My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 8 (edited version)

Fiona's POV

Back in the limo, I sat beside Mr. Fox, arms crossed, and refused to say a word to him. The frustration that simmered inside me threatened to boil over at any moment, but I kept it at bay, maintaining a cold silence.

For the first few intense minutes, he asked me a couple of business-related questions. I answered with nothing but dead silence, shooting him icy glares every time he attempted to make conversation. Eventually, he caught on, and we both settled into an uncomfortable quiet for the rest of the ride back to my place. It was awkward, yes, but I was too irritated to care.

As soon as the limo pulled up in front of my house, I reached for the door handle, eager to escape this suffocating situation.

"Wait for the driver to open the door," Mr. Fox commanded in that imperious tone of his, as though he expected me to obey without question.

I threw him a sharp look, not even bothering to hide my contempt. Without a word, I opened the door myself, ignoring his little power play. Stepping out confidently, I began walking briskly towards my front door, desperately wanting to put the evening behind me. I was done, so done with today.

Behind me, I heard his voice call out, "Don't you think it's rude to just walk off from your date?"

I paused mid-step, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. Of course, he wasn’t going to let this go. Turning around, I saw him standing a few feet behind me, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, as if he belonged there, right outside my door. Apparently, he'd followed me out of the car and all the way to my front door.

"First off, Mr. Fox," I said, keeping my voice even, "I ceased to be your date the moment you dragged me out of that party."

"Ha!" he interrupted, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. "Finally, she speaks!"

I glared at him, thoroughly annoyed. "You stopped being my date when you acted like a caveman back there."

"And yet," he replied smoothly, taking a step closer, "I still brought you back home."

I stared at him, incredulous. "Well, you took me to the party, so it's only right you brought me back."

He took another casual step towards me, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "But since you claim you were no longer my date, bringing you back home wasn't exactly my obligation, now was it?"

His smirk deepened, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Mr. Fox, you're absolutely insufferable," I snapped, spinning around and punching in the passcode for my door. The door clicked open, and I let out a breath of relief as I stepped inside, hoping to finally rid myself of him, at least for the night.

I slammed the door behind me with a satisfying thud, taking off my shoes as I walked into the house. My body ached from the long evening, and my mind swirled with the chaotic events of the night. By the time I made it upstairs and began undressing for a quick shower, I heard the distant hum of Mr. Fox’s limo pulling away from my driveway. Finally.

The hot water felt like heaven as it washed away the stress of the evening. I stayed under the shower a little longer than necessary, hoping it would help me clear my head. When I finally stepped out, I wrapped myself in a large towel, letting my damp hair fall loosely over my shoulders. I threw on an oversized shirt to serve as pajamas and headed downstairs to grab something to eat.

My stomach growled in protest, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten much all day. I had been too nervous to eat before the party and too occupied introducing Mr. Fox to people during the event to even think about food.

Just as I was about to pull my meal out of the microwave, I heard a voice that sent chills down my spine.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings."

I let out a startled shriek, spinning around to find Mr. Fox casually leaning against the kitchen doorframe, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Oh my God!" I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly smug. "And you scare easy, I see," he remarked.

"I do not scare easy!" I snapped back, though I was still shaken from his sudden appearance. "You just—popped up out of nowhere! How did you even get into my house?"

Ignoring my question, he strolled into the kitchen with that same infuriating swagger, as if he owned the place. I backed up instinctively as he approached, but there was nowhere for me to go—my back pressed up against the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice edged with nervousness.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached past me, gently nudging me aside to open the microwave.

"Move over," he muttered, his tone far too casual given the situation.

I watched, bewildered, as he pulled out my dinner—a simple plate of mac and cheese—and began dishing it out as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"We’re having mac and cheese tonight, are we?" he mused, already serving two plates—one for him and one for me.

I blinked, my confusion only deepening. "Mr. Fox," I said, exasperation dripping from every syllable, "you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing in my house?"

He took a bite of his food before responding, barely sparing me a glance. "No, I believe your original question was how I got into your house."

"Does it really matter which question I asked first?" I replied, throwing up my hands in frustration. "You broke into my house, you’re eating my food—an explanation would be nice!"

"Alright, alright," he said, holding up a hand as though to placate me. "I’ll answer your questions…in time."

"In time?!" I echoed, my voice rising in disbelief. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I’ll tell you when I feel like it," he answered with a smirk that made my blood boil.

I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him with every ounce of irritation I could muster. "And when, exactly, will your highness feel like explaining yourself?"

He paused dramatically, as though considering the question. "Hmm…right about now."

"How fortunate for me," I muttered sarcastically, crossing my arms.

"You asked how I got in," he began, leaning against the counter like we were having a casual chat. "The answer’s simple: you punched in your passcode right in front of me. ‘One through six,’ Fiona? Really? Even a child could figure that one out."

I stared at him, completely thrown off by his audacity. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Oh, don’t get me wrong," he said, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "I meant ‘simple’ in the bad sense, not the good kind. As in—simpleton."

I gasped, my mouth falling open at his insult. "Did you seriously just—?"

But before I could finish, he cut me off again. "Anyway, I let myself in because I realized I didn’t have the chance to say that despite tonight’s…challenges…" He paused, his gaze flickering to mine, and for a moment, his expression softened. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine, and I froze under the intensity of his stare. “…I appreciate your help.”

My heart skipped a beat as he leaned in, his arm snaking around my waist. His face was mere inches from mine, and I could feel his breath brush my lips. For a second, I thought he might—

"...And," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, "burn that godd*mn dress you wore tonight."

With that, he pulled away abruptly, leaving me standing there in stunned silence.

"Good night, Fiona. My driver’s waiting," he added, his voice cool and composed once more. Without another word, he walked out of the kitchen and, moments later, I heard the front door close behind him.

I stood frozen in the kitchen, my mind reeling from the whirlwind of events that had just transpired. What on earth had just happened?

Was I losing my mind…or was everyone else?