10

The industrial-sized dryer in the laundry room was the only thing keeping Giselle grounded. She was sorting through a pile of cloths when her phone vibrated.

It was a group call: Lawrose and Serayah.

"Hi, guys," Giselle said, her voice weary.

"Hold it right there," Lawrose snapped. "Serayah, repeat what you just told me. Word for word."

"Giselle," Serayah’s voice came through, sounding worried. "You spent two days in my house after you came back from the hotel. You promised to go to that house, grab your bags, and come back the same day. It has been almost a week. Why are you still there?"

"Oh! Okay guys listen, I have an explanation for that," Giselle began.

"I don’t want to hear it!" Lawrose shouted. "Serayah, what is the clinical name for victims who cling to the people who torture them? The ones who fall in love with their abusers?"

"Stockholm Syndrome," Serayah answered solemnly.

"Exactly!" Lawrose went on a rampage. "Giselle, you are suffering from a textbook case of Stockholm Syndrome. You need to wake up before Chase destroys whatever is left of your soul. Damn it! I saw you that night at the bar. You were a shell of a person. Are you really back to giving sugar to an ant that doesn't appreciate you, but only exists to drain you?"

"Preach, Law," Serayah added. Even though she barely agreed with anything Lawrose said, but in that moment she was solidly behind him.

It was only Lawrose that could get the message across to Giselle in a way that she never could.

"Listen to me!" Giselle yelled into the phone, her voice echoing off the laundry room. "The man lives in this house!"

The line went dead silent for three seconds.

"Who?" Serayah and Lawrose asked in unison.

"The man from the bar," Giselle whispered, looking over her shoulder at the laundry room door to see if anybody was approaching or closeby, but there was nobody. "The man I had the one-night stand with. The one Lawrose dared me to kiss? Yes! He lives in this damn house."

"What the hell?" Lawrose shrieked. "What is he doing in the Hemingway estate? Oh Jesus steady testing us? What in the name of my botched ass hole is he doing there? Giselle, tell me you didn't..."

"No," Giselle said, her breath hitching. "He’s my father-in-law. He’s Richard Hemingway. Chase’s biological dad!”

“Now that’s tea!” Lawrose exclaimed. His own way of saying you dont mean it!.

"No!" Serayah gasped. "Giselle, tell me you are joking."

“Chile… you have been holding out this tea for how long? So when were you going to tell us huh?” Lawrose said.

"The good thing to an extent is that he doesn't remember—not exactly," Giselle continued frantically. "The first day I met him was when the day I came to collect my things and Chase introduced him to me in the study, he said I looked familiar. He says he knows my face but can't place it. He’s been staring at me all week, guys. It’s... it’s that intense."

"What else are you doing there then?" Lawrose demanded. "If it's that awkward, why haven't you made a run for the hills?"

"Giselle, leave that house now," Serayah urged. "Get your things and leave with your dignity before he puts the pieces together. You do not want to be the daughter-in-law who throws herself at strangers in hotel bars. If he remembers, he will ruin you. Lawrose this was all your fault, I advised against this, now see!."

"Oh hold up right there miss goody two shoes, I am not to be blamed now. Giselle is a grown woman. Whatever she did that night is what a grown woman would do! And on a lighter note, I don't care what the old man thinks," Lawrose added. "I want my sister girl out of that house before Chase does something else to hurt her."

"I can't!" Giselle cried. "I’m stuck. My father in law used his connections to halt the divorce proceedings. He even told me the it would hurt the company’s—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Her hand had drifted to a white button-down shirt of Chase’s at the bottom of the basket. It was the shirt she had given on their first wedding anniversary. On the collar was a smear of lipstick. It wasn't her nude pink. It was a loud, trashy scarlet. She did not and has never worn a scarlet lipstick and it hurt her because she immediately recalled how much she saved to get that shirt for him as a gift.

"Hurt what, Giselle?" Serayah asked. "Giselle?"

"I have to go," Giselle said, her voice turning cold. "I’ll call you back."

"Giselle, don't you dare hang up—" Lawrose spoke up.

She cut the call. The rage that had been simmering for a week finally boiled over.

She grabbed the shirt, balled it up in her fist, and stormed out of the laundry room.

She found Chase in the main hallway, checking his reflection in a gilded mirror. Like he was about to go out.

"You arrogant, disgusting pig!" Giselle screamed, throwing the shirt at his face.

The shirt hit him and fell to the floor. Chase looked down at it, then back at her, a flash of fury ran through his facial expresssion before slowly dissolving into mocking smirk spreading across his lips when he saw the lipstick stain. He took his best guess and knew the stain was why she was angry and he hurt her.

"Found a souvenir, did you?" Chase asked. He didn't even look guilty. Not one single bit and that made her so angry.