I slammed the front door of the mansion behind me, the echo resonating through the empty hallways. The staff wisely kept their distance; they knew better than to approach when I was in one of my moods. My heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as I ascended the grand staircase, each step fueling the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind.
How could she? How could Samantha St. Onge steal the spotlight that was rightfully mine? That catch was supposed to be insignificant, a mere formality in our inevitable victory. Yet there she was, basking in the fleeting admiration of our teammates, her face lit up with that infuriatingly adorable grin.
I reached my bedroom and shut the door firmly. The lavish room did little to soothe me. The silk drapes, the opulent furnishings-they all felt empty right now. Crossing the room, I entered my walk-in closet, pushing aside a row of designer dresses to reveal a hidden door. With a quiet creak, it opened to my sanctuary.
Soft light bathed the secret room, illuminating walls adorned with photographs of Sam. Candid shots of her reading under a tree, laughing at something Hannah said, even moments where she looked lost in thought. I had collected trinkets over the years-a broken bracelet, a forgotten pen, a scrap of paper with her doodles. Each item was a piece of her world that I had carefully preserved.
I traced a finger over one of the photos, her eyes wide behind those glasses, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You have no idea, do you?" I whispered. "No idea how much you mean to me."
Sitting down on a cushioned chair, I allowed myself to be enveloped by the collage of her images. The anger from earlier began to ebb, replaced by a familiar yearning. It was complicated, this feeling. A mix of frustration and affection that I couldn't quite untangle.
"One day, you'll understand," I murmured. "You'll see that we're meant to be."
A soft knock on my bedroom door jolted me from my thoughts. Panic surged through me. Hastily, I exited the secret room, ensuring the door was concealed behind the dresses. Composing myself, I opened the main door to find my mother standing there.
"Scarlett, darling, is everything alright?" Her eyes searched mine, concern etched on her face.
"Fine, Mother," I replied smoothly. "Just a bit tired from practice."
She raised an eyebrow. "You seemed upset when you came in. Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"
I offered a practiced smile. "Really, I'm okay. Just the usual stress before the big championship."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Just remember, you can talk to me if something's bothering you."
"Of course. Thanks." I leaned in to give her a quick hug, more out of obligation than desire.
"Goodnight, Scarlett," she said softly before turning to leave.
Closing the door, I let out a sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was her prying into my life right now. Returning to my closet, I ensured everything was in its rightful place in the secret room before stepping back into my bedroom.
I changed into more comfortable clothes and sat by the window, gazing out at the sprawling gardens bathed in moonlight. My thoughts drifted back to Sam. The way her eyes sparkled when she caught that ball, the flush in her cheeks, the uncharacteristic confidence that radiated from her.
A part of me admired her in that moment, but another part simmered with irritation. She was stepping out of the role I had crafted for her, and that couldn't happen. Our dynamic was delicate, intricate, and any disruption threatened to unravel everything.
Reaching for my journal, I began to write:
"Tonight, Sam shone in a way I've never seen before. It's both captivating and unsettling. She doesn't realize how her actions affect me, how deeply intertwined our fates are. I need to find a way to make her see that we belong together, that no one else can understand her like I do."
I tapped the pen against my chin, contemplating my next move. Perhaps the upcoming trip to Florida would provide the perfect opportunity to guide things back on course.
A faint noise outside caught my attention. Peering out the window, I saw my parents in the garden. My mother was sitting on a bench, her posture tense, while my father stood nearby, speaking in low tones. There was an air of discomfort between them that I couldn't quite place.
Shrugging it off, I closed the journal and set it aside. Family dynamics were complicated enough without me delving into theirs. I had my own concerns to focus on.
Climbing into bed, I allowed myself one last thought of Sam. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to steer things in the right direction.
"Sleep well, Sam," I whispered into the darkness. "Soon, you'll understand everything."
With that, I closed my eyes, a sense of calm washing over me. The path ahead was clear, and I was ready to take the next step.
