Chapter 62 Sixty Two
AMELIA XAVIER
Most chapters started with how exceptional the weather felt or how the sun kissed the skin of whichever character the book had, but in real life, it was different — dangerous, daring and most of all, how suffocating life felt.
But amidst all these, I found a little happiness with Owen Winters, the handsome man that eleven years ago, was my crush. Then we met in Paris, he called it fate, but I thought otherwise. Fate or coincidence, we met and had the sweetest night of our lives.
I'm a lady who's ambition was to take over the Xavier's business, but here I was met with the most twisted turn of events.
That moron, Ash Winters knew about the baby and damn the gates of hell, war was coming, Owen never gave up that easily especially after all the effort he had put since his father adopted him.
I stood watching Owen as he left to see his father, Mr Winters. The music and talks in the hall added to my frustrations, and the fact that Ash Sean Winters stood beside me, arms locked gave me the ick.
“Did your mother ever teach you decency, Mr Winters?” I asked, my nose wrinkling in irritation.
Ash laughed. “Decency? Says the woman who's carrying an orphan's baby,” he smirked. I glared at him, my eyes burning holes through his temple. “Don't speak about Owen like that,” I cursed trying to unlock my arm from his, but he gripped me tightly and I felt a slight pain — he had bruised me.
“Why?”
“He is a Winter and a better one than you'd ever be in a hundred years.” Ash cackled and gulped down his wine… spirit.
“A winter by adoption is better than one by blood? You have quite a sense of humor, Amy,” he said.
“Don't call me that!” I gritted, finally releasing from his strong hold. I massaged my arm and did my best to wipe off his touch.
Something rose to my throat.
No — Fuck not now!
Taking a glass of spirit, I gulped it down, but the feeling stayed, so I took three more until I couldn't hold it any longer.
“Take m… me to the… fu…fucking bathroom,” I stuttered and lucky for me he understood and led me quickly out of the hall.
If Owen and he weren't rivals, we could've been friends — if only he wasn't such an asshole…
Vomit.
After I washed up, he led me to a room and I didn't complain nor throw witty remarks at him.
“You can rest here, little woman, I bet the knowledge of your pregnancy should be more dramatic than that,” he muttered and I scoffed. He knew nothing about pregnancy.
“You're probably asking yourself, what do I know of pregnancy, but I think I know too much, sweetheart.”
I'm not your sweetheart.
“How?” I asked, my eyes following his every movement, I needed to be strong so killing me would be hard if not useless.
“Well during one of my days as a gangster in England, I murdered a pregnant woman-” out of nowhere, he brought out a knife, he stared at it, his eyes held excitement and curiosity which was way worse than a look of pure hatred.
I trusted the wrong person.
“She screamed. No. When I inched closer to her with my knife, she moved back, step after step-” I moved as he came closer, I felt sweat trickle from my hair down to my clothes. Fear clouded my vision and the thought of my baby being harmed ached my heart.
“Until her back hit the wall!” I screamed, my back hitting the bed stand. “And that's when she screamed. Fear is a sweet feeling, Amelia, it should be the loveliest thing anyone would see before they die,” he continued.
Tears dropped like rain from my eyes and I clutched my stomach. “I felt her fear, as she clutched her baby, she whimpered and pleaded, but it was too late. I dug the knife straight to her stomach and watched her bleed to death and then I thought…” He looked into my eyes, they were nothing like Owen's. No emotion was written on them. They were dead.
“What a sweet way to die, clutching life so lightly like it's an egg, knowing one way or the other, it'd break,” he muttered and raised the knife to the air.
“Close your eyes and say your last prayers, Amelia. If you believe in God, and if not, then pray your death would come quicker!”
I shut my eyes embracing darkness and waited for the worse, but I felt nothing. Then I heard laughter.
“You're so funny, sweetheart, it's too early to end your life,” Ash said. I opened my eyes, and for once was grateful for the fucked up life I lived. He grabbed my chin and gave me a light peck on the lips. “Let this be our little secret, little woman. Owen doesn't need to know.” I nodded in fear.
Ash Winters walked away tucking his knife into his belt. I held my stomach as fresh tears poured from my eyes.
“Owen, where are you?”
OWEN WINTERS
I knew the way to father's room like the back of my palm. The hallway that led to it was usually dimly lit, but the light in a particular room gave it away.
Without knocking, I pushed open the door just in time to meet father smoking pipe.
“Learn to kno…”
“Learn to keep your cock to yourself!” I yelled, and slammed the door shut.
Father stood from where he sat. He dropped his pipe, and poured spirit into a glass. “You're here to give me an earful of how much of a moron I am?” He asked and I scoffed.
“That'll have been better.”
“Then tell me why you barged into my room,” he said, downing his glass of spirit in one go. I watched as his throat gurgled.
“To ask you why you didn't tell me about the bastard!”
“He's my son.”
“Fuck him! Fuck you. You said nothing about having a son, does anything I do ever pleases you? You know how hard I worked to prove myself to you and all of a sudden, the great Mr Winters has a son!” I walked towards him, bitterness filling my soul.
“I wanted a little competition,” he said and on impulse and without control, I punched him.
“Do that again, and you'll no longer be a Winter…” I punched his face again.
“I don't care,” I muttered and made to punch him again, but he held my hands and twisted it. “I might be old, boy, but beating me would take you a century.”
Father fisted into my stomach and I staggered backwards. Giving me no time to recover, he smashed his fist into my temple and I fell, but didn't give up.
Swiftly, I stood, and charged at him, but before I could get to him, he had me pinned to the floor.
“I made a mistake, son…”
“You should've told me!” I screamed, a tear fell from my eye. My eyes were red with blood and my head pounded.
“I know, but you're my son adopted, picked from the street or whatever, and I want you as my heir, so do whatever you can to stop that psychopath of a son,” he explained, his voice was shaky.
I wanted to speak, but no words came from my lips. I heaved as I slipped from father's grip. He didn't want Ash Winters, he knew how dangerous he was, and wanted me to stop him. I smirked.
Gladly.
“Follow the back, I'll call Amy. War is coming in Paris.”
I nodded and left.
Amy looked shaken like she had seen a ghost, her hands quivered, and her face dried with tear stains on them. She held her stomach, and when she sighted me, she ran into my arms.
“Where were you?!” She screamed. I sensed the fear in her voice, and my eyes darkened. Ash Winters had gone too far by threatening my sweetheart.
“Who hurt you?” I asked just in case. I swore internally to kill everyone who laid a finger on my pumpkin.
“It's fine, hun, let's just go home,” she muttered.
“Tell me and I promise to end their lives…” I brought up her face so our eyes met. Her eyes were shaky when she looked into mine. “The Winters have a knack for dealing with enemies who hurt people they love, so give this young man a name,” I said, assuring her by rubbing her back.
“Are you sure?” She asked, her eyes suddenly growing dark — filled with spite.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“The
n I'll give you one-” she looked around and back into my eyes.
“Ash Winters.”
A wicked smile played on my lips.
War was coming in Paris.