Biting the inner linings of his cheeks, Angelo regretted ever stepping out of the shower because right before him was a woman, a woman that he wanted to spend several days or even years away from.
"Hi Fiona," he greeted her, without the need to fake a welcome. Fiona went from smiling to frowning at Angelo's lack of interest in her.
"Is that how you talk to me now?" She questioned him angrily and Angelo was quite sure that if he looked at her closely, he would most likely see the smoke coming out of her ears.
Angelo simply shook his head from left to right, in utter disbelief of how clueless Fiona was. She stood about three meters from him, dressed in a tight, fitted black dress above the knee, heels high, pencil-thin, over-tanned skin, and curly red hair flowing to the side.
He remained unmoved by her need to play the victim and asked her, "And how am I supposed to speak to you?" His reaction no doubt made Fiona upset, but she quickly covered it with a smile.
Gotcha! He thought to himself that it was about time before she performed another one of her brilliant acting skills. For someone who had never really finished much and had everything handed to her from birth, Angelo did admire Fiona for one thing: she went for what she wanted if it benefited her and only her.
"I would expect you to treat me at least like your fiancé," she responded. He shut his eyes for just a second before opening them again. The word fiancé sickened him to the core every time he thought of her.
Five years ago, he had begun dating Fiona Winfield, the daughter of the wealthiest politician in New York, and two years ago, he proposed to her against his better judgment. In the words of his siblings, 'it is what father would have wanted', knowing quite well that Angelo would do anything to honor his late father's memory.
Now here he was, two years later, and the more time went by, the more he hated the idea of being tied to Fiona Winfield under any circumstances.
"Fiona I am sure that you know just how much my job requires of me, and therefore I cannot always be there at your beck and call," he explained before walking into his walking closet. Just when he thought that he had gotten away from her, Angelo heard the clicking of her heels as she walked towards him. "Stop right there!" Angelo warned her, and when he turned his head in her direction, she stood right at the entrance of his walk-in closet.
"One day I am going to be your wife, and it's about time that you allow me to at least enter your closet," she angrily responded, and inwardly Angelo hoped that he might upset her enough that way she might leave.
"One day, but unfortunately for you, that day is not today," he replied arrogantly before grabbing a few of his clothes from their irrespective hangers and walking right past her. Throwing his clothes onto his bed, he began matching several of his ties to his shirt or suit while Fiona fumed behind him.
"It's been two years already!" she cried, raising her voice until Angelo turned to look at her. His face was as rigid as a concrete wall, and just then Fiona knew that although Angelo was her fiancé, he was still the most feared man in the city of New York.
'I suggest you—" he paused, looking right past Fiona as if something was not in its proper place. Unfazed by the confused way in which Fiona looked at him, Angelo simply walked past her, crouched to the floor, and picked up a photo frame. He turned it around, and there it was: a picture of his father. He smiled as he thought of some of the good memories that he had shared with his late father, and as quickly as the memory had appeared, it disappeared. He was back to looking as cold as he did when dealing with his business.
Angelo simply returned the photo frame to its original place and turned towards Fiona.
"Don't you ever walk into my room and misplace my things again," he warned her. Fiona's eyes grew wide, and her mouth hung open.
"But—"
"But nothing; now please leave my room. I will call you once I am free," he ordered her. Still upset, Fiona stepped out of his room, leaving Angelo the peace he needed.
Before turning back to his clothing, he spotted a shiny object lying just where he picked up the photo frame of his late father. He reached down to retrieve it and found that it was a gold heart-shaped earring, and upon closer inspection, Angelo realised that it was a fake.
He smiled at himself, as he could not believe that Fiona of all people would ever consider wearing fake jewelry.
**Flashback**
Fear could not begin to describe how Emily was feeling just by seeing the photo frame that she had knocked over. Her immediate response was to crouch down and retrieve it.
"What are you doing?" Emily jumped up and turned towards the entrance of the room, only to see a pretty woman angrily looking at her. From the way she was dressed, Emily had no doubt that everything she wore was designer.
"Good afternoon," Emily nervously greeted the woman, who simply rolled her eyes, annoyed by Emily's presence. She watched as the rich woman leaned onto the frame of the door.
"I asked what you were doing here," she pointed out. Still nervous and fearful of losing her job, Emily looked down at her hands.
"I just came to deliver Mr.—Mr.—," she stuttered, realising that she did not even know the name of her employer, which added to her fear.
"I hate it when employees stutter. Anyway, I've seen that you have delivered the coffee; you may leave now," she ordered. Emily lifted her head and stared at the woman; the thought of disobeying Madam Dorothy's orders scared her.
"But Madam Dorothy said—"
"Dorothy is nothing but an old fool, whom I will most likely fire once I become the madam of the house!" Fiona scolded Emily.
"Madame of the house?" Emily repeated under her breath, unfortunately for her, Fiona had heard her. Emily watched as Fiona slowly strutted towards her, her lips curling as she smiled.
"Yes. I am the soon-to-be wife of your boss, and when I become Madam of the House, I will make it my job to fire you and all those other nobodies like yourself. Now get out!" Fiona yelled at her so loudly that Emily lifted her hands to cover her ears while Fiona pointed her index finger towards the exit.
Without wasting any time and angering Fiona any longer, Emily stepped out of the room, running for her dear life.
**Flashback ends**