"Get your ass over here right now, Amelia!" Mrs. Andrews, Amelia's stepmother, yelled. Amelia, who was diligently washing dishes in the small wooden kitchen, hurried as fast as her legs could carry her to the living room.
Mrs Andrews was seated on the sofa, clutching a glass of orange juice and a plate of snacks while engrossed in the television. Her daughter, Leah, sat beside her, rolling her eyes disdainfully at Amelia's approaching figure.
"Will you walk faster? Just take a look at how sluggish and slow she is," Leah rolled her eyes as she stared disgustingly at Amelia who was walking faster to the sitting room.
Amelia had been orphaned when her mother passed away, an unforgettable event that would forever linger in her memory—her eighth birthday.
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FLASHBACK
The Andrews' residence was adorned with vibrant flowers and colourful lights. The living room exuded a festive ambience. The table showcased a beautifully decorated vanilla cake, proudly written,
“Amelia is eight today.”
Little Amelia had just finished getting ready for her birthday celebration, her heart yearning for her favourite treat, ice cream. She dashed toward her mother, who was busy preparing food for the occasion in the kitchen.
"Mom," Amelia called out confidently, capturing her mother's attention as she turned around to admire her daughter's beauty.
"Oh, wow! Aunty Eunice did an amazing job making you look so pretty," her mother exclaimed, crouching down to Amelia's level.
"Mom?" Amelia called, seeking her mother's undivided attention.
“Yes, my lovely angel," her mother responded.
"I need strawberry ice cream. Can you get it for me?" Amelia pouted, and her mother lovingly cupped her cheeks.
"I will get it for you, but the rain doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. As soon as it clears up, I'll bring you several cones of ice cream," her mother explained, hoping to satisfy Amelia's craving. However, Amelia shook her head adamantly.
"I want it now, Mom. Please, get me strawberry ice cream," Amelia insisted, causing her mother to sigh. If she didn't agree, Amelia would persist until she got her way.
"Okay, fine. I'll go get it for you," her mother relented, turning off the gas and removing her apron before heading out of the kitchen with Amelia. She retrieved her purse and umbrella from her room.
From then till the present, Amelia never met her mother again. Oh! How she wished she hadn't pushed her mother to get her ice cream. Maybe, just maybe, her mother would still be alive today.
END OF FLASHBACK
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Amelia entered the sitting room and lowered her head.
"You called me, Mom," she said softly. Mrs Andrew stood up abruptly and delivered a deafening slap across Amelia's cheek. The pain was so intense that tears welled up in her eyes instantly.
"Who the hell do you think you are calling me 'mom'? You killed your mother, remember?" Mrs. Andrew never missed an opportunity to remind Amelia of her alleged role in her mother's death. For the past fourteen years, Amelia had carried the burden of guilt, blaming herself for the tragic incident.
Every year on her birthday, Amelia was reminded of the terrible consequences that followed her innocent craving for ice cream.
She whispered,
"I'm sorry, ma," as her voice trembled. Her stepmother and stepsister had never treated her with kindness. But then again, Amelia couldn't expect much from a household where her father consistently sided with her stepmother, holding Amelia responsible for her mother's untimely death.
Amelia's body was covered in a patchwork of bruises, both fresh and old wounds. She yearned to escape the torment of her home, yet she had nowhere to run to even if she tried. The guilt she carried, the guilt that consumed her, stemmed from the belief that she caused her mother's death. Her father and stepmother only intensified her anguish.
"I want spaghetti and meatballs. Prepare it for me," Mrs Andrew commanded before settling back into her seat. Leah, her stepsister, turned her attention to Amelia with a devilish smile and added,
“I want broccoli and salad. You have fifteen minutes, or there will be consequences. You will be as good as dead," Leah said and shifted her focus to the television, treating Amelia as if she were a mere robot.
Amelia had been ten years old when her father married her stepmother. Based on their age difference, Leah must now be around nineteen. The surge of anger that engulfed Amelia was immeasurable. She felt utterly helpless, unable to fight back. But what could she do? The answer was nothing.
Preparing two meals simultaneously seemed an impossible task. Amelia was not superhuman with the ability to multitask. After all, she was just a girl with two hands.
Amelia slowly made her way back to the kitchen, knowing that she needed to prepare the food quickly before she became a punching bag, as usual. With determination, she managed to prepare the meal within the given time range. A surge of excitement washed over her because, for once, she wouldn't face punishment for taking too long.
Carefully, Amelia served the meals on the dining table. She was aware that Leah despised any form of dirt; she had a reputation for being a clean freak. Mother and daughter took their respective seats and began to eat. Just as Leah was about to take a bite, she noticed a single drop of spaghetti on the table.
Instantly, her expression changed, and anger boiled within her.
Most people wouldn't get angry at the sight of a small food spill, but Leah was different. Even a single grain of rice could turn the house into a fiery furnace. Amelia's legs trembled where she stood, peeping. She knew she was at the mercy of her wicked stepmother and stepsister.
"Amelia!" Leah screamed, and in response, Amelia dashed to the dining room as fast as her legs could carry her.
"What the hell is this?" Leah shouted, her hard gaze piercing into Amelia, who stood speechless. Amelia's lips trembled, desperately searching for the right words to say, but nothing came out.
