The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed, the previous day's chaos forgotten. As I dressed, I chose a simple yet elegant outfit: a flowing white blouse with delicate lace trim, paired with high-waisted, dark-washed jeans. The combination accentuated my curves, highlighting my moon-shaped face and full, cute lips.
My dark, wavy hair cascaded down my back, framing my features. A soft, natural glow radiated from my skin, thanks to a restful night's sleep.
As I checked my phone, I expected a barrage of notifications, but instead, I found... silence.
Confused, I scrolled through my social media feeds.
The articles, the scandalous headlines, were all gone.
I searched online, but every major news outlet had removed the stories.
A text from Clyde arrived, as if anticipating my question.
"Good morning, Dahlia. I took care of the media frenzy. Sued some of them for defamation. You're clear."
Relief washed over me.
"Clyde, thank you!" I replied.
His response came swiftly.
"Anytime, Dahlia. You're family."
His words warmed my heart.
As I headed downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the air.
Anissa smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling.
"Good morning, Dahlia! Sleep well?"
I nodded, feeling grateful.
"Yes, thanks. And thank you, Clyde, for... everything."
Clyde's gaze met mine, his expression soft.
"Anytime," he repeated.
The morning sunlight streaming through the windows highlighted the warmth and love within this household.
I entered the kitchen, eager to help with breakfast, surrounded by the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft sizzle of bacon.
"Let me assist," I offered, but Anissa waved me off with a warm smile.
"No, no, Dahlia. You're our guest. Relax and enjoy."
Her eyes sparkled as she expertly flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs, filling the air with savory scents.
I relented, taking a seat at the island, admiring Anissa's culinary skills.
As we waited for the food to finish cooking, I asked, "When's Clyde joining us?"
Anissa's expression faltered, a flicker of sadness crossing her eyes. Her gaze drifted, lost in thought.
"Actually, we rarely eat together," she said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and resignation. "His schedule's always packed."
I sensed a deep-seated longing behind her words.
"You mean, since his work got busier?" I ventured.
Anissa nodded, her eyes clouding.
"Even before that... We used to try, but it's hard to find time. He's always working late or traveling."
A pang of sympathy struck me. The love and longing in Anissa's eyes revealed the depth of her emotions.
The breakfast Anissa prepared was delicious, but the atmosphere felt strained, the silence punctuated only by the clinking of utensils.
Clyde's absence hung like an unspoken question, a reminder of the distance between him and Anissa.
After breakfast, Anissa and I sat in the living room, sipping our coffee and catching up on each other's lives.
"I'm glad you're staying with us, Dahlia," Anissa said, her eyes warm with sincerity. "It's been too long since we've spent time together."
"I know, me too," I replied, smiling. "I've missed you."
We chatted about everything and nothing, our conversation flowing easily, like no time had passed at all.
But soon, Anissa glanced at her watch.
"I have errands to run," she said, standing up. "I'll be back later."
I nodded, feeling a pang of loneliness.
As Anissa left, I decided to explore the house.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself searching for traces of Clyde.
I wandered through the rooms, scanning shelves and surfaces.
But Clyde's presence was eerily absent.
No photos, no mementos, no personal touches.
It was as if he didn't live here at all.
My curiosity turned into a burning question: What kind of man was Clyde, really?
I hesitated outside their bedroom door.
I didn't want to intrude, but my curiosity won.
I pushed open the door, stepping inside.
The room was sleek, modern, and immaculate.
Anissa's presence was evident – perfume bottles, jewelry, and elegant clothes.
But Clyde's side of the room was surprisingly bare.
A lone watch on his nightstand, a simple leather strap.
I picked it up, feeling the weight of it.
A faint scent of cedar and leather lingered.
Clyde's scent.
My heart skipped a beat.
As I looked around, my gaze fell on the bed.
Pillows barricaded the middle, a clear divide between Clyde's and Anissa's sides.
A physical representation of their emotional distance?
My mind whirled with questions.
What had driven them apart?
Was it truly just Clyde's workaholic nature?
Or was there more to the story?
I felt a pang of guilt for snooping.
But my curiosity remained.
Who was Clyde, beyond his polished facade?
And what secrets lay hidden behind these closed doors?