My Vengeful-Ex

Chapter 39

Four and a half years ago. 

Christina 

I was curled up on my side below the sheets on my bed. Three weeks passed since Dad's death, and I was still to come to terms with it. My Uncle and Aunt had been trying their best to cheer me up, along with their two sons, who were both older than me but had been failing. 

Mom had left Dad for another man when I was a toddler. I didn't remember her much, apart from her blonde hair and blue eyes. She was beautiful, especially in those tutu dresses she wore to practice ballet. 

Those dresses still existed in our home, packed and stored inside cartons in the attic. Dad loved her. It was clear because he never married after their divorce. Even though my grandmother insisted on him a lot, he was one of the few remaining Dukes in England, and my grandmother wanted him to have a male heir who could inherit his estate. 

My grandmother raised me after Mom left. For her, I was just a duty. She never loved me because I reminded her of the woman who broke her son's heart. Dad was always busy expanding his business and working on his political career. He barely had time for me. We only met once every Sunday. 

He used to come down to Clairings once on the weekend to look after the estate's affairs and would return to London the same night. If not for my grandmother's death, I would have stayed in Clairings forever. 

She suffered a fatal heart attack one stormy night and succumbed to it after two days in the hospital. Dad had no choice but to take me to London along with him. I was ten years old and scared even of my shadow. It got difficult for me to adjust to life in London. 

Private tutors had homeschooled me because Grandmother didn't like me to go to a public school and mingle with the commoners. Dad enrolled me in the Royal English Academy, the best school in London. It was no surprise for me that I struggled to make any friends at school. 

I had barely been around any kids my age my entire life, and when I had been forced into the situation, I was not able to cope with it. It was my fourth day at the school when I had been crying on a bench in the courtyard of the townhouse, in which I lived with my father after I returned from school. 

Someone cleared their throat beside me, and I looked up at the person in embarrassment, and my eyes met with a pair of deep brown orbs. The owner of those deep brown eyes stared at me with his eyes filled with concern and suppressed curiosity.  

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand in mortification. I never expected someone to catch me in the act of crying. I thought the courtyard was my sanctuary. 

 "Are you okay?" The boy asked in a concerned voice. 

I nodded in reply, getting up from the bench with a jerk. I wanted to run from there as soon as possible. Grandmother always scolded me when I cried. She used to tell me Williams never portrayed their emotions in front of anyone. 

In my panic, I had forgotten that I was sitting with a book on my lap, which fell to the ground when I stood up.  We both reached for the book simultaneously, and our heads bumped.  

"Sorry," I apologized immediately. 

"It's okay," the boy assured politely, then picked up the book from the ground. 

He pushed to his feet and then dusted off the dirt from the book. Holding out his hand for me, he studied me with mild curiosity. I stared at him in puzzlement momentarily, then placed my hand over his.  He pulled me to my feet, and for the first time, I took in his attire. He wore the navy blazer of the Royal English. My eyes widened in surprise. 

"Who are you?" I was startled. 

Had he followed me there from the school? But how had he managed to enter the house with all the security? 

"I am Logan," the boy replied in a casual tone. 

Logan? 

I had never heard Dad or Grandmother mentioning this name to me. Then who was he, and what was he doing in my house? 

"You don't know me?" He inquired, assessing my expressions. 

I shook my head in a no, and Logan's brows furrowed in deep thought, "My Mom might have mentioned me," he said after a few moments. 

I bowed my head from embarrassment. After Grandmother's death, I had not been myself. So, I had no idea if anyone had mentioned Logan before me after I came there to stay with my father. 

Even though Grandmother never loved me or showed me affection, she was the only person I grew up knowing. The only people apart from her I was allowed to speak with were my tutors. 

Grandmother had taught me from a young age that Williams never fraternized with house help. I was always kept away from the children of the employees who worked on the estate. Once, when I had wandered off to their quarters and began playing with the daughters of one of the maids, Grandmother had starved me for two days as punishment. 

I had never attempted to do anything like that ever again in my life. I only spoke to the servants when I needed something and kept myself busy with my studies and piano practice. 

"I am the son of your housekeeper, Marie," Logan spoke, noticing my perplexed state. 

My eyes shot up to him in alarm. I wasn't supposed to speak to the children of the house staff. What if someone saw me talking to him? 

"I have to go," I turned and ran without wasting a second more. 

That was my first meeting with Logan. At that time, I had no idea that I would grow close to him over the years. I missed Logan and wished he was there with me in that difficult time instead of the Netherlands, where he was doing his Masters in Architecture at Tu Delft. 

Marie, his mother, died a few years back when he was doing his Bachelor's at University College London. He had moved out of our house after he completed high school but used to visit every weekend until Marie's death. 

After her death, his visits got less frequent, and we drifted apart. Marie's death had been an accident; she had slipped from the stairs, and the back of her head had hit the wrought iron railing. She died on the way to the hospital, and Logan was never the same again. 

His mother's death had affected him a lot, and the lack of any other relatives pushed him into isolation. I missed Logan and his caring side. I hadn't only lost Marie but Logan too.    

A knock sounded on my bedroom door, and I sat up, pushing the sheets lower. Harold, my cousin and Uncle's younger son, entered my room. 

"Christina, someone is here to meet you," he informed me. 

I stared at him, puzzled. No one ever visited me at home. I still didn't have any friends at the University, only acquaintances. Logan was the only friend that I ever had in my entire life. 

"Who is it?" I asked, slipping out of bed. 

"Someone named Logan," Harold answered.

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