"I'll break down your walls one by one and sneak into the gates of your icy heart before crushing it into tiny pieces." He murmurs mercilessly as his lips lightly brush my ear, the contact eliciting an indescribable sensation through every inch of m...
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THE DEVEREAUX CLAN gained notoriety in the business world for their successful clothing brand.
Them being kind enough to bring my family under their wing when we were at our lowest, is something I will never forget.
As I maneuver my vehicle into their residence, I glance at the touch screen monitor.
9: 15 AM
Just in time.
Upon recognizing my frame from afar, the dispersed security guards open the black metallic doors to grant me access to the mansion's driveway zone.
From the first glance, its architecture is captivating. It's mostly inspired by Arabic design from the main doors and windows all encompassed by horseshoe arches to the marble fountains comprised of Greek-inspired statues all combined to classify this home as one of a kind.
After parking, I ring the doorbell at the main entrance.
A familiar middle-aged woman rears into view.
As she smiles, all I can think about is what secret she possesses to maintain such flawless skin at her age.
It has to be her European genes because the woman never ages.
"Anaya, I'm so glad you could make it," Mrs. Devereaux begins, her French accent detectable in her voice, "Goodness, you look more and more like your mom every day." she engages me in an air kiss before motioning me to enter.
The interior decor of the villa doesn't aesthetically disappoint either from the grand entry double spiral staircases to the floor covered in Persian rugs.
Mrs. Devereaux attempts to converse as we saunter towards wherever she's leading me but I only respond with short answers.
Once in the living room, I recognize my parents sat on the curved sofa.
Seeing my mom for the first time in months causes me to march to her.
But I cease from invading her personal space, fearing she may be dismissive.
I sit next to her as we're separated by a few inches.
My father who's sat to my mother's right doesn't acknowledge me as he skims through the pages of the newspaper in his hands.
"Honey, come here," mom's delicate voice puts my anxious thoughts to rest.
It's amazing how the simple gesture of her embrace instantly deteriorates my built up walls; evoking the vulnerable side of me I never show anyone. Once my head is posed on her shoulder, I allow myself to savour this rare moment I didn't know I needed until now.
"It's okay beta," mom mutters as she caresses my wavy locks.
The unshed tears blur my vision once my gaze meets hers.
