Dealt with by the ruthless hands of fate, Kayla and Travis finds themselves in the military, fighting rebels and insurgents, a path they never thought they would take. Find out what happens when these two meet and how they break out of the shackles...
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I stared at the large building. The place where I spent the most part of my life. It's tranquil atmosphere, stirred up a familiar melancholy. The Pharell mansion had never felt like home to me. My memories in this mansion weren't fond ones, they only reminded me of how different my life had become. It's beautifully carved walls, masked spotlessly with white paints were a complete contrast to the ugly memories of the mansion.
February 1999
" I will not marry Mark, father". I jumped, startled by the slamming sound of mom's hand on the dinning table.
"And why is that?". Grandpa growled and stared furiously at mom.
"I am still married to Stefan".
"Stefan is dead!". Grandpa barked, his words, a trenchant knife in my heart.
A lone tear fell from my eyes, to my cheeks, down to my blue jeans, creating a round dark patch with rough edges on the spot where it fell.
"But he's still my husband. Dead or not, my heart will always belong to him and no one else".
"I don't care what you or anyone thinks. I still love and will always love Stefan. So get rid of that obnoxious idea of me remarrying because I'm not, especially not to someone so prideful as Mark".
Mum's words were like chocolate candy and lime. They were bittersweet. Hearing her talk about dad with so much affection warmed my heart, but at the same time, it reminded me of the life and happiness I had lost. We had lost.
"Because he has everything to be proud. You know, it's funny how you always choose losers over great men Katherine. I brought you up better than this".
At Grandpa's words, my head whirled to mom. Her hands on the table fisted into balls, so tight that you could see the outlined veins on her arms. Her eyes flared up with anger. She looked like she was about to pounce on grandpa and for a split second, I thought she would but instead, she lowered her head to the table, the rising and falling motion of her shoulders, an indication of her reining her temper.
"Stefan was and is not a loser". She lifted her head from the table. I flinched inwardly at the ferocity of the anger in her black eyes.
If eyes could kill, grandpa would be dead.
"We both know, he was where he was because of you. That man worked so hard but you used all of your connections against him".
