My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 29

Fiona's POV

The evening had drawn long, and I found myself drifting between anxious thoughts and moments of clarity. Samuel was supposed to be here by now. I had dressed casually, unsure of how our conversation would go tonight. It seemed like every time we spoke, things became more layered, more complicated. My thoughts kept circling back to the last few days—his cryptic behavior, the sudden shifts in his mood. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly off.

I checked my phone again, scanning for any messages or missed calls from him. Nothing. I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch, feeling the weight of the uncertainty between us. It was exhausting, always wondering if I could truly trust him, always questioning if he would open up and let me into his world.

I closed my eyes for what I thought was just a moment, but when I awoke, the room was dark, save for the glow of a streetlight filtering through the curtains. The soft knocking at the door startled me. I glanced at the clock—he was late. Much later than I expected.

Rubbing my eyes, I rushed to the door and opened it to find Samuel standing there. Despite his usual air of confidence, there was something different about him tonight. He leaned slightly on one side, like he was trying to mask an injury or fatigue. His face, though composed, showed signs of strain. The exhaustion clung to him in a way I’d never seen before.

"Samuel, are you alright?" I asked, my voice filled with concern as I stepped aside to let him in.

He waved off my worry, walking past me like he hadn’t a care in the world. "I'm fine, Fiona. You’re imagining things."

But I wasn’t imagining it. His steps were a little slower, his movements more deliberate. He seemed to wince slightly as he took a seat on the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. Still, I didn’t press him. Samuel was a master at deflecting questions, especially when it came to his well-being. But I wasn’t blind.

“So,” I began, trying to shake off the tension. “Are we ever going to have a normal conversation, or is every one of our talks going to feel like a therapy session?” I teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

He smirked, though it seemed a little forced. “Maybe that’s just the con of dating an older guy.”

I laughed softly, grateful for the chance to ease into things. “I don’t know. You’re the one who used to call me ‘little girl’ all the time, remember old man?”

He arched an eyebrow at me, a playful glint in his eye. “I'm really not that old.”

“Still older,” I shot back.

We bantered back and forth for a few minutes, and it was nice to feel a sense of normalcy between us. But I could tell he wasn’t fully engaged. His responses were slower, and his usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever weight was pressing on him tonight. Eventually, we moved on to more serious topics, and I felt the conversation shift into that familiar, heavy space that always seemed to creep up on us.

"Samuel, where have you been tonight?" I asked, my tone soft but firm. I wasn’t accusing him, but I needed answers.

He shrugged, his gaze slipping away from mine. "Business," he said vaguely, as always. His answers never seemed to hold any detail, any depth. It was as though he was trying to keep me at arm’s length, and I hated it.

"Business?" I echoed, arching an eyebrow. "Are you sure you weren’t with Clara?"

The mention of Clara’s name made him tense visibly. "No," he said firmly. "I wasn’t with Clara."

I watched him carefully, trying to read his face, his body language. He didn’t seem like he was lying, but there was something else. Something he wasn’t telling me. He leaned forward, his expression softening slightly, though his fatigue was evident.