My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 23

Fiona's POV
I stared at the phone, my chest tightening as the line went dead. Clara’s voice echoed in my head, that casual, familiar tone calling Samuel’s name like they were old friends—no, more than friends. I felt the sting of tears at the back of my eyes, but I refused to cry. Not over this. Not over him.

It was better this way, I told myself. Better to know his true character now before I let myself fall for him completely. What was I even thinking, getting involved with an unbeliever? I knew better. My father had been the perfect example of what happens when you ignore the signs, when you compromise your faith for someone who doesn’t share it. I should’ve listened to that little voice inside me from the beginning.

But I didn’t. I let myself get swept up in the way Samuel made me feel—safe, cared for, seen. And now I was paying the price for it.

I set my phone down on the bed, my hands shaking. Almost immediately, it started ringing again. His name flashed across the screen, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to hear whatever excuse he’d try to make, whatever lie he’d tell to explain why Clara was in his hotel room in the middle of the night.

I sat there, counting each ring until it stopped. Then it started again. Another call. And another. By the time I hit nine, the calls finally stopped. Nine times. That was all I was worth to him—nine calls. I scoffed, picking up the phone and clutching it to my chest as if holding it tighter would somehow make the ache go away.

A text came in, and for a split second, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he’d have something real to say, something that would make this all make sense. I opened the message, and my heart sank. *It’s not what you think.*

That was it? That was all he had to say? I let out a short, bitter laugh, tossing the phone aside. I wasn’t going to waste another second on him tonight. If he couldn’t be bothered to fight for me, then maybe I wasn’t worth fighting for in his eyes.

I lay down, trying to shut out the swirling thoughts and emotions, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind replayed the entire evening over and over again, each time leaving me more frustrated, more hurt, more confused. Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, pulling me into a restless, fitful sleep.

---

The next morning, I woke up feeling groggy and drained. I wanted to stay in bed, pull the covers over my head, and pretend the world didn’t exist, but that wasn’t an option. I had responsibilities, work, and meetings that couldn’t wait. So I dragged myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and tried to put on a brave face for the day ahead.

I wouldn’t let Samuel—or Clara—control my life, not today.

When I arrived at the office, my father was already there, sitting casually in my chair with his feet propped up on my desk. I tensed immediately. He didn’t come by often, but when he did, it was never good news. He owned the company, but this was my space, my territory. He had no reason to be here, other than to assert his dominance.

"Morning, sweetheart," he greeted, his smile too wide for comfort.

"Morning," I said, cautiously moving around him to set my things down. "What brings you here?"

He didn’t bother answering right away, just continued lounging in my chair as if he owned the place. Well, technically, he did, but still.

"I’ve arranged a lunch meeting for you today," he finally said, sitting up and folding his hands in front of him. "One of our business partners requested your presence. It’s important, so I expect you to be on your best behavior."

"Which partner?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. Something about his tone felt off, but then again, it always did when he was in a ‘good mood.’

"You’ll find out when you get there," he said dismissively, getting up and walking towards the door. "It’s at *Le Jardin Élégant.* You’re expected at one. Don’t be late."