Past:
Aidan
The first time I saw Kazia Gratis, I wasn't impressed. I thought she was just one of those privileged kids, judging by the way she carried herself—a display of pride and arrogance.
I didn't give it much thought though, since our marriage was merely a business arrangement meant to strengthen the family ties.
The Gratis and Armani families had worked together in the past, but there wasn't enough of a bond to make them close allies. My stepmother suggested this marriage alliance, claiming it would secure our business's future. I initially declined, knowing she was up to something.
She never saw anything good in me as a deaf and mute person, and she didn't want me close to the business at all—the same business my mother had built from scratch with her own sweat and blood.
I was suspicious. If a marriage alliance was necessary, why couldn't she marry Kazia to her own son? It couldn't possibly be because Kazia was an illegitimate child… or could it? I wasn't interested in finding out why. But after my stepmother's relentless persuasion, listing reasons the marriage would benefit us all, I reluctantly agreed—albeit with a plan to be very cautious of both my new wife and my stepmother.
The wedding came and went, and I avoided Kazia like the plague. Well, until she came into my space one day. I was stunned to see her there, even more so when I noticed her dressed in a maid's uniform. She looked exhausted, as though she hadn't slept in days, and her clothes hung on her as if she hadn't eaten well in a while.
I couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act, a plot hatched by her and my stepmother. Yet her behavior seemed genuine.
Years of pretending not to hear or speak had taught me how to read people well. I had spent countless silent hours observing others, learning to distinguish truth from deception. Something about her didn't add up, but it didn't feel staged.
I invited her to breakfast, and she ate with a hunger that suggested she hadn't eaten in days. Between bites, I caught her stealing glances at me. Then, as if she thought I couldn't hear her, she muttered, "My children would never have to worry about being ugly if I procreate with him."
I nearly laughed but restrained myself so she wouldn't suspect I could hear. Her next words took me off guard: "It's sad you'll never hear me say your name. You have no idea how beautiful I could make it sound." She then began saying my name in a seductive tone, as though testing its effect on me. Her voice, soft and alluring, sent shivers through me. By the second call, goosebumps tingled over my skin, and I found my body tense, reacting to her in a way I hadn't anticipated.
"This woman is dangerous," I thought, feeling both unsettled and drawn in. Kazia was undeniably beautiful, and her voice could weaken any man. Although I didn't like her, my body reacted naturally; after all, I wasn't a robot. She almost caught on, but I quickly feigned a cold to explain my reaction.
For the rest of that day, I couldn't stop thinking about her. The memory of her seductive voice lingered in my mind, and to protect myself, I decided to distance myself from her. I locked myself away, determined to keep her out of my personal space.
But Kazia didn't give up easily. She knocked several times, and each time, I ignored her. This continued until one evening when she stayed by my door, crying for hours. When I finally opened the door, she fell forward, collapsing onto the floor. Her silky black hair splayed out around her, and her amber eyes looked up at me, filled with pain. She winced and pouted slightly, and for a moment, I found myself remembering how she had called my name just days before.
I barely knew her, yet her vulnerability stirred something in me. She was soaking wet when I helped her inside, and I couldn't help but wonder what might have happened to her.
What could she have done to warrant such treatment from my stepmother? Despite our lack of a real relationship, I sensed she was innocent, just another pawn on my stepmother's chessboard, like me.
I hadn't planned on letting her stay the night, but she passed out after dinner. Uncertain of what to do, I ended up placing her in my bed.
As she slept, I couldn't take my eyes off her face, illuminated softly in the dim light. I struggled against the urge to trace her delicate features, marveling at how someone could be so captivating.
The next day, she was still on my mind, during meetings and errands. I tried hard to stop thinking about her but I couldn't.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find her asleep on the couch with the TV on. I had expected her to leave before I returned, yet there she was, her presence lingering in my space.
Was she trying to get closer to me? I couldn't allow that, even though part of me wanted it. I couldn't afford the risk of inviting her into my life, knowing how it would complicate things.
I tried to stay distant, yet I couldn't ignore the guilt that gnawed at me when I chose not to help her that day, even though I could. My conscience weighed heavily, refusing to be silenced. Eventually, I came up with a simple solution: I compiled a list of her complaints and presented it to my father, who was due to return that evening. I wasn't sure he would do much, but to my surprise, he acted on it.
I caused a stir at the dinner but I didn't care, I just wanted to help her.
That night, I knew I had crossed my stepmother, and that would come with a heavy price but I didn't care. Helping Kazia gave me a clear conscience.