Caught in the Rainy Season(COMPLETED)

Chapter 30

I followed Miss Garcia up the stairs to the fourth floor, the elevator out of commission. Each step felt heavier, my heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. When we reached the top, the elegance of the surroundings left me momentarily breathless—a stunning display of beauty, radiating sophistication. To our right stood a vast, impeccably clean conference room, its glass walls revealing the organized chaos within. This was where our meeting would unfold.

Miss Garcia opened the door, and there he was—Dameon—sitting at the left side of the room, looking every bit the imposing figure I remembered.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he greeted, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper. He gestured for me to sit beside him.

Miss Garcia excused herself, leaving us in a tense silence, a chasm of unspoken words hanging between us.

“Good afternoon. Let’s get started,” I replied, forcing myself to maintain composure as I opened my laptop, my fingers trembling slightly. I began my presentation, showcasing various furniture styles, layering in details like a painter mixing colors.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. I was grateful we were on better terms now, but there was an undercurrent of unresolved tension, a storm brewing beneath our polite exchanges.

“What’s the theme of your hotel? Where’s your architect to help you choose?” I asked, noting the sudden isolation in the room.

“Why? Am I not capable of choosing designs for my own hotels?” His tone was sharp, a mixture of arrogance and something darker.

“I didn’t say that! I was just asking!” I shot back, my heart pounding, not just from the confrontation but from the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Let’s return to the discussion. What’s your hotel theme? I can recommend some furniture that fits,” I said, turning my laptop toward him, desperate to shift the focus away from our escalating tension.

“We’ll have a boho-style hotel. Wooden furniture would fit better,” he declared, a hint of finality in his voice. I nodded, scribbling down his ideas, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration.

“I’ll send examples of wooden furniture to your Gmail. Or you can visit our company showroom to see our displays,” I suggested, trying to keep my tone light.

“Thank you for today, Miss De Mavicos. Maybe I’ll come to see the showroom and assess the quality,” he replied, his gaze lingering on me, searching for something just out of reach. I stood up, gathering my laptop, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on us.

“Oh, wait! Please send me the exact quantities of furniture you’ll need, so I can prepare them for the contract. And let me know before you come to the company,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, a distant look in his eyes.

I excused myself, returning to my office, where I buried myself in documents from various departments. I needed to escape the haunting echoes of our conversation.

Before I headed home, I attended a meeting with my department heads. Their voices blurred together, but my mind was elsewhere—on the man I had just met, the unspoken words that lingered between us like ghosts.

The following day began like any other. I dropped off Darniesha at school, my heart heavy with the weight of the day ahead. I planned to pick her up later, but a sense of foreboding hung in the air.

As I stood in front of the elevator, my thoughts spiraled. Suddenly, my secretary came rushing toward me, breathless and frantic. “Ms. Taniesha! Thank God you’re here! Mr. Villin has been waiting in your office for almost an hour!”

A chill raced down my spine. What?

“Why is he here so early? We don’t have a meeting!” I exclaimed, confusion and dread swirling within me.

“Maybe it’s about the furniture examples? But I told him to wait for you,” my secretary replied, clearly flustered.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside, the tension thick as fog.

As we walked down the hallway to my office, I felt a pit in my stomach. I pushed open the door, and there he stood, his presence commanding, a tempest in his eyes.

“Why are you here? Did you set an appointment—” I began, but he cut me off, his voice low and intense.

“Can’t we talk inside your office? This is something confidential.” The urgency in his tone sent shivers down my spine.

“Okay, but can’t you calm down first?” I replied, trying to mask my own rising panic.

I opened the door and stepped inside, shocked to see him address my secretary. “Do not let anyone disturb us. We have to talk!” he said firmly, closing the door and locking it behind him.

“What do you want to ta—” I started, but he interrupted me again, the atmosphere crackling with unresolved tension.

“Why did you hide our child from me?” His words hit me like a thunderclap, reverberating through the room, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“What are you talking about?” I stammered, feigning ignorance, my heart racing with panic.

“I’m talking about our child, Darniesha Seane—”

“Are you out of your mind?” I shouted, my facade cracking under the weight of his accusation.

“Oh please, don’t lie to me. Just tell me the truth. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide this from me?” His voice quivered, and he sank to his knees before me, raw and vulnerable.

I instinctively reached to help him up, but his weight, both physical and emotional, bore down on me.

“Get up! Does it hurt knowing someone hid something so important from you?” I yelled, tears streaming down my face, my heart breaking in ways I couldn’t articulate.

“You’re right; it fucking hurts. So please, let’s fix this. Let’s talk about everything.” His voice was a desperate plea.

“If Mom hadn’t slipped up earlier, I still wouldn’t know. Everyone else already knew! I should have been the first!” His anguish was palpable, echoing in the confines of my office.

“I sensed something was wrong from the moment we were on Isla. When did you find out? Can you tell me everything?” I gasped, feeling my resolve begin to crumble.

What the hell had he just said? He suspected something, yet here we were, two people lost in a web of secrets and lies. I had no right to be angry at him; I had chosen to keep this truth hidden.

I shook my head, struggling to find my voice. “Please, not now. I’m not ready to tell you yet. Can you allow me that?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“That’s fine. Just tell me when you’re ready, but can I at least meet her? What’s her name? Mom didn’t tell me,” he pleaded, his tears mingling with a hint of humor that felt painfully out of place.

“I thought this was just a simple meeting. How did we end up crying?” I managed to laugh through my tears, the absurdity of our situation breaking the tension momentarily.

“Sorry for making you cry. I just want to know everything. If you’re not ready to share, I’ll wait, but please understand my feelings…”

“Let’s talk once we’re both ready and willing to listen,” I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

In that moment, I realized I had to do the right thing, not just for me but for us.

Just like damage caused by rain, sometimes we have to wait for the storm to pass before we can begin to repair the wreckage. Trying to fix things amid the tempest only leads to further destruction.

We had both hurt each other deeply. We had both suffered enough. This time, let’s heal together, one step at a time.

When was the last time I truly listened to someone? Why do we focus so much on our own hurt, only to realize later that we were the ones causing pain? Why do we prioritize our feelings over understanding others?

I hoped this time I could set things right—not just according to my own perspective but according to what was genuinely right.