Once, my paranoid love

The familiar walls of the house echoed with the weight of memories as I walked through the rooms. The scent of nostalgia hung in the air, intermingling with the bittersweet emotions that filled my heart. This house had been the backdrop of my childhood, where laughter and tears had woven the tapestry of her upbringing. Every corner held a story, and every creaking floorboard whispered a secret shared between me and my mother.

“Mom, this is our home,” my voice barely rose above a whisper, reverberating as if the walls themselves could understand. In my childhood room, I lingered, my fingers grazing a weathered family photograph on the mantel. Faces frozen in time stared back at me, and I couldn’t help but trace the lines etched by laughter and love. “I’m not interested in business, yet this house reminds me of my childhood. This house holds a lot of memories for both you and me.”

A montage of moments flickered through my mind-the echo of our laughter down the hallways, the stories shared under blankets, the tears shed in each other’s arms. The scent of familiarity embraced me, as if my mother’s essence lingered in every corner, her spirit an integral part of these walls. “We used to play here,” I reminisced, a melancholic smile tugging at my lips, “and I can still smell you in every room; this house is filled with our memories.”

But now, facing an impending crossroads, the weight of a different kind of memory pressed upon me. “And if my marriage is really the only option,” I confessed to the silent air, the weight of my words both resolute and heavy, “But I can’t do it?”

“Paul promised me; he will do whatever if I stay by his side. I can’t go against my heart.” I murmured as I pressed my lips together.

I sought solace on the balcony, gazing out at the horizon as if it held the answers I needed. The sky was painted in hues of twilight, a backdrop to the uncertainties that loomed before me. The cool breeze tousled my hair, and I took a deep breath, as though inhaling courage along with the crisp air.

“Dad said it was huge money,” I mused aloud, my words carried away by the wind. My fingers curled around the balcony’s edge, and my mind was a whirlwind of doubt and determination. “But if I talk to Mr. Huston and ask for more days, will he agree?”

I took a deep breath because I could not find a way. My thoughts turned to Paul-the temptation to seek his counsel tugged at me, but doubt crept in like a shadow. “No, no, if he hears it’s about my marriage, then he will create a mess,” I mumbled, anxiety threading through my voice.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

My pacing brought me back to the window, where the moon was now casting a soft glow over the cityscape. The notion of burdening Paul with my troubles gnawed at me, and a new resolve took hold. “So I need to do something,” I declared, determination simmering within me. It was time to regain control and find my own path without creating ripples that could disrupt the tranquility that remained.

I inhaled deeply, as if drawing courage from the very air that surrounded me. The weight of my decision hung heavily on my chest, but in that moment, I chose to release it. Exhaling slowly, I let go of the overwhelming thoughts that had consumed me, at least for now. With a renewed resolve, I stepped away from the confines of my room,

My footsteps carried me to my father’s door, where I paused for a moment, my hand raised to knock. With a gentle but determined tap, I announced my presence. The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing my father’s tired form within. His brow furrowed, and he shifted slightly on the bed, his hand sliding away as his tired eyes met mine.

“Dad!” I called his name, my voice infused with a mixture of urgency and determination. His weariness was palpable, a testament to the struggles he faced. It was clear that his burdens had taken their toll.

“Elena,” he responded, his voice a weary echo of his former self. I approached the bed, my heart aching at the sight of his fatigue. Sitting down beside him, I mustered a small but sincere smile, hoping to convey my unwavering support.

“Dad, talk to Mr. Huston and tell him I want to talk to him,” I said, my words laced with a quiet determination. It was my last attempt, my final gambit in a series of choices that had led me to this moment. I needed to seize control of my fate and make a stand for what I believed was right.

“Dad,” I began, my voice gentle but firm, “this isn’t how I see you. I’d like to help you. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means putting my life on the line.” The words spilled from my heart, a testament to the depths of my commitment to my family. The weight of our circumstances was not his alone to bear; I was ready to share the burden and stand by his side in this trying time.

“Elena, I don’t know if he will listen or not,” my father replied, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “But if you want, I will try. I will call him right now to fix a meeting.” His willingness to take my concerns seriously filled me with a sense of validation and a reminder that our bond as father and daughter was unbreakable.

With a nod, I affirmed my agreement. I knew that this was a shot in the dark, a slim chance at convincing Mr. Huston to reconsider his demands. But it was a chance I was willing to take for the sake of my family and the memories enshrined within the walls of our home.

Before my father could make the call, a voice from behind interrupted our conversation. Anne’s presence caught me off guard, and her questions hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud threatening to burst. “What if you cannot make him agree? What if you can’t give him back the money if he gives you time? Will you marry him?”

Her words felt like a sudden gust of cold wind, leaving me momentarily speechless. Anne’s bluntness cut through the veneer of determination, exposing the raw nerve of uncertainty that lay beneath. I turned to face her, my thoughts racing, searching for the right words to respond.

“Shut up, Anne,” my father’s voice roared, his anger erupting like a dormant volcano. His outburst was a stark departure from his usually composed demeanor, fueled by the mounting pressure of our situation. I watched as his frustration manifested, a reaction to the doubts that Anne had voiced.

“Robert, I am not an emotional fool like you.” Anne’s retort was fierce, her voice a tempest of conviction. “I am thinking about the future.” Their voices clashed in an exchange of heated words that mirrored the storm raging within our household.

As their argument escalated, I found myself caught in the crossfire, an observer of the discord that had infiltrated our once harmonious space. I arched my brows in frustration, unable to bear witness to the tension that was tearing at the fabric of our unity.

“Please stop it,” I interjected, my plea laced with a mix of weariness and desperation. The room fell silent, the echo of their shouting still reverberating in the air. My father and Anne both turned their attention to me, their expressions a mix of surprise and realization.

Anne’s dissatisfaction was palpable; her displeasure was evident in the way she regarded me. However, I met her gaze squarely, unyielding in my determination to address the situation at hand. “If I can’t find another way,” I began, my voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath the surface, “then I will marry him. I will do whatever it takes to save my dad.”

“Please don’t say that, Elena,” my father’s voice held a mixture of concern and reassurance, his eyes imploring me to reconsider my earlier declaration. “You don’t have to do it.”

His words washed over me, a balm to the anxiety that had been festering within me. The weight of my promise to marry Mr. Huston had been a heavy burden, one I had been willing to bear for the sake of my family. But now, faced with my father’s genuine concern, I felt a glimmer of relief.

“My dear, your dad is fine,” he continued, his voice a soothing murmur. “You do not need to be worried about this.”

“It’s all right, Dad,” I responded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. As I said, I walked out of the room.

**

As Elena walked out of the room, her footsteps carrying the weight of the recent exchange, Robert and Anne exchanged meaningful glances. Robert’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, his anger evident in the lines etched on his forehead. “Don’t interrupt in our matter,” he snapped at Anne, his tone a mix of annoyance and exasperation.

Anne arched her brows, her response a silent challenge to his outburst.

As if to redirect his frustration, Robert reached for the phone, his fingers dialing Obin’s number.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Elena descended the stairs, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. There was only one person who could understand and who could potentially offer a solution-Eva..