FURIOUS

"Riccaford? Ellie Marrie Riccaford?" He hoarses finally after an unnerving eternity that seemed to hold us, his blazing eyes drilling through my weak ones.


A pile molds in my throat that I battle really arduously to push down. Among all the reactions I have received for being recognized as a Ricaford even in this time I am on the run, this one is the worstiest, and it is stinging me really bad. His reaction is not just fear of who I really am; it is shock absorbed in loath.

I swallow hard, opting to save the situation. "Dam..."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me, huh?" He cuts me off. How much misery do I still have to endure for this name, huh? It is starting to seem like a curse tag on me, for God's sake!


"I am sorry, Damian. I just didn't know how to tell you about..."

His idioms darkened, denoting that he did not buy my cheap explanation. "You are freaking a Ricaford, and you didn't fucking know how to tell me who you were?" He shakes his head in disbelief, taking a step closer. Just a single step does not make a difference in the gap between us. 'What games are you playing, Ellie?!" After roaring, he launches towards me with slow, calculated strides like a lion taming its prey. His hands are clung to his fists, his facial idioms exuding nothing but animosity and danger.


At this point, the terror in me recedes in a flicker, turning into rage, and instead of walking away from this varmint, I plant my feet sharp on the ground and try to fix my lagged dress first. I take my time, and he doesn't care to help even when I struggle with my zipper. His unwarranted rage has subjugated the gentlemanliness in him, and I abhor him for depicting such immense animosity toward me. I finish and rack before him without caring how demeaning his tall frame feels to me.

Games? What games is he talking about, for hell's sake?

"Games, you say?" I mumble between gritted teeth, and if I am squirming right now, it's not because of fear but anger.

How dare he insinuate that I am playing games with him? What games?

I opened up to this man more than I should have. He knows the precise reason as to why I am here in this city. He knows all the hardships this stupid name has brought upon me. He knows almost all of my past pains. And after all that, he thinks I am playing games? What shit of a fucking game would that be? Being an open book to him except for just this one slight mistake?

"You heard me right and you had better start talking. What are you up to?"

I furrow my brows. I honestly don't understand his unwarranted fuss right now. "Nothing. I don't know why you are acting like this. Maybe you should enlighten me. Is there anything wrong with me being a"

"Riccarford?" He finishes the sentence for me, his face growing deep furrows for the first time. "You don't fucking know what's wrong about you being a Riccaford? Don't take me for a fool, Ellie!"

Okay! I think I have had enough of this. "You know what? I'm done being judged because of this name. I'm afraid of people looking at me and treating me so differently just because of that fucking surname! I think I have given more than enough explanation on my part. I don't fucking deserve this, Damian Almeda - you being a jerk to me is absolutely superfluous. I apologize for not telling you who I was, but I never anticipated you would behave like a jerk upon knowing my identity. You suck!"

Silence! Screaming silence!

We traded deadly stares for a decade. I can't figure out what he is thinking with his intense gazes and icy looks, but I am mentally uttering profanities to this man before me—a million curses. I know nothing about him either, and am I the one playing games? Fuck you, Damian!

"Is it just my name, Mr. Almeda, or is there something else?" I query because I don't understand his reactions at all.

I feel like his anger is unduly subtle, like he has had a grudge against me. But why? No, how? We are strangers to each other! Or does he know my father? Have they collided somewhere? Perhaps in the line of business? To think of it, it is the same industry. They both run a chain of hotels. So maybe they crashed somewhere?

"That is what I would like you to tell me, Miss Ellie Marie Riccaford. What the fuck is the name of this game?"

I creased my eyebrows!

My name has never sounded so alarmingly disgusting before now. He loathes me, I'm certain, but for the reasons I don't decipher. That is the foremost justification for his anger and reactions, and you know what? I'm just done! If he can't tell me what is making him react this way, then freaking hell, fine! But I won't take his affronts and indictments either. Game, his nauseating cock!

"This game is whatever you fucking want to tag it." I grab my CV and toss it inside my bag, as mellow as I conceivably can be at this moment. I then glare at this infuriating jerkarse beast. "I never play games with my life, so this shit between us ends right now. Goodbye, Damian Almeda."

I strived not to break down before him, but this damn tear had to drop before I turned around. Before another one drops, I etch my heels on the floor and turn around. He looks like a statue, unmoving. He doesn't even say a word as I swab past him.