My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 52

Samuel's POV

Yes, I spent the entire week drowning myself in work but I refused to believe I was running away from Fiona, or from whatever demon had compelled me to kiss her like that. That ill-fated kiss. I should have hated her-hate her with everything in me. I was supposed to. But no matter how many reports I signed or meetings I attended, the memory of her lips burned in my mind, tormenting me with how good it had felt.

The betrayal to my own resolve twisted inside me like a knife. I was furious-furious with myself, furious with her for making me feel anything other than contempt. I was losing control, and I hated that.

When I finally felt composed enough to return to the mansion, it was Sunday. I was already stressed from the endless strategizing and work that kept me occupied, but at least it had kept Fiona out of my thoughts for a while. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed something was off. Bruno was outside, directing a couple of workers who were busy sweeping up broken flowerpots. Shards of pottery were scattered around the front of the house and hallway like some kind of battlefield.

I got out of the car, rushing towards Bruno. "What happened? Why wasn't I informed of this?" I demanded, my pulse quickening as the thought of an ambush or break-in crossed my mind.

Bruno, never one to overreact, simply shrugged. "Not an ambush, boss. It was Mrs. Fox... Fiona. She had a bit of a fit earlier."

I blinked, taken aback. "A fit? What kind of fit?"

Bruno nodded toward the mess, confirming that it had all been Fiona's doing. "It's all cleaned up now."

I clenched my jaw, anger simmering beneath the surface. I didn't need this today. I didn't need her and her tantrums. I turned on my heel, striding toward the house.

"Where is she?" I asked, but I was already halfway up the stairs, my blood boiling.

Bruno called after me, "She's upstairs."

I ignored him, too furious to listen. My mind focused instead on reaching my office, my sanctuary. I would deal with Fiona later.

But when I got to my office, my temper flared even hotter. The door wouldn't open. I pushed harder, confusion blending with my irritation. The door budged slightly but then hit something heavy.

"What the hell?" I muttered under my breath. I pushed harder again, finally kicking the door open. It swung inward with a loud crack, but I immediately saw why it had resisted. My massive desk-my solid oak desk-had been moved and jammed up against the door, blocking the entry.

My office was in utter disarray. Papers were scattered everywhere. Files had been knocked over, chairs pushed aside, and my desk, the one that took two men to move, had somehow been dragged across the room to block the door.

"What the fuck happened to my office?!" I yelled, the words reverberating through the mansion.

Bruno, passing by with a broken flowerpot, just gave a small nudge of his head toward the upstairs hallway, clearly indicating Fiona was responsible.

"Fiona!" I roared, ready to tear into her.

But before I could storm up, she appeared at the top of the stairs, a somber look on her face. She descended quietly, her footsteps timid as she approached me. I expected a fight. I expected her to snap back at me like she always did. But instead, she surprised me.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. She glanced at the mess in the office. "I'll fix it. I was... I was angry."

I blinked, thrown off by her unexpected apology. "Angry?" I scoffed. "You destroyed my office! You-" I was still yelling when she interrupted me by rushing into the office, picking up scattered papers and placing broken objects into a trash bag.

She winced when she pricked her finger on a shard of glass, and for a brief moment, I nearly stepped forward to help. But I caught myself, forcing my hands to stay at my sides.

Let her deal with it.

I watched her struggle to move the desk back into position. It was heavy, too heavy for her, and she stumbled, crying out when the corner of it hit her shin. She still tried, though, pushing with everything she had.

I couldn't take it anymore.

"Leave it. I'll have someone else fix this mess," I snapped, walking toward her.

"No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I messed it up. I should fix it."

I grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Enough. I said leave it."

She hesitated but finally released her grip on the desk. I dragged her out of the room and led her to the dining room. She followed quietly, not putting up any resistance. Dinner was served, but we ate in silence, the tension between us thick and suffocating. She excused herself after a few bites, and I could see the tears she was holding back.

I told myself I didn't care. I told myself not to care.

When I entered the master bedroom half an hour later, I found her sitting on the bed, dressed in a thin camisole that left little to my imagination. My chest tightened, but I fought it off, heading to the wardrobe to grab my sleepwear.

"You're staying here?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes," I answered curtly. I wasn't running anymore.

She quickly stood and pulled on a silk robe as though it would protect her. I smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."

Her face fell, and for a moment, I regretted my words. But I shoved the guilt aside and walked into the bathroom, forcing myself to take a cold shower to get her out of my head.

When I came out, she was lying in bed, reading her Bible. I climbed into my side of the bed and looked over at her. "Turn off the light," I muttered coldly. "And stop pretending."

I expected a fight, expected her to snap back like she always did. Instead, she closed the Bible, shut off the lamp, and turned her back to me without a word.

I stared at her silhouette, frustration bubbling inside me. She was different. I didn't know what she was doing, but it was bothering me more than I cared to admit.

I drifted off to sleep, but it didn't last long. The nightmares came again. I woke with a start, my heart pounding, sweat clinging to my skin.

Fiona stirred beside me. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, concern in her voice.

"Nothing," I grumbled, rolling away from her.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of frustration. I treated her poorly on purpose, snapping at her for every little thing. I expected her to fight back, but she didn't. She took everything I threw at her in silence, and it only made me angrier.

By the end of the week, I couldn't stand it anymore. I confronted her in the hallway, my anger boiling over. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm not doing anything," she said quietly, and then, to my utter disbelief, she leaned forward and gave me a small, gentle peck on the cheek telling me to calm down.

That did it. I snapped. "Don't you dare!" I shoved her away, harder than I intended. She stumbled, her head hitting the wall with a sickening thud.

For a moment, everything froze. Fiona touched her head, her fingers coming away red with blood. Her eyes widened in shock, and I stood there, frozen, staring at the blood on her hands.

What had I done?