4

BLAIR'S POV CONTINUES 

“Roaming the streets out here is one of the fifty dumbest things to do,” Brycee said, flinging me on the couch, as soon as we got home. 

I kept my head bowed, avoiding his gaze. He was very furious and I couldn't bear the weight of his anger. 

“And now, thanks to you, I officially have no job,” he said. 

“I'm so sorry,” I apologized, now feeling terribly.

“Let me get a job,” I offered, “do something to help you around here,” I badly wanted to return his kind gesture and fix the damage I had caused. 

“You would do no such thing,” Brycee forbade the idea of me working. 

“Please,” I insisted. 

“No!” Brycee yelled, his voice hitting the top. I was startled, and wondered if we were still on the same topic and what might have tripped him off.

There was thick silence and then his phone began to ring. 

He stared at me, as I waited for him to take his call, instead he headed out, but before he could get to the door, the ringing stopped. 

“Why did you do it?” I questioned in a calm voice, causing him to pause at the door, 

“Why did you fight for me?” I asked.

“Because you were too weak to do it by yourself, you have been all your life,” he replied and went out, closing the door firmly after him. 

I watched him walk away through the window. 

“Thank you,” I whispered, sinking further into mushiness. 

My eyes caught the newest apple phone in his hands, as he walked away trying to return the call he received. 

‘How could he even afford that?’ I knew how much all of my father's staff were paid, since part of my job was making sure they were all paid. Father and mother didn't want to relate with the staff.

It would take Brycee a year and a half salary to be able to afford that. 

‘Was Brycee a thief?’ The thought crossed my mind. He was poor and lived in the slum, but could afford luxury drinks and expensive gadgets. ‘or perhaps he was a fraudster?’ 

Fear ran through my every nerve at the possibility that I was married to a thief, or worse off, that he was stealing from my father. I watched him talk on the phone until he was eventually out of sight. 

‘What are you up to Brycee?’ I queried. 

I went to the room, searching for any clue I could possibly find, or enough evidence to incriminate him.

‘If I blew his cover and exposed his stealing to my father, then I wouldn't have to be married to him and my parents would be grateful to me for saving them, and perhaps now love me,’ I thought. 

The thought of exposing Brycee to fix the relationship between my parents and I fueled the energy with which I turned the whole house around, in search of incriminating evidence, but found nothing.

‘Something had to be fishy about Brycee, for a domestic staff member, he was very audacious and bossy,’ my thoughts were running wild. He had been working with my father for three years now, but we knew very little about him, or his family or where he was from. 

I began to hear a vibrating sound and traced it to the table in the living room. I answered the phone and placed it quietly on my ear. 

“Brycee,” I recognized the caller as the chief domestic staff at father's mansion, “Mr. and Mrs. Williams asked that you report to the house immediately,” he said, “you have fifteen minutes to do so, else the consequences are grave,” he added, and immediately ended the call, even before I said a word. 

It looked like my parents beat me to discovering that Brycee had been taking from them and living a flamboyant life, even though on the outside, we could barely afford food. 

A felt a pinch of sadness in my heart, I didn't want Brycee to go to jail. I didn't know what it was, but I know I had a strong emotional connection towards him and still hoped we were able to make sense of our marriage, especially since he stood up for me against my parents. 

‘I had to warm him,’ I thought, ‘We should run away from them,’ 

I hurried to the room to grab my shoes, hoping to run after him. 

I searched for the second pair, but couldn't find it. I placed my hand under the bed and my hand hit a button at the side wood, under the bed. 

My eyes widened in shock as a drawer began to slowly pull out from the bedside. Inside the drawer was a medium sized wooden box. 

The box was lined in gold and looked very expensive. 

“What are you hiding Brycee?” I said, flipping the box lid. 

The box contained papers, important company documents located at Winchester. 

‘I knew it! A fraudster,’ I thought. I had gotten the incriminating evidence I needed, or so I thought.

As I took the papers out of the box, an I.D card fell from the paper bunch. 

The I.D carried Brycee’s picture and as I read through, alongside the other documents in the box, my heart skipped a beat.

“Who are you, Brycee? or should I even call you that?” I questioned under my breath, sitting on the floor, with his mystery box in front of me.