Chapter 7 Blair's POV

My head felt light, my feet heavy as we stepped out of the car. The house was everything my house wasn't. It was beautiful and simple-a typical house for a bachelor.

Entering the house, I was greeted with warmth as it flowed through every nook and cranny of my body. I stifled a yawn, dragging my small suitcase with me, feeling almost sorry for myself because I had just a few clothes-mostly the ones I made myself. There wasn't enough money to make more, and I had other priorities.

"You'll stay in the next room, not in my room," he stated, drawing me out of my sleepy thoughts.

I I glanced up at him, his tone as cold as the rain outside. "Not again," I thought, the words barely registering through my exhaustion.

"Did you hear?" he asked again, stepping closer, his gaze piercing.

"Yes, Sir," I replied with forced sarcasm, pulling my suitcase into the next room. It was modest, but still better than what I was used to. The bed called to me, and as soon as I fell onto it, my mind drifted to thoughts of my grandmother and brother. I missed them so much it hurt, a dull ache that never quite faded.

With a heavy sigh, I let sleep take over.

********

Light shone through the curtains forming stripes on the polished floor as I opened my eyes. I blinked awake, the events of yesterday coming back to me.

Rising slowly, I freshened up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. There was something unsettling about the person looking back at me-someone I barely recognized. I really couldn't make heads or tails of it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

The kitchen was quiet except for the clinking of a spoon against a cup. Roland sat at the table, biting into a piece of toast. I approached, scanning the table to take mine, but there was no bread left.

"Roland, where is my food?" I asked frustrated, my stomach rumbling with hunger.

He didn't look up, just muttered, "Good morning to you too. Make yours, yourself."

"Woah.. It's no problem," I managed, my legs trembling slightly, as I gathered the ingredients to make my own. I had endured more than that.

We were on our two weeks honeymoon and we were not expected to go to work. My hands itched to work, but I didn't want to step on Roland's already bad and arrogant foot.

He hadn't forgotten the slap, and his anger simmered just beneath the surface, ready to spill over.

He kept his promises-my grandmother's surgery was paid for, my brother's court case handled-but I was nothing more than a ghost to him.

Invisible. Unseen.

The list of tasks he left each morning became longer, more tedious. I'd complete them, only to have him demand I start over, claiming I'd done it wrong. It was like trying to hit a moving target, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never get it right.

I began to dread what working together in his fashion house might bring-if this was how he treated me now, how much worse would it get?

Days later, Roland entered the sitting room where I was curled up on the couch, engrossed in "The Hunger Games," a bag of popcorn balanced on my lap.

"We have a date tomorrow night," he announced, leaving no room for argument. "It's a charity gala, and I have to be there."

"Why are you just telling me now?" I asked, annoyed. I had planned to visit my grandmother, who was slowly recovering, but I knew better than to argue.

"Got the information late," he replied curtly.

********

I wore one of my best dress-a brown fabric with stones around the edge, giving it a moderate royal look. I wasn't about to embarrass Roland or myself in front of his high-society friends. I wasn't used to events like these, and the last thing I wanted was to mess up.

"Let's...go." Roland stuttered slightly as he stared at me, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. He was dressed in a black suit that hung around his body like it was made only for him.

At the gala, he introduced me with a sneer as "just an amateur designer trying to make it big," making sure everyone knew how unimpressed he was with my work.

Realization crept in. He took me there not because he wanted me there, but to use me as a prop for his cruel games.

His cutting remarks and the judgmental stares of the other guests made me feel small and worthless-coupled with the fact that I didn't know anyone there.

"Excuse me," I said to Roland and his people. He didn't bother to ask where I was going and it stung more.

In the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face, trying not to ruin my makeup. After a deep breath, I stepped out and bumped into someone. My nose caught a whiff of his cologne, fresh and intoxicating.

"Oh no. I'm sorry," I apologized flustered.

"It's not your fault," a smooth voice replied, and I looked up, meeting piercing blue eyes that felt like the ocean. His blonde hair fell just slightly over his forehead and his right eye. "It's nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Bennett Yiwa."

I shook his hand as gracefully as I could manage. "Blair Rodrigo."

He handed me his business card. I had nothing to give in return. My phone buzzed-it was Roland. Excusing myself, I went back to him, and we left the gala shortly afterward.

*******

I buried myself in work, sketching and sewing to avoid the suffocating loneliness that filled every corner of the house.

But even that was difficult with Roland's cold presence looming over me, a constant reminder of my mistake and the consequences I had to bear.

As the days dragged on, I began to wonder how long I could endure this. How long until the walls closed in on me completely?

Finally, the honeymoon ended, and I was called back to work. My joy was boundless-I couldn't wait to escape this house, even if just for a while.