Filed to story: The Daughter in the Shadows (Yunice) Book by Una Norris
Not long after, Taylor came looking for Yunice. “I’ll drive you home.” Yunice pretended not to know. “Has the patient recovered?”
Recovered? Taylor wanted to scream. I’d never been so humiliated. But I couldn’t blame Yunice. “You warned him to stay in bed and rest. He insisted on showing off. He brought it on himself.”
Worried that Jackson might turn his anger on Yunice later, Taylor decided to get her out early. Seeing how much Taylor was trying to protect her, Yunice felt a twinge of guilt. But there was no choice. The Powell family had to pay.
Inside the conference room, Jackson exploded. “Get out! All of you!” Executives from both the Powell and Cooper camps were thrown out like garbage. Jensen stayed in his chair, shaking all over as if he could see his end coming.
Everyone else had been kicked out. Except Wyatt.
He lounged leisurely in the chair, casually pulling out a cigarette. But after a moment’s thought about the air quality and all that, he scowled and flicked it into a bone china teacup.
Jackson, livid with rage, stomped over on unsteady legs. His voice cracked as he shrieked, “Look at what you’ve done! Are you even human?!”
Wyatt chuckled, clearly entertained. “This is on me? I control the skies, the earth, and now your son’s sphincter too?”
“You…!” Jackson was so furious, he could only sputter the word “you” over and over.
Wyatt did not bat an eye. With his usual devil-may-care tone, he said, “You’re not getting any younger, sir. Maybe take a breather, yeah? If you fall and break something, who’s going to wipe your crappy son’s ass for you?”
With a snort of mockery, he stood and strode off.
Jackson could only watch that arrogant back disappear, seething but helpless.
Once outside the courtyard, Wyatt finally lit a cigarette. The Powell family had made a mess today, sure, but for some reason, he still felt restless.
As he raised the cigarette to his lips, something caught the corner of his eye. Taylor was walking alongside a girl, bundled head-to-toe, cap pulled low. The two looked like they were about to leave the Powell mansion.
His gaze lingered on the girl in the baseball cap…and dropped to her waist.
After a pause, he lowered the cigarette and smirked, then casually walked their way. With his long legs, he easily caught up. “Ms. Taylor,” he called, “the old man took a fall. He’s asking for you.”
Startled, Taylor looked at him. When had he even shown up? She then glanced toward the conference hall, lights still on. She hesitated only a moment before believing him, hurrying off to check on Jackson, which left Yunice alone.
Sensing his gaze, Yunice walked on as if she had not noticed. But Wyatt slipped one hand into his pocket and trailed behind her, unhurried and silent.
She peeked back. Had he recognized me? A chill crept up her spine, but she kept moving, forcing herself forward.
She flinched, turning her head just in time to meet Wyatt’s eyes. He stood close, his entire frame brushing against hers, his gaze locked on hers as they were suddenly eye to eye.
One foot over the threshold, one still behind. It would not take much to send her tumbling. This damn threshold. It was originally built to trip Wyatt. Now it had her stuck instead.
Wyatt did not let go. She could not move forward. And under the brim of her cap, she could feel his eyes seeking hers, teasing, probing.
She ducked her head to hide, but then his hand moved. He lifted it, fingers unerring, and pinched the scar on her cheek with precise elegance.
Startled, Yunice jerked away, and a piece of silicone scar tore off her face. The ruse was up.
Clutching her cheek, she glared at him. Furious. He had done it on purpose!
Wyatt rolled the fake scar between his fingers, then flicked it away. He gave a low, amused snort. “You’ve got quite the list of identities, don’t you?”
She did not deny it. Instead, she stepped over the threshold and turned to face him. “So? You planning to rat me out?”
Wyatt lifted his eyelids lazily. “Jensen… You did that to him?”
Yunice did not answer, but her eyes held no guilt. “His son came for me first. The father pays for the son’s sins. Fair game.”
Wyatt laughed.
As they left the Powell mansion, he asked casually, “Got a light?”
She looked at the cigarette he still had not smoked, then reached into her bag and pulled out the lighter he had once given her. The flame flared. She shielded it from the wind with one hand.
Wyatt leaned in, letting the cigarette catch the flame until the tip glowed red. Just as she let her hand drop, he caught her wrist.
