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Chapter 8 - A discussion with Grandpa

After the long and uncomfortable discussion with Grandpa, I retreated to my room, feeling both exhausted and exasperated. He was a master manipulator, his cunning beyond anything I had anticipated. The lavishly designed room before me was a testament to his business acumen. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Beneath it, a plush bed with tulle curtains awaited me, a touch of luxury that I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Damn that old fox," I muttered, examining the room. It was clear that Grandpa had upgraded my accommodations, perhaps to make my extended stay more palatable. I placed my bag on the dressing table and sat on the bed, sinking into the high-quality mattress that felt like it could bounce me up to the ceiling. I lay back and watched the chandelier's light shimmer above me, my mind racing.

"Seduce a man and get rich," I whispered to myself. It wasn't the worst deal, I reasoned. With the money Grandpa was offering, I could save up and buy the house I had always wanted. The thought of financial independence was tempting, especially given the low-paying job I had applied for. A few more odd jobs for Grandpa, and I could have that dream home almost immediately. The idea of making a substantial amount of money was seductive.

However, I couldn't shake off the nagging question: how exactly would Grandpa manage to convince the man that I was Mavis? The entire plan seemed convoluted and problematic, but it was clear that Grandpa was orchestrating something intricate.

My musings were interrupted when the door to my room swung open without a knock. Mavis entered, carrying a black leather box. Her presence was as unwelcome as ever.

"Ah, a gift already?" I said, trying to mask my irritation. I knew Mavis well enough to expect nothing but trouble from her. She gave me a disdainful look before tossing the box onto the bed, nearly hitting me in the face.

"Watch it!" I exclaimed, sitting up with a scowl.

"Oh, did I hit your arm?" she said with exaggerated innocence. "I was aiming for your face."

Ignoring her taunts, I focused on the box. 

"Grandpa sent me to give it to you." She said with a deep arrogant voice. 

When I opened it, I saw a mask inside. It was elegant—deep black with golden flowers and adorned with black and white jewels. I had to admire Grandpa's cleverness; it seemed he was turning the event into a masquerade party.

"So, it's going to be a masquerade," I muttered to myself, a small smile forming on my lips despite the situation.

Mavis's frustration was palpable. "I'm talking to you!" she snapped, tossing another object at me. This time, it hit me on the brow, stinging and making me sit up in anger.

"What is your problem?" I demanded.

"Hah, you think you have the right to get angry at me?" she retorted, her voice dripping with venom.

"Just get out of my room. I don't want to talk to you," I said firmly, my patience wearing thin.

Mavis's face twisted with anger. "Your room? This is my house, and I can be anywhere I want. No one can tell me otherwise, especially not an illegitimate child like you!" she shouted.

I closed my eyes, accustomed to her cruel remarks. They no longer had the power to hurt me. "Fine, stay. I'm going to sleep," I said, placing the mask on the other side of the bed and slipping off my shoes. I pulled the blanket over myself, trying to escape the negativity of the day.

"You!" I heard Mavis's defeated voice as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction at her frustration.

Once Mavis was gone, I finally felt a semblance of peace. I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, my mind still swirling from the day's events. The lingering discomfort from the bus incident clung to me, making me feel as though someone's touch was still ghosting over my skin.

In the bathroom, I grabbed the spare clothes I had packed for myself and turned on the shower. The sound of rushing water was soothing, a brief escape from the chaos outside. I stepped under the stream, feeling the hot water cascade over me. As I scrubbed vigorously, trying to erase any traces of that unsettling encounter, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still tainted by the day's events

After I finished my bath, I wrapped myself in a soft bathrobe and headed back to the bedroom. The comfort of the bed was a welcome relief after the long day I'd endured. I slipped under the sheets, letting their warmth envelop me.

"I've had a long day," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes. I reached for my phone and sent a quick text to Fleur hoping for a response before closing my eyes. 

 ......….

"What do you mean you will marry her?"

Ambrose sat across from his parents, trying to convince his mother, Mary, of his decision. Her brow was furrowed with concern as she questioned him.

"But you don't love her. How can you spend your life with someone you don't like?" Mary insisted. "Is money really so important that you have to sacrifice your happiness for it?"

Ezra, seated beside Mary with his legs crossed, observed the exchange with a mix of pride and concern. While he was proud of Ambrose for his practical approach to business, he understood Mary's emotional struggle. He valued money but didn't want his wife to be unhappy.

"My dear wife, I understand your concerns, but let's give Ambrose some time," Ezra said gently. "He knows that he will come to appreciate the girl I've chosen for him."

Mary wasn't convinced, and her deep frown remained.

"Mom, just drop this topic for now. Why does it matter who I marry? As long as she is beneficial for the family. I don't care what kind of a person she is. " Ambrose said, trying to shift the conversation. "And the main concern I have right now is Fleur. Has Fleur told you anything yet? How long is she going to stay like that?"

"I don't know," Mary shook her head, clearly frustrated. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Ambrose pressed on, "What about that friend of hers? Did you ask her about it? I'm sure she knows what's wrong with Fleur."

"I haven't asked her," Mary replied curtly. "Fleur isn't a child. She'll sort things out when she's ready. Don't push her."

"What do you mean?" Ambrose asked, his agitation evident. "She's not talking to me and making me feel like I've done something terrible without explaining why. I need to know what I can do to fix things." He spoke with the protectiveness of an older brother.

Mary, exasperated, stood up. "Fine, do it on your own, just like how you decided to get married on your own. Don't talk to me again!" With that, she left the room, her anger clear.

Ambrose turned to his father, desperation in his eyes. "Dad, can you help me out here?"

Ezra chuckled softly. "It's amusing to see you struggling with women while skillfully managing the entire business."

"That's not helpful, Dad," Ambrose said, his frustration growing.

"Give them time," Ezra said with a reassuring smile. "Everything will work out in the end."