, a painful reminder of the choices Blaine had made. The truth behind her mother's departure was a burden he had carried for years, a truth that he had shielded her from, believing it was for the best. He could never bring himself to tell her her that her mother had abandoned her to pursue her dreams, instead he had lied to her that he sent her away and didn't let her take Ayra along with her.

Blaine's voice trembled as he replied, "Ayra, it's not that simple. There are things you don't understand."

She shook her head, her tears unabated. "You never tell me anything. You're just like her. I hate you,"

Her words were like a punch to the gut. Blaine stood there, absorbing Ayra's words as they hung in the air, each one a painful dagger that pierced through his heart. This wasn't the first time she was saying she hated him but each one dug a deeper hole in his heart than the last.

"And I hate your new wife. You can pretend all you want, but my real mom is going to come back someday, and she'll put your new wife back in her place."

"Ayra, I..." Blaine's voice wavered, the words caught in his throat as he placed his hands on her shoulder.

She pushed his hand away. "Just go. Leave me alone."

Slowly, Blaine rose to his feet, his heart heavy as he retreated from her room. The door closed behind him, and he was left with a sense of helplessness. He had been pushing Ayra away for far too long just to shield his own vulnerability. He didn't want her to see his dark side so he had sent her to boarding school when she was just eight and nothing was going to change his mind. He was going to send her back, no matter what.

...

Next morning...

The moment Yazmin opened her eyes, she was greeted by a swarm of maids bustling about her room like goblins searching for treasure. As she sat up in bed, her gaze darted from one corner of the room to another, taking in the flurry of activity. One maid held a duvet, seemingly waiting for her to wake up so she could change it. Another was dusting the shelves, while yet another was rearranging the curtains. The sight of maids sorting through clothes that weren't hers and filling the shoe rack with elegant heels gave her an uneasy feeling. The fact that they had been watching her sleep gave her the creeps.

They immediately stopped their activities and bowed when they noticed Yazmin was awake. Yazmin's nostril flared up, she wasn't sure what to ask first. Why they were in her room so early in the morning? Or why they were arranging the closet with clothes that weren't hers? Or why the shoe racks had a lot of heels on it?

"Wh...at's all this?" She fumbled with her words, as she asked no one in particular.

One of the maids whose name tag read 'Tori', replied her, "Mr Sinclair instructed us to do all these" she explained with her head still bowed.

Yazmin couldn't help but scoff in disbelief. "And why, pray tell, would he do something like this? Why are my clothes being replaced?"

"Mr. Sinclair wanted to curate a wardrobe more befitting of your status" Tori explained, her voice soft but unwavering.

Yazmin's skepticism only deepened. "How convenient. And what fate befell my clothes?"

Tori's response only fueled her frustration. "Mr. Sinclair told us to throw them out," she revealed.

Infuriated, Yazmin climbed out of bed and stormed out of her room. She hurried down the corridor, determined to confront Mr. Sinclair before he could leave. When she caught up to him, she noticed the surprise on his face, as if he had seen a ghost. She ignored his reaction and confronted him about the maid's revelation.

"Mr. Sinclair," she began with forced calmness. "The maids informed me that you ordered them to throw out my clothes."

He met her glare with a cold gaze, and the disapproving look on his face was all too familiar. "They were no good," he dismissed. "You can't be seen wearing those around. You're my wife, at least for now. I asked them to replace your wardrobe with something more fitting."

Yazmin couldn't believe what she was hearing. Who was he to dictate what she could wear and how she should dress? He had crossed a line.

Unable to finish her statement, Yazmin's attention was diverted by someone shouting Blaine's name. She slowly turned to see a tall, slender blonde woman with short hair approaching. The woman embraced Blaine, and both of them wore radiant smiles. The stern and detached Blaine Yazmin was talking to mere moments ago seemed to have vanished.

The blonde woman turned to her, taking her hand in hers with a friendly smile. "You must be Yazmin. I'm Ramona Thorne, Blaine's closest friend."

With a tingle of familiarity, Yazmin realized she had seen Ramona before on television. She was an international singer and the obsession of her bestfriend, Molly.

"I'm Yazmin Collymore," she replied, mustering a polite smile.

Just as quickly as the attention had shifted to Ramona, it once again disappeared as she turned her attention back to Blaine. Yazmin's heart skipped a beat when Ramona mentioned her boyfriend, who she couldn't wait for Blaine to meet.

Yazmin's breath caught as she set eyes on the man walking in – a familiar face, one etched into her memories. It couldn't be a mere coincidence. It was undeniably Asher Delvin, the man she had spent six years of her life with, only to be unceremoniously dumped by him a year ago. How could he be Ramona's boyfriend?

Yazmin stood frozen, as her gaze met Asher's and she saw that familiar smirk on his face.