Trapped with My Billionaire Ex-Husband by Mariya Mercedes

Chapter 21
BLAIRE
I ran into my room and locked myself in the walk-in closet. I finally let out the tears. that I was holding back. I don’t understand why my father always takes Catherine’s side. Since she came into our lives, she has been my father’s priority, despite her being his stepdaughter. Whenever there was a chance, he always chose Catherine over his own. daughter.
I can still vividly remember the first time he introduced Stacy and Catherine to me. It’s only been two years since my mother died, yet my father has already brought home another woman to take my mother’s place. I was only ten years old at the time, and I’m not prepared for that. I wasn’t happy about his decision, but who am I to stop him from being happy again? Despite my inner objections, I tried to accept them as my new family.
But the first time Catherine and I had a conflict, my father’s bias clearly showed when he disregarded my feelings and took Catherine’s side. Catherine broke my doll that day, and I accidentally pushed her out of my anger. My father saw that and scolded me for hurting my sister over a toy. But the thing is, it wasn’t just a toy. That was the last do!! that my mother gave me before she died. I cried myself to sleep that day, and I wasn’t able to have my dinner. The next morning, they all went out for a picnic and left me alone at home.
And the last instance in which my father showed his bias towards us was when Catherine ran away on the night of their engagement. If I were the one to do that, my father would probably curse me to death. But he didn’t utter a word; instead, he just used me as a replacement. I’m just glad that it turns out so well between Sebastian and
me.
Despite his unfair treatment of Catherine and me, I still want to please him. I wanted to make him proud, so I did everything he told me to. And when I heard that he had been hospitalized, I couldn’t help but get worried. That’s why, despite my current situation with Sebastian, I still chose to come back. Yet, after everything I’ve done, this is what I get.
My mind is so hazy that I didn’t notice someone walk inside the closet. “Is this your new hideout?” he teased.
I slowly lifted my head, and Sebastian’s beautiful smile greeted me, casting a warmth that penetrated the cloud of my earlier despair. In a sudden twist of emotions, I pouted my lips and began crying loudly. The heaviness that weighed me down just moments ago seemed to dissipate as he stepped into the room, transforming the gloom into a comforting embrace.
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“Did you miss me so much that you’re crying?” he playfully inquired, attempting to lighten the mood. However, I chose to remain silent, allowing my tears to convey the tumult of emotions that had gripped me.
“I heard about what happened. Are you okay?” he asked, his concern evident in the gentle tone of his voice.
“The cake is gone,” I finally said, my voice reflecting a mix of disappointment and frustration as I pouted my lips.
He chuckled, a soothing sound that momentarily lifted the weight off my shoulders. “Is that why you’re crying?” he questioned, his fingers delicately wiping away the tears that stained my cheeks.

I nodded in response, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and sadness. “I clearly put a note on it. But they still ate the cake that I baked for you.”
“It’s just a cake. I’m sure you can bake another one.”
I sensed he was attempting to console me, but I disliked the way his words sounded. It seemed as though he was downplaying the situation, insinuating that it wasn’t a big deal. and that I was simply overreacting. Frustration and disappointment surged within the,, prompting me to push him away and shoot a glare his way. “It wasn’t just a cake. I worked hard on that all afternoon. And they just ruined it!” I vented angrily.
Caught off guard by my sudden outburst, he seemed slightly taken aback. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” he quickly apologized.
Realizing he meant well, I felt a twinge of remorse for raising my voice. “I’m sorry for shouting at you.” I offered an apology.
“It’s fine. I know you’re upset. I understand. Have you eaten?” he inquired, his concern evident.
I shook my head. “How about you?”
“I said I wanted to have dinner with you, didn’t I?”
“Are they still downstairs? I don’t feel like having dinner with them right now,” I admitted.
“If that’s what my wife wants, then I shall fulfill it,” he responded, emphasizing his willingness to prioritize my feelings. The tenderness in his tone softened the edges of my frustration, creating a moment of understanding and connection amid the remnants of disappointment.
“But how about you? Aren’t you hungry?” I asked, my concern shifting from the cake to
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his well-being.
his
“Well, maybe I should eat dessert first,” he teased with a playful glint in his eyes, words carrying a hint of mischief. Before I could register what was happening, het leaned in, lowering his head and planting a soft, gentle k*ss on my lips.
His unexpected sweet k*ss surprised me, making me forget about the ruined cake. It was a tender moment that promised comfort and reassurance, showing that our connection mattered more than the dessert mishap.
When our lips parted, he wore a soft smile, understanding that laughter and affection could heal better than baked goods. The room’s atmosphere changed; disappointment. was replaced by a renewed connection.
Sebastian’s playful mood continued as he suggested, “Now, about that cake. Let’s bake a new one together. What do you think?” His enthusiasm sparkled in his eyes.
The idea of turning the mishap into a joint baking adventure made me smile. It reminded me that setbacks could become chances for shared experiences. “You’d really bake with me?” I asked, surprised and delighted.
“Of course! We’ll make it even better than before, and this time, no one can sneak a“ taste before it’s ready,” he declared with determination.
“I’d love that,” I said with genuine excitement, a smile playing on my lips. Unable to contain my gratitude, I lifted my hand, gently caressing his cheeks. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better. That means a lot to me,” I expressed, my voice carrying at sincere appreciation for his comforting presence.
“You mean a lot to me,” he responded, his words echoing with a depth of emotion that resonated within me. It was a simple yet profound declaration that held the promise of a connection beyond the surface.
“Now that you say it, it makes me wonder: when did you start to have feelings for me?” I asked curiously, my curiosity getting the best of me as I sought to unravel the timeline of our evolving emotions.
“The morning you tried to cook me breakfast, and you almost burned down the kitchen,” he replied, a hearty laugh accompanying his recollection of that amusing encounter. The memory transported us back to a moment steeped in the innocence of culinary mishaps and the early stages of our connection.
It was a morning marked by my ambitious attempt to be a perfect wife, and I prepared him some breakfast. Inexperienced and determined to prove my independence, I embarked on preparing breakfast without seeking assistance from the household staff. The result was a chaotic scene, with burned food and the threat of a kitchen disaster looming large.