Kazia
After my last breakfast with Aidan, I haven't seen him again. His door is always locked, no matter what time I go to his room. I can't understand why he's ignoring me like this; moreover, I don't know why I'm so interested in someone I've only been with twice in my life. I like fine men, I won't deny that, but chasing a man is not my thing. My goodness, he makes me feel like I'm desperately seeking his attention… but am I really? I carry my cleaning tools and make my way down the stairs.
"Kazia, make me a cup of iced tea," I hear Olivia say, and I respond with a nod. As much as I am angry, now is not the time to vent. Speaking of which, I'm still unable to reach my father. I just need to know if he truly abandoned me or if something happened to him.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check the caller's name, it's Mrs. Nettle, the lady I put in charge of my NGO.
"Miss Gratis," her voice sounds from the other end of the phone.
"How have you been, ma'am?" she asks.
"I've been good. What about you?"
"I'm fine too." The call goes silent for a moment.
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
"Well, we haven't seen you at the children's home, so I wanted to know if you're doing okay," she says.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a little bit busy at the moment; I'll drop by when I'm free," I reply, and the line falls silent again.
"Miss Gratis, we're about to run out of food, and I was wondering when you'll send more food and medical supplies to the children's home," she says. That was the main reason she called. It hadn't even been two months since I last delivered supplies. They were supposed to last four or five months—at the very least, three months.
"How come?" I question.
"Well, you said to make sure the children never lack anything they wanted, and that's what we did. Hence, our supplies finished early."
"Kazia!!!" Olivia yells from the living room. She must have realized I haven't made the tea she requested some minutes ago.
"I'll get back to you, Mrs. Nettle," I say and end the phone call. I run into the living room, but Olivia is nowhere in sight, so I head to the kitchen. Upon entry, I feel something cold splash all over my body. Before I can fully understand what's going on, it happens again—she has soaked me with the water used to clean the floors.
"Where's my tea?" she demands angrily.
"Make it yourself," I scoff. If she thinks I'll make that tea for her after humiliating me, she's definitely wrong.
She raises her hand to slap me, but I catch it midway and fling it off, almost making her fall.
"The next time you dare to raise your hand to slap me, I won't let go until I snap it in two."
"My mother will hear of this. I will make sure you regret what you did tonight," she says and storms out of the kitchen. I'm not afraid of her or her mother. I've only been tolerating them because of my father; I'm here on his behalf.
I make my way to the servants' lounge to change my clothes before heading to the second floor. I really need to meet Aidan today. He's the only person who hasn't acted hostile towards me, since I met him, maybe he'll be willing to help.
I try to push open his door a few times, but it's locked. Is he even at home? I crouch down in front of his door, deciding to wait for him there.
Sitting here alone may not be the best idea after all, because I can't stop thinking about how much I've suffered these past few weeks. Even though I had a difficult time in my father's house, I've never experienced hardship like this; my father would never allow it.
I take out my phone and try calling him again, but I keep getting the same message: "The number you're trying to call does not exist." It's the same with his P.A.
In frustration, I throw my phone across the hallway, hot tears streaming down my face. I can't do this anymore—I just want to go home to my father.
The pain in my heart seems to lessen as I sob out loud; maybe that's what I needed—to cry it all out. I cry until my head starts to hurt, and my body feels shaky.
I'm still quietly sobbing when I feel the door behind me open. I fall backward, hitting my head on the floor with a bang. I wince in pain as I try to massage the sore spot.
A pair of dark eyes stare down at me as I rub my head. In one swift movement, he lifts me off the floor and into his space. He sets me on a chair in his dining area before asking what's wrong. I don't reply, just look away.
"How long have you been waiting at the door?" he signs. To be honest, I don't know—maybe three or four hours. But I still don't answer.
He leaves me, going into a room I assume is his bedroom, and then comes back out. He gestures for me to follow him, and I do. He hands me a towel and motions for me to enter the bathroom. That's when I remember I'm still a little wet from when Olivia poured water on me.
I take the towel and step into the bathroom. I get under the shower, letting warm water flow over my head. I open his shampoo, and my nostrils fill with a musky scent; it smells just like him. I notice the shampoo is in a plain bottle labeled simply with "shampoo." There's no brand or list of ingredients. I know his family company only makes home appliances, so it couldn't be from them.
When I'm done, I wrap the towel around my chest and step into his room. I peek a few times, then enter when I'm sure he's not there. I know he's my husband, and dressing in front of him shouldn't be a big deal; however, I've only known him for a short time, so I can't do that.
"I left something for you to wear on the bed," I read on a sticky note in front of the mirror. I turn to the king-sized bed behind me; there are indeed some clothes neatly folded on it. I dry my hair and put them on. Clean shorts and a sweatshirt that falls right below my knees. I'm 5'4", and he's around 6'3" or 6'4", so naturally, his shirt doesn't sit at my waist.
I don't realize how hungry I am until I step out of the room and see a delicious-looking plate of white rice and chicken sauce waiting. I don't wait for him to call me over; I go right to the table. Hot tears stream down my face as I eat like I've been starved for days. I need to eat as much as possible because I don't know when I'll get to eat like this again.