Chapter 2 That's Gross

With deliberate movements, Fernanda pulled out a piece of clothing from her suitcase, her voice sharp and cool. "This is none of your concern. I think it's time for you to leave."

All she desired at that moment was to hasten the man's departure.

Barely a moment before, when he had embraced her, his fingers had brushed against her back, lingering just a moment too long. The calluses on his fingertips were coarse, betraying more wear than most. His adeptness with a knife and his swift reflexes hinted at a background that was far from ordinary.

Cutting off the thought immediately, Fernanda dismissed any curiosity about his background.

From below, the blare of a car horn shattered the silence. The man stood up smoothly.

During their earlier intimacy, he had loosened his shirt, though his trousers remained crisply in place.

He buttoned his shirt as he approached the window and casually tossed something to Fernanda. "My apologies for any discomfort caused earlier. Consider this your compensation," he said with a nod.

With the graceful precision of a panther, he sprang out of the window.

Fernanda approached the window, peering out into the night where, under the faint illumination of the streetlights, she observed him scale the wall effortlessly. He navigated the ledges until he merged with the shadows.

She stooped to retrieve the object he had left-a sleek black card.

The night's disruptions had been met with suitable compensation-a fair recompense. Fernanda pocketed the card and drew the curtains closed.

The following morning, the butler approached Fernanda with a look of concern etched across his face. "Miss Morgan, I hope you managed to rest last night. There was an inspection for a burglary, which stirred quite the disturbance."

She shrugged casually and muttered, "It was fine."

As they drove, the butler stole glances at Fernanda through the rearview mirror. Reclined in her seat, she gazed out the window, her elegant profile cast in contemplative silence.

He mused quietly to himself that she did not embody the typical country-raised youth. Her calm sophistication and graceful demeanor set her apart, enhancing her natural charm and making her an effortlessly endearing presence.

After two days of travel, Fernanda stepped into the bustling streets of Esaham.

The city was a teeming metropolis, alive with vibrant streets and a relentless stream of traffic.

Shortly after 8 a.m., a stretch Lincoln limousine glided into the upscale estate of Dawn Villas, coming to a halt in front of a majestic three-story white villa.

Stepping gracefully from the limousine, Fernanda let her eyes wander over the grandeur of the building before her.

The villa, both opulent and imposing, was a testament to vast wealth. Her lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile as she gave it a scrutinizing glance.

This was her father Robert Morgan's residence. From humble beginnings, he had climbed to wealth and status with her late mother's support.

After amassing his fortune, Robert had coldly cast aside her mother, choosing to revel in a relationship with his mistress.

That woman-Michelle Morgan-had contributed nothing to his success, yet she now sat smugly in the seat Fernanda's mother had rightfully earned. She basked in the luxuries and respect that were never hers to claim. Worse still, Michelle had dared to flaunt her victory, parading her stolen life before Fernanda's grieving mother, a cruelty that had ultimately led to Fernanda's mother's untimely death.

To the world, Michelle was seen as Robert's second wife, a symbol of grace and charm. Michelle even had the audacity to claim she was Fernanda's real mother. But Fernanda knew better. Behind the polished veneer lay the truth, raw and unforgiving.

Fernanda's dark eyes momentarily hardened, a flicker of steely determination glinting within them.

Her mother was no longer here to seek justice, but Fernanda vowed she would deliver it on her behalf.

Just then, the villa's grand door swung open, revealing the pair responsible for the upheaval in her life.

Robert stood tall and pristine, the sharp lines of his tailored suit accentuating his stature. His gold-rimmed glasses reflected the warm light, adding an air of calculated sophistication.

At his side was Michelle, the very picture of elegance. Her fitted dress clung perfectly to her poised figure, exuding refinement and composure.

"Fernanda, you've come back." Robert greeted warmly, a smile playing on his lips as he waved her over. "Come in."

Fernanda's eyes darted downward, concealing the storm of emotions swirling within her. With a tentative step, she moved closer.

Robert, with an arm encircling Michelle's waist, introduced her with a gesture. "Fernanda, this is your mother."

With a casual wave toward the living room, he remarked, "And that's Erika, your sister."

On the couch, Erika Morgan was engaged with the television, only looking up when Fernanda approached. Her eyes narrowed judgmentally at Fernanda's plain dress, her face contorting into a sneer. With an exaggerated eye-roll and a sarcastic tone, Erika muttered, "That country bumpkin? Dad, she's no sister of mine."

Michelle approached Fernanda with a warm smile, linking her arm with Fernanda's. "Oh, Fernanda, Erika's just teasing. Pay her no mind. I've prepared breakfast for you. You must be starving. Let's have something to eat."

Silently, Fernanda slipped her arm free and strode with determined steps into the dining room.

Michelle paused, her smile faltering as a shadow of confusion crossed her face. She turned to Robert, her voice tinged with concern. "Robert, what's gotten into her?"

He sighed, his voice a blend of empathy and resignation, "Fernanda was raised in the countryside. She's a bit unrefined, that's all. It's nothing against you, Michelle."

Michelle nodded slowly, a soft smile reclaiming her features. "No worries," she murmured, her resolve firming. "I'll guide her as she settles in, teach her the essentials of elegance, and shape her into a poised young woman."

Robert gave a supportive pat on her back, his expression one of appreciative assurance.

In the dining room, Michelle seated herself next to Fernanda.

"Fernanda, you must try this beef," she insisted, placing a tender slice onto Fernanda's plate. "It's Erika's favorite."

Fernanda responded by promptly lifting the beef from her plate and dropping it into an empty plate with a clear look of disgust. "That's gross," she stated flatly, her voice void of any warmth.