Roofers.

2. The humble abode.

Scarlett POV.

I got home much later than I'd hoped. The trees blocked out any trace of moonlight as I neared the tall gates of my home. Punching in the code before I trudged up my infinite driveway. It was so dark I could barely see my feet; so cold I could barely remember I had them. The only sign of them was the sound of gravel being crushed beneath my boots. 

In the quiet night, I decided to focus on that and not the distant sound of the owls that soared high above my head from treetop to treetop; I decided to ignore the unsettling sound of bats flapping around in the dark sky — birds of the night, swooping daringly close as they nibbled on the bugs of the air. I walked, regretting the majority of my life's decisions as I panted for air like a love-struck puppy. Clouds of steam billowed from my mouth like the smoke of burning buildings. I'd hoped to be less destructive, but I knew better. 

Ronan Conners was a submissive; he was also highly compatible with me. My mind must have been playing games with me. I've heard sleep deprivation can make you see some weird shit, so maybe that was it.

Even from a distance, I could spot all the grand lights of my house. Glowing in the distance like rays of golden sunlight. Light leaks from the windows and floods the empty driveway. The light escapes into the trimmed garden, sneaking onto the grass and over the shrubs. The closer I got, the more I could recognise all the bright colours of mother's chandeliers. I knew that could only mean my mother was up and waiting for me, and if she was up and waiting for me, then so was Darnell. 

It was too bright, even from out here, to even consider sneaking in without being noticed. No matter how I got into that house, I had to steel myself for my mother to attack me with interrogation. I groaned, nearing the entrance — the way a prisoner would to his cell; every fibre of my being hated what would follow. I'd have to endure yet another of my mother's rants about how it wasn't safe to be walking outside at night, especially when alone. I knew that; I wasn't completely oblivious to the disadvantages that came with being female, but my mother just couldn't fathom the fact that things wouldn't always go as planned. The idea that I would be home any later than she anticipated made her skin green with nausea. She was barely even home most of the time and yet she still felt it necessary to try her hand at micro-managing my life. In addition to that, one would assume paying thousands of dollar's for self-defence classes would put her ease but in reality it only seemed to aggravate it.

I lugged open the heavy doors, a loud heavy creak echoed through the house and in its wake was my mother. She stopped mid-pace, the click of her heels echoed through the grand entrance forcing every eye to herself. Shrouded in a deep burgundy pantsuit that practically worshipped her curvaceous form, her long, relaxed hair had been pulled into a tight bun. She stared at me as if I was an intruder, something other than the happy-go-lucky people-pleaser I used to be. I detested the horror-filled look that pressed to her face. I detested the angry one even more. Her eyes morphed into different things until finally they settled with a sceptical black. Her lips grew tight. Her skin made her look 10 years older than she was, as she raised her brows, forcing wrinkles to her forehead.

My mother was not the type of women to hug, to shower in physical affections was a virtue she didn't possess. Once, I had dreamed of her spreading her arms wide open, cradling me in her warm embrace as she greeted me, but even then, I knew it was a long shot. The kind of fantasy reserved for fleeting dreams. I like to think it was the divorce that had done that to her, made her so disillusioned by the idea of anything that showed outward affection, but that would be a lie. She'd always been like that. Even with father here, she always seemed to lack the kind of nurturing spirit a mother was thought to have. And if this had been some sort of fairy tale, she'd have resembled the likeness of the evil step-mother as opposed to anything else.