Pamela's Point of ViewI retreat into the mansion, the coolness of the lobby becomes a weight bearing down on me after my tense confrontation with Rebecca. My mind reels over her sharp words, the disdain in her eyes, and Lyka's tension expression. I shake it off, refusing to let them rattle me.As I make my way down the hall, I notice Lyka in a rush to leave Rowan's office. She is running in such haste that she is almost frantic and doesn't even try to mask the malice in her eyes as she sees me. For a second or less, we lock eyes, hers with a dark, resentful expression before she darts off again, completely disregarding me.I remain there, perplexed. What happened in that office? Why is Lyka running away? Just before I can make another step, I see Rebecca running after her."Lyka! Wait!" she calls, voice shrill. As she races past me, she shoots me a withering glare with a face tight full of fury. "We're not done yet, Pamela," she hisses venomously before vanishing after Lyka.Her word
Pamela's Point of ViewWeeks have passed since that unsettling phone call with Sinclair, and to my surprise, he hasn’t called again. Not once. Yet, his words still linger in my mind, shadowing every interaction I have with Rowan. I’ve tried to push it aside, to tell myself that maybe it was just a passing threat, a moment of malice from a man with a twisted grudge. But part of me wonders if Sinclair’s silence is only a prelude to something worse.Rowan hasn’t mentioned it either. In fact, we haven’t talked much at all since that day. It’s like an invisible wall has been built between us, a barrier that neither of us seems willing to cross. He’s busy, or at least that’s what I tell myself. Meetings, phone calls, late nights in his office. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s deliberately avoiding me.Not that I mind. In some ways, it’s an advantage. The less we speak, the less I must put up with this confusing, awkward tension between us. It was easier, safer, when he was avoided.T
Pamela's Point of ViewThe night of the gala arrives quicker than I expect, and as I stand in front of the mirror, smoothing down the sleek black dress I chose for the occasion, I can’t shake the gnawing feeling in my stomach. I’ve been to a few events with Rowan, but none like this. The elites of the city will be there, the crème de la crème of society, all gathered under one roof. And for what? To judge, to scrutinize, and in my case, to find faults.The dress clings to me in all the right places, its elegance doing little to soothe my nerves. I force a breath, reaching for the necklace Rowan gave me for tonight—another gesture that feels more like obligation than affection. It’s a beautiful piece, diamonds glinting in the low light, but wearing it feels like wearing a chain."Ready?" Rowan's voice cuts into my thoughts.I look up to see him standing in the doorway, dressed to in a tailored fitted suit. His features are unreadable. No warmth in his eyes, only the same cold distance
Pamela’s Point of ViewRowan yanks on my arm, pulling me through the front door. It hurts, but I don't feel as bad as my breathing does. I'm matching his furious step down the hallway, tripping over my own feet a few times, matching him step for step. My breaths are shallow and my heart is racing, not because I'm afraid of him but because I am confused.Why is he so angry?As soon as we enter the house, he shoves me off of him, pushing me to the side a little. I have no choice but to push myself up against the wall, recoiling at the sharpness of his shove."Why in God's name are you pushing me?" I snap, running my arm over where his fingers left a mark on my skin.Rowan doesn't answer right away. He's pacing now, his hand running through his hair in exasperation, his eyes dark and dangerous. Gone is that cool façade, replaced by something wild and volatile.“Are you happy now?” he finally says, his voice low but trembling with barely controlled rage.I take a step closer, daring to co
Pamela's Point of ViewMy headache throbs as I wake up, eyes squinting at the soft morning light that filters through the curtains. That night's gown hangs heavy and wrinkled on my skin. I can almost envision how the party was, rewinding in my head all the scheming of Rebecca, the cold glances of the elites, Rowan's furious outburst, and Sinclair's unnerving presence.I groan inwardly and drag myself up. Every muscle in my body screams from the tension of last night, and my mind is every bit as heavy. I can’t just shake my head over his reaction.The sharp knocking at the door jerks me out of my thoughts. For a moment I consider ignoring it, but the knocking persists, firm and insistent. Reluctantly, I stand up and smooth my gown as much as possible as I begin to walk towards the door. My stomach tightens as I open it.Standing before me is Rowan's mother, crisp as ever in her fine clothes, not missing a detail of my appearance as she casts an unmistakable look of disdain upon me. I k
Pamela’s Point of ViewOne evening in a grocery store, the fluorescent lights overhead murmured softly as Joana and I slowly strolled down the aisle, our cart and us pushing it. It was one of those dull, lackluster nights where I finally began to relax a little bit. Joana, animated as ever, chattering beside me, commenting on the items we toss into the cart.“So, how's it going, that apartment near to your workplace? Do you like it?” asked Joana, reaching for a box of pasta and tossing it into the recipe, altogether.I try to force myself into a small smile. A weight is hanging round my neck: the secret.“Yeah, it's… convenient,” I say.That is what she thinks, that I live in a small apartment close to my work. Joana does not know the real story of Rowan or that we are engaged. Every time I try to tell her, I just can't do it. Maybe I fear how she'll react, or that she'll see through the cracks I have been trying to smooth over with this facade I have been maintaining.She nods, unawa
Pamela’s Point of ViewThe house is eerily quiet when I step inside. Not a single light is on, and the usual bustle of maids is gone. A sense of unease creeping through me as I shut the door behind me. Something feels wrong. Very wrong.The faint scent of alcohol wafts through the air, pungent and overpowering. I follow it through the darkened hallways, my footsteps hesitant, heart racing with every step. I can barely see where I'm going, and the silence presses in around me like a heavy weight.I reach for the light switch, flicking it on. It snaps on with blinding brightness, stinging my eyes, and I blink furiously to gain control. But it takes only a split second before I jump out of my skin again.Rowan is standing there, motionless, his eyes locked on me. His expression is blank, unnervingly so. But his eyes... they’re cold, yet burning with something intense. He's leaning casually against the wall, but I can tell he’s drunk—his posture too loose, the way he sways ever so slightl
Pamela’s Point of ViewI wake the next morning feeling as though I've been hit by a truck. My mind is slow, body aching, and I can feel the echo of Rowan's touch from last night. I can almost feel him pushing me against the wall, heat on my skin from his breathing, the rough hands on my body—it's just all too vivid. I don't know what to make of it. It was too raw, too intemperate. Did it really happen? Or was it some sort of fever dream?As I sit up in bed, the reality of the situation hits me hard. No, it wasn’t a dream. Rowan kissed me. He claimed me. But then he walked away as if it was nothing.I glance at the clock. It’s early, earlier than I’d like to be awake, but sleep isn’t going to come easily now. The weight of what happened last night sits heavy on my chest, and I wonder how Rowan will act today. Will he pretend it never happened? Or worse, will he be angry?I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs, half expecting to find the house just as cold and silent as it was las