Under the gate’s warm light, he studied the bruises encircling her skin. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Yunice blinked, caught off guard. He was not even looking at her face, just her wrist, with his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.
She meant to shake her head. But her chin tipped up instead, and after a beat of hesitation, she gave the tiniest nod.
Yeah. She was a little mad.
Wyatt frowned. “Well. I’m mad at you too. I’m mad you ran off and let Paul take you. I’m mad you didn’t explain a damn thing after. Like you don’t even care how I’d feel.”
Yunice froze. What…was that supposed to mean?
Wyatt’s gaze was heavy now, serious. “Paul’s little setup? You think I couldn’t see through that?”
If he couldn’t even spot a trick that clumsy, he’d have been eaten alive long ago.
This time, Yunice was truly stunned. Not just by what he said, but by the way he said it. There was frustration in his voice. A kind of grievance. Almost like…he cared.
, Too Fast
When Yunice refused to say a single kind word, Wyatt pressed again, “What about you? Why are you mad at me?” Yunice’s face flushed instantly, her gaze darting away. Why was she mad? Now that she thought about it, Wyatt hadn’t really done anything wrong. He helped her out. “Was it because I said something harsh? Or because I didn’t catch you when you were looking for the wedding ring?”
Honestly, when she said she was angry, it was just to make herself look like she had the moral high ground. There was no specific reason.
Wyatt said, “Everyone says hurtful things when they’re pissed off. You don’t know how to curse back?” She clutched her backpack straps in silence.
Irritated, Wyatt grabbed her by the shoulder, opened the car door with his other hand, and shoved her inside. He got behind the wheel. Yunice sat directly behind him. Neither of them spoke during the entire drive. And he never noticed her tear-filled eyes reflected in the window. She had been careful, too careful, hiding her emotions.
Over the years, she had been judged by people like Owen, disappointed by people like Carl, and gossiped about by people like Bale and Amyra. But Wyatt…he did not quite fit any of those molds. Sure, he yelled at her too, but somehow, he always cut through the noise, like he could see things from her side.
For someone who had been ignored for so long, even a little concern felt like a sudden downpour-too much, too fast. It did not bring comfort. It brought grievance.
By the time they arrived at the Pavilion Hall, Yunice had already wiped her tears clean. “Mrs. Cooper,” she turned and found several house staff bowing in unison to her. The Pavilion Hall did not usually have a maid; they only hired cleaners on a set schedule. Now, with all these people around, the place felt less deserted, more alive.
The Pavilion Hall still looked like it used to, but there were new additions. Small touches of warmth scattered throughout: fresh flower arrangements in vases, a full dressing room for women. At the entrance, there was even a pair of fluffy pink slippers on the shoe rack.
In the kitchen, Wyatt opened the fridge. “What do you want to eat?” “I’m not hungry,” Yunice said. “I haven’t eaten,” he muttered, shooting her an annoyed glance. “Ravioli then,” she said eventually. He glanced at the prepackaged ravioli in the fridge, then shut the door.
Instead, he pulled out a bag of fresh shrimp from the crisper and got to work. With nothing to do, Yunice wandered into the bathroom and slowly peeled off her disguise. By the time she walked past the kitchen again, Wyatt was at the counter, apron on, head lowered as he made ravioli from scratch. He had taken off his jacket. The apron hugged his wine-red shirt, cinching tight around his trim waist.
Yunice quickly looked away and sat down at the table. She checked her phone. There were several missed calls from Taylor. She called back, and the first thing Taylor asked was, “Why’d you leave on your own?”
Yunice told her, “I’m home now. What about you?” Taylor was fed up. The Powell family was in chaos, and she was done cleaning up after them. She went back to her parents’ place in a huff.
“Eat,” Wyatt’s voice rose. Yunice turned, phone still in hand, just as Wyatt placed two plates of ravioli on the table. On the other end of the line, Taylor gasped, “Wait…did you get married?!” Yunice hesitated. “Yeah.” “Your husband’s voice sounds really familiar,” Taylor trailed off, then quickly said, “I’ll leave you two alone,” and hung up. Phone down, the two of them ate in silence.
In fact, even though they were married now, Yunice still did not feel particularly close to Wyatt.
After dinner, they shared the same room. Their wedding suite had moved upstairs to the second floor. Yunice went to shower first. When she came out, she had a face towel wrapped around her, her damp hair sticking to her neck. