Chapter 24

Chapter 24:

Fernanda leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, her gaze fixed on the luminous full moon overhead. A soft, mocking chuckle escaped her lips. Ava had better devise a truly cunning plan, or she would be nothing but an utter disappointment.

Minutes later, Fernanda slid into the back seat of the Morgan family’s sleek car, where Erika sat with a haughty sneer. Unaware that Fernanda had overheard every word of her earlier conversation, Erika still regarded her with contempt.

Indifferent, Fernanda withdrew her phone and immersed herself in the latest headlines. Erika glanced over, frowning at the unfamiliar script scrolling across Fernanda’s screen. She watched with annoyance as Fernanda’s fingers danced swiftly over the display.

The car soon filled as Robert and Michelle joined them. The driver started the engine and steered away from the Harper estate. Crowell, having overindulged at the gathering, collapsed into his seat, his snores echoing through the vehicle.

Amber sat quietly beside Erika, her eyes flickering toward Fernanda now and then, her mind buzzing with questions about Fernanda’s impeccable piano skills.

Robert cleared his throat to draw Fernanda’s attention. “Fernanda, we’re lucky Martin spoke up for you today. Otherwise, the engagement might have been called off. From now on, you need to make every effort to keep Martin happy. Understood?”

Fernanda offered no reply, her focus remaining on her phone.

Michelle leaned forward, voice tinged with worry. “Fernanda, what did you say to Judie earlier? She seemed really upset. Remember, she could be your mother-in-law one day. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”

Robert nodded firmly. “Indeed, Fernanda. You must correct those offensive behaviors immediately. The Harpers are a prominent, traditional family who value well-educated, well-behaved young women. Keep that in mind.”

Every tale finds a home at gⱯlnσν𝓮ℓs․com

Fernanda, clearly annoyed, muttered a lukewarm “Okay. I’m aiming to end this conversation.”

Seeing her acquiescence, Robert’s tone softened. “You seem worn out today. Why don’t you get some rest?” His demeanor shifted to a gentle, fatherly warmth, the sternness that had clouded his face during the engagement crisis now gone. “Erika, Amber, lower your voices, and make sure you’re not bothering Fernanda,” he added softly but firmly.

Erika rolled her eyes and muttered a barely audible curse.

At home, Erika swiftly ushered Amber upstairs. Crowell, still dazed, stepped out of the car into the cool night air, which cleared his head.

As Fernanda leaned forward to exit the vehicle, her elegant silhouette caught Crowell’s eye. He found himself mesmerized. Stepping closer, he inhaled the delicate, crisp scent of her perfume, his gait unsteady yet determined.

Suddenly, Crowell lunged forward, but Fernanda sidestepped gracefully, and he crashed into the car door with a deafening bang.

The impact snapped Crowell back to awareness. “Fernanda,” he mumbled, a lopsided smile forming. “You looked incredible today.”

Fernanda ignored the compliment and walked toward the villa.

Crowell watched her retreating figure, captivated by every graceful movement. She was breathtaking, truly a vision.

Once inside her bedroom, Fernanda took a refreshing shower, dried her hair, and settled into bed. She turned on her phone and typed Cristian Reed’s name into a search engine.

Numerous articles praised his striking features. Only a few mentioned that he belonged to the esteemed Reed family of Litdence. He had been frail as a child, later studied overseas, and had only recently returned to join the family business. Professionally, he remained less prominent than other members of the Reed family.

Cristian’s appearance was unparalleled. The press often praised his handsome facade. Yet there were whispers that he lacked dedication to his career, frequently seen reveling at parties with his cousin Bobby. He seemed the epitome of an untroubled playboy.

Finding these details tedious, Fernanda shut off her phone, flung it aside, and snapped off the light. Exhaustion overtook her, and she quickly fell asleep. However, her rest was anything but peaceful—she was jolted awake by a mysterious rustling sound.

Realizing the noise was real and not a figment of her imagination, Fernanda recognized it came from the balcony. The villa’s design connected all the third-floor balconies. She recalled Michelle mentioning that the adjacent room belonged to Robert’s eldest son, Ector Morgan, who was rarely home due to business commitments. Fernanda had not yet met him.

With Ector presumably away, the question loomed: who could be on the balcony?

Before she could think further, the balcony door creaked open. Bathed in the moonlight, a sinister figure slipped inside, exuding an unsettling aura. A sharp scent of alcohol hit her—it was Crowell.

Suddenly, Crowell lunged toward the bed, grabbing Fernanda’s blankets. Reacting swiftly, she pushed him back and rolled off the bed. As she tried to put distance between them, he caught the hem of her silk nightgown, ripping it with a sharp tear.

“What are you doing?” Fernanda demanded, her voice icy.

“Fernanda, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight,” Crowell slurred, sprawled across the bed in disarray, his drunken gaze fixed on her. “I can’t resist… you’re just too gorgeous.”

Fernanda saw through him in an instant—his actions were sickening, driven solely by lecherous desire.

“Get the hell out, you disgusting pig!” she commanded, her voice sharp and cold. “Or I’ll make sure you’re stuck in bed, writhing in pain for days!”

Her icy demeanor doused Crowell’s initial thrill. A spark of rage ignited in his eyes. He straightened, his voice rising. “Damn you—abandon your pretentious air of superiority! Tonight, in the Harper family’s garden, I saw you cozying up to not one, but two different men! You’re willing to charm them, but you dismiss me?”

Fernanda’s gaze darkened with revulsion. Crowell had spotted her earlier with Cristian and Bobby and twisted the reality in his head.

Though his view had been unclear, the intimacy he perceived—especially one man’s arm around her slender waist—had ignited his jealousy. He craved that closeness for himself. Why would she freely offer her affection to others, yet scorn him?

Determined, Crowell rose from the bed and stumbled toward Fernanda. “Sleep with me. I assure you, your life will be luxurious with me in this family—no, in all of Esaham,” he proclaimed, pointing emphatically. “Believe me, I surpass any man you’ve known. I’ll be unforgettable!”

A wave of nausea swept through Fernanda, her stomach twisting in disgust. Crowell lunged again, desperate to grab her.

Fernanda lunged for the door, pulling at the handle furiously. It remained firmly locked.

With a malicious grin, Crowell declared, “I locked it from the outside a while ago. Save your strength, Fernanda. Just listen to me, and you might avoid any unnecessary pain.”

The villa’s soundproof walls gave Crowell confidence that their confrontation would remain private. In his view, Fernanda was merely a delicate, slender girl, utterly incapable of overpowering him. Tonight, his resolve to possess her was unshakeable.

Fernanda had always heard rumors of Crowell’s lascivious behavior, yet the reality of his brazen assault in such a setting was beyond her worst fears.

It was evident he deserved severe punishment. A cold gleam appeared in Fernanda’s eyes, though Crowell remained oblivious to the imminent threat, his attention fixed on the silhouette of her figure highlighted by the torn nightdress. As Crowell advanced again, Fernanda held her ground. She seized Crowell’s arm and, with a swift twist and turn, flipped him over her shoulder. He crashed onto the floor with a resounding impact. Before he could recover, she viciously twisted his wrist, eliciting a howl of pain that shattered the silence as his wrist seemed to snap.

Fernanda dashed to the balcony and cried out into the darkness, “Help! There’s an intruder!”

Instantly, lights flooded every corner of the Morgan family’s villa.

.

.

.