Suddenly, a voice rang out, a voice Amelia had never wished to hear in her entire life.
"What is going on here?"
Today seemed destined to be another day of pain. Amelia often wondered if her father had ever truly loved her. Before her mother's untimely death, he had been affectionate, caring, and kind. But everything changed on that fateful day she gave up her ghost. Her father approached the dining room table with slow, deliberate steps, and Leah rushed to his side. "Dad, she spilled spaghetti all over the table, and you know how much I can't stand it," Leah said, clutching his arm tightly. His gaze shifted back to Amelia, who kept her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his piercing stare. "Is it true?" he questioned, moving closer to where she stood, causing her to tremble involuntarily. "I... I... didn't..." Amelia's words were cut off abruptly as a sharp slap struck her cheek, leaving a painful stinging sensation. She instinctively cradled her throbbing cheek with trembling hands. "You're a witch. You always bring disaster wherever you go. Can't you be less evil?" her father spat
"What do you think you are about to do?" Caleb asked nonchalantly. He tightened his grip and forcefully collected the fork from her, and then slapped her. Natalia fell hard on the floor, holding her cheeks that were already bruised. Streaks of blood flowed down her lips. Caleb stared at her in disdain and watched her as she hid her face behind her lush and full hair. "Were you trying to stab me? With a fork? You must be delusional," he spat in anger. Crouching before her, one knee bent, he grabbed her jaw and looked deeply into her eyes. "Listen and listen good, fool. You live here and you live by my rules. I don't care what you do or what happens to you, just stay away from me," he said before proceeding to go upstairs. "And one last thing.....," he said, halting in his steps. "Don't you ever lay your filthy hands on me," he warned coldly before walking away nonchalantly. The maids volunteered to help her stand up, but she refused, curling herself in a heap on the floor. She ne
As Amelia lay on her tiny bed, she tried to distract herself from the evil thoughts that loomed. Immediately she heard footsteps approaching her room, she clutched her bed sheet tight in fear. It was worn out, and any single drag or strain could tear it. "Amelia!!!" her step-sister screamed from her doorpost. "Yes I'm here," Amelia answered, rushing towards her, hands and feet quivering in fright. She could feel her heart beat at an abnormal rate. "I want you to whip me up something good and tasty. The dinner you made was the worst I've ever eaten," she said. "Yes, I can," Amelia answered. "I wasn't asking for your permission or objection either. It's an order and I want it to be done with immediate effect," she said while stomping her feet. "Okay," Amelia quickly dashed into the kitchen in a confused state. Her step-sister didn't tell her what exactly she wanted to eat. "Something nice and sweet," Amelia said, murmuring to herself. She set out to prepare to rinse a pan. She
Caleb Kensington was in turmoil. His usually suave look was distorted, his curly, black hair ruffled by his long, strong fingers, and his shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned.“If my wife could see me now, she would surely faint from shock,” he mused. “If only I knew where she was,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that night.The past hour had been quite confusing when the alarm had sounded, drawing him out from the depths of his slumber just minutes after he had slept off after returning from work. Everyone had dashed around, thinking it was a break-in, but the guard’s thorough search had yielded nothing. There was no intruder in the house. Fury had swamped him at the thought that someone had played a prank on him.“Could it be that the false alarm had been to distract them from the true purpose?” He pondered, a thunderous scowl on his handsome, chiselled face, as a thought occurred to him.Where was his wife? Despite all the panic, Natalia ha
“Hello, ma’am,” the voice said in a low, barely audible voice. “Hello?” Abigail Sinclair answered cautiously, seated at the dressing table in her room and admiring her reflection in the mirror on the wall. “It’s me, ma’am. The maid,” the voice whispered. Abigail rolled her eyes in disgust at the sound of heavy breathing coming through the phone.“Yes, so?” She asked impatiently. These peasants can be annoying. Why was she identifying herself? Didn’t she know anyone could have hacked and traced the call? Abigail fought the urge to yell at her. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool because it would make the maid skittish. She had gone through so much trouble to gain her tenuous trust and get her to spy for her. Really, it was amazing what someone could achieve with money. “The miss, she is…” she trailed off. Abigail immediately sat upright, her beautiful face becoming twisted as she widened her eyes and held the table before her in a white-knuckled grip. “Yes? Speak, you silly gir
"Oh! It's nice of you. I will make it to the restaurant before you, trust me. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting, you know you mean the world to me," Adrain, Natalia's boyfriend, said over the phone. "I love you, Greg. I just can't wait to get this divorce signed, so we can finally be together once again,” Natalia concluded as she ended the call, making her way to the sitting room. Seated in the lavish sitting room was Caleb Kensington, the youngest billionaire in all of Italy. He possessed a dangerous aura that repelled people, yet simultaneously drew them in with his captivating and handsome appearance. Many young ladies would do anything for him, but unfortunately, he was married. To the world, he appeared as a married man, but to his wife Natalia Lawson, and the household, it was no true marriage. A union devoid of love cannot be deemed a marriage. A relationship where the husband treats his wife like a slave is far from a marriage, and most significantly, when the husband ha