Chapter 7: Unknown Reason

AMAYA'S POV

The soft click of the door closing pulled me from my thoughts. “Why did he move away from me?” I muttered to myself, trying to understand why Logan hadn’t kissed me. If he had, maybe things would’ve been different. But no, Erica—my crazy friend—keeps offering advice that only leads me into more trouble.

I sighed, gazing at the disheveled living room. What happened here? An earthquake?

Wasn’t there supposed to be a maid in this house? Why is it such a mess?

“Madam Nova!” I called as I made my way to the kitchen, but she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she went out? I paused, thinking about Logan’s words. He had clearly told me to clean up before he came back.

“He must have made Nova do this,” I muttered as realization hit me.

Was I a murderer in a past life? Maybe God is punishing me for my previous life’s crime by making me cross paths with Logan. I still can’t fathom how someone could find pleasure in causing another person’s discomfort.

If this is some kind of divine punishment, I might as well change my clothes and humbly clean just as my husband has ordered. I climbed the stairs to my room, took off the heels and short gown, and swapped them for black shorts and a blue t-shirt. I threw on some flip-flops and headed back downstairs to clean up the mess.

I’ve never cleaned before. This was a first for me. I’m almost amused by how strange it feels. Growing up, my father would always stop me when I tried to clean. He’d say, “Princesses don’t clean.” And now, here I am, cleaning like a maid.

Eventually, I managed to put everything back in place. The floor was spotless, but just to avoid any trouble, I figured I should do more cleaning.

An hour later, I was done. I flopped down on the couch, utterly exhausted. Who knew cleaning could be this tiring? Thanks to Logan, I’ve learned just how much energy it takes to clean a house.

He’s the most irrational person I’ve ever met. Who gets mad because someone enters their library? He should even be happy that I am interested in his library. Who finds pleasure in a library? Only a sadist like him loves a library.

“Forever in Darkness,” I whispered, recalling the book I saw in the library yesterday. I’m not really into novels, but that one caught my attention. Maybe I should order it online. Who even wrote it?

I bit my nail, glancing toward the door. The thought of going to the library to find the author’s name flashed in my mind. I stood up and headed toward the stairs, my heart beating a little faster.

I barely took a few steps when I heard a clicking sound from the door. My eyes widened as I quickly rushed to sit on the couch.

That was close! What if Logan had caught me snooping around? Today would’ve been my last day alive.

Logan entered with a man—no, not just a man, an angel! Why did he look so… handsome? Did he fall from heaven or what? I can't deny this man is more attractive than my devilish husband. His curly hair is something to die for. Oh my gosh! His eyes are so tempting.

They both sat down.

“Good…” I started, but Logan’s voice cut me off.

“You didn’t make breakfast? This is what you call cleaning? Are you blind? Can’t you see the dust on the table? Why are you so incompetent?”

I froze, not knowing how to respond. I cleaned this place more than five times, but I don't want to argue. I don't want more problems for myself. So, I just sat there like a fool.

“There’s no dust here, Logan,” the handsome man sitting beside Logan defended, his brows furrowed as if he didn’t understand Logan’s outburst either.

Logan’s face softened slightly as he turned to his friend. “Maxon, you are not wearing your glasses. That’s why you probably can't see it, but I can,” he snapped, his voice colder than usual.

He is trying to fight his friend now? He is not just cold to me. He has been a psychopath from the beginning. I continued watching him complain.

“You are still crazy, Logan.” Maxon laughed. “But... I can't see any dirt here.”

Inwardly, I agreed with Maxon. Looks can be deceiving sometimes. Maxon was more handsome and sensible, while Logan behaved just the opposite of his looks—maybe because he was only half handsome.

Logan’s face hardened. “Why are you sitting? Go make breakfast,” he ordered.

I quickly retreated to the kitchen, hoping to avoid any more trouble.

Staring at the utensils in the kitchen, I had no idea where to begin. My father had always hired a cook for me, so I’d never had to cook for myself. Why does Logan keep making me do things I’ve never done before? I sighed in frustration, turned on the stove, and grabbed a pot. I started throwing whatever I found into it.

He will never ask me to cook again once he sees this disaster.

Grabbing an onion, I sliced it with more force than necessary, my frustration building. Logan made me feel like everything I did was wrong.

I didn’t notice how hard I was slicing until the knife cut into my finger. “Ouch!” I yelped, the pain shooting through my hand.

“What happened?” Maxon asked, rushing over to me and gently taking my finger. “Let’s get it cleaned up,” he said in a calm voice.

We walked to the living room, where Logan sat, casually watching TV as though he hadn’t heard my scream. Was he even human?

Maxon sat me down in a chair and fetched the first aid kit. As he tended to my wound, I couldn’t focus on anything except Logan. His attention was still on the screen. How could he be so indifferent? What did I do to deserve this man as my husband?

I must have looked lost in thought because I didn’t notice Logan turning to face me. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I felt like the world had stopped. I searched his eyes, hoping to find some sign of empathy, but all I saw was disdain. And one thing was certain—his hatred was directed at me.

“Why?” I whispered, tears falling from my eyes. I couldn't take it anymore. Why did he hate me so much? We hadn’t even crossed paths before all this. Obviously, I didn’t do anything to him. Even his friend cared for me. Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he at least tell me what I did wrong?

Maxon paused, his eyes darting between me and Logan, sensing the shift in the air. Logan didn’t speak or look away. His stare was unwavering, a silent judgment that cut deeper than words.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice devoid of any warmth.

“Why do you hate me?” I blurted out.

I stared at Logan, not regretting it for a second. If speaking my mind meant punishment, then I'd endure it.

But more than anything, I needed to know. What had I done to deserve this kind of treatment from him?