Fuck Off.

WILLIAM 

“Am I a joke to you?” I asked in frustration, slamming my hand on the door but his confused expression didn't waver, his brows tight in confusion.

“Did you bring me here to interrogate me or something? Listen, I know you probably don't like me because I'm marrying your mom all of a sudden—”

“I don't care!” I yelled, interrupting him but suddenly froze when I heard footsteps approach my room.

Shit, my stepmom must have heard my little outburst.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, pushing the door open and I gulped nervously as I nodded in response.

“Since we'll be living together, I wanted to get to know him better. So I asked him to help me pack.” I lied, and she narrowed her eyes at me before reaching for Michael, whose eyes softened as he looked at her.

That was how he looked at me weeks ago. Was it all for show?

“Come on, help me pack instead. He can handle himself.” She muttered, shooting me a glare before leaving with Michael and all I could do was stare at the door in despair.

I had spent three weeks trying to find him. I waited for him every day. And all he could do was pretend not to know me?

They didn't even care to know if I wanted to leave or not. And I knew better than to complain. My stepmom wouldn't have a problem with locking me up in the basement for the rest of my life while she lived happily with her stupid husband.

With slumped shoulders, I dragged out my luggage and stuffed my clothes in, not bothering to fold them accordingly. I threw in everything I owned, including the new dildo I had bought, all thanks to Mr. Mystery Man.

“A family, my ass,” I muttered to myself, wanting nothing more than to scream in frustration.

Whenever I wanted something so desperately, life always found an awful way to take it away from me and spit in my face.

After making sure I got everything, I glanced at the room once more and finally dragged my luggage out, slamming the door shut. I could hear them laughing with each other as he helped her take her luggage out and I let out a sigh, following after them.

“Here, I'll help you,” Michael said, reaching out to help me but I ignored him, pulling my suitcase to what looked like his car. Of course, he was rich; he paid a fortune to mess with me.

I dumped my luggage in the trunk and got into the car without uttering a word because if I opened my mouth, I was sure I would scream at the top of my voice.

The drive was awfully long and I placed my face on the window, watching as houses and trees moved as we sped down the road. I was grateful for my headphones that drowned out their happy voices but occasionally, I would find Michael staring at me through the rearview mirror.

When the car finally came to a stop at what looked like a penthouse, I let out a relieved sigh as I stepped out. My butt was beginning to protest from how long I sat and my legs almost felt numb from sitting for almost five hours.

“Careful, Carolina,” Michael said to my stepmom as he helped her out of the car and I rolled my eyes in annoyance. She rolled her luggage with her as she skipped into the house excitedly while I struggled with getting mine out of the trunk.

“Let me help—”

“Fuck off.” I spat, my tone bitter as I dragged the luggage out and the force knocked me backward, sending me to the ground.

Mystery man caught me that night when I almost fell. Michael didn't. 

I hated whatever was going on because my eyes actually watered at the thought of it. I was so stupid to have gotten so obsessed with my one-night stand.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked in worry as he stretched his hand to me and I swatted it away, pulling myself off.

“I told you. Fuck. Off.” I muttered harshly, blinking back the stupid tears in my eyes as I dragged my luggage with me inside my new house. Who knew what abuse I would face in here too?

I wasn't mad about the fact that he was marrying my stepmom. Okay, maybe I was because Carolina didn't deserve anything good. Not after what she did to me.

But what pissed me off the most was how he was pretending not to recognize me. It was killing me. I dreamed of him every night, prayed to see him one more time and this is what I got in response.

How ironic.

My stepmom walked around like she was familiar with the place and honestly, it didn't surprise me. If they were engaged, of course she would have been to his place a million times.

“Your room is right next to ours,” Michael announced as I made my way upstairs. “Last room to the right. If you don't like it, feel free to tell me.” He added and as usual, I ignored him.

“Don't mind him, he'll adjust,” Stepmom said to him and I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“He doesn't seem to like me at all. I wonder why.” Michael responded and God help me, I almost lost my mind. I wanted to throw this luggage at him so it would knock him out and probably kill him.

But I chose to clench my jaw instead and dragged my luggage to the last room on the right. Pushing the door open, I let out a soft breath, realizing it was decorated a little too perfectly.

Just how I wanted my room to be. 

I almost smiled to myself, but then I remembered he was an asshole, so I chose to frown instead. I remained locked up in my room for the rest of the day. I didn't want to see them all happy and lovey-dovey. It made me sick.

I skipped breakfast, lunch, and even now, as Michael knocked on my door to come down for dinner, I ignored him. I was starving but I didn't care. They could go to hell, I would survive.

When it was already midnight, I figured they would be asleep so I slipped out of the room quietly. I made my way past their room and was about to head to the kitchen when I froze in front of their door.

I inched closer, placing my ear on the door and what I heard next had my bones stiffening in despair.