Thorns and Pests

When we arrived at Mr. Calvin's mansion, the scene at the gate caught me completely off guard. A sea of reporters and journalists swarmed the entrance, their cameras flashing like relentless lightning.

"What’s going on?" I asked, my voice laced with unease.

"Nothing to worry about, ma’am," the bald African man beside me said, his tone steady as he opened the car door. "We’ll need to walk past the gate—the crowd’s too thick for the vehicle."

I sighed in relief, shaking my head slightly. "I’m sure they’re not here for me. I’m a nobody. Mr. Calvin must have done something to attract the media."

But as soon as I stepped out of the car, reality hit like a tidal wave. The reporters surged toward me, their shouts drowning out my thoughts, their cameras capturing every step I took like a lamb walking to the slaughter.

My chest tightened as panic clawed its way through me. I instinctively moved closer to one of the suited men, my breath quickening.

"Are you the Kate that’s getting married to the cripple?" a voice cut through the chaos.

I froze. My legs felt like they were rooted to the ground, my pulse hammering in my ears. How did they know my name?

I struggled to respond, the words catching in my throat as we pushed through the crowd.

Another voice, sharper and more venomous, followed. "How are you planning to give him an heir? You do know he’s crippled down there too, right? He can’t perform!"

The taunts made my skin crawl, a cold sweat trickling down my spine. I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my head down, trying to block out the insults.

"We’re almost there," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, gripping the fabric of my dress as though it could shield me.

Then came the final blow. "Aren’t you Alex’s ex-wife? We heard he used you and dumped you! Guess you’re only good enough for a cripple!"

The words hit harder than I expected, but I kept walking, focusing on the mansion ahead. With every step, I reminded myself of one thing: this is for survival, not love.

The reporters' words hit harder than I expected, and for a moment, I stopped walking.

"That’s exactly what they’re paid to do, ma’am," the suited man beside me said, his voice calm but firm. "Get you to create a scene that sells."

I bit my lips, forcing myself to swallow the rising anger, and resumed walking. My fists clenched at my sides as we finally crossed the gates, leaving the chaos of the press behind.

There was only one person who owed me an explanation for that humiliating spectacle outside: Calvin.

"I hope Mr. Calvin is around?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. "Can’t wait to meet him."

The suited man glanced at me briefly. "Oh yes, he’s around. They all are."

I stopped in my tracks again, my heartbeat quickening like an alarm. "What do you mean by they?"

Before he could answer, a voice interrupted. "The whole family," said a maid who had stepped forward to greet me. Her tone was chipper, her smile bright and warm—too warm compared to the cold professionalism radiating from everyone else.

"Welcome, Mrs. Kate. I’m your personal maid," she continued, curtsying slightly. "You’re even more beautiful in person."

Her words caught me off guard, but her sincerity felt genuine. She was the only person so far who seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

"Thank you," I murmured, trying to match her smile. "I’m happy to be here."

But the words felt hollow. I wasn’t happy. Not even close. Instead, my chest felt heavy, weighed down by the unknown awaiting me behind those doors.

"Is there anything I need to know?" I asked as we approached the mansion's grand doors, the looming structure casting an ominous shadow over us. My voice was steady, but my palms were clammy. "Would you be kind enough to tell me?"

The maid hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to the suited men who had walked ahead. Then, her lips curved into a faint smile, and she nodded. "Yes, ma’am, I would. Being your personal maid means I must be loyal to you."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she leaned in, lowering her voice. "This mansion may look glorious and quiet on the outside, but inside..." She paused, glancing toward the massive double doors as though afraid someone might overhear.

"We call it the lion’s den." Her words sent cold shiver down my spine, like the edge of a blade.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a figure standing in front of us like a Judge waiting to pass a verdict on a criminal.

"Who's she?" I whispered to the maid, my voice barely audible as I stared at the woman.

"Mr. Calvin's stepmother," the maid replied, bowing quickly before retreating, leaving me alone to face the storm.

I froze, my feet rooted to the ground. Every cautionary tale about wicked stepmothers who acted like dragons came rushing back, and the sharp, disapproving glare on her face confirmed they were more than just stories.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I stepped forward and bowed slightly. My heart pounded as I searched for the right words to say, but all I could manage was a forced smile and a lie.

"Glad to finally meet you, ma'am," I said, my voice wavering. "I've heard so many good things about you."

Her lips curled into a cold, mocking smile as she tilted her head. "Good things, you say?" she drawled, her tone laced with sarcasm. "I have heard about you too, unfortunately, none of it is good."

I swallowed hard, the air around me growing heavier with every word she spoke.

"I don’t see why Calvin would stoop so low to settle for a peasant like you," she continued, her voice sharp and disdainful.

Her words struck me like slap. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I could feel the color drain from my face.

"I understand your concern, ma'am," I managed to say, forcing a polite smile even though my stomach churned. "I'll do my best to make you proud."

She stepped closer, her lips curling into a sneer. "Make me proud?" she hissed, "You think there's anything you or that crippled bastard can do to make me proud?"

Her words felt like acid dripping onto my skin. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to maintain my composure.

"With all due respect, ma'am," I said, my voice steady despite the storm building inside me, "I will not allow you to speak about my husband that way."

She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed in the grand hall. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "But by the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you never signed that marriage contract."

For a moment, I let my mind wander to a fantasy—one where an invisible force delivered the hot slap she so richly deserved. But reality anchored me, and I held my ground as her sharp gaze locked with mine.

Then, a voice broke the tension, familiar yet unexpected.

"Kate!"

I turned and saw him—Calvin—being rolled toward us in his wheelchair. His presence was like a sudden gust of air in a stifling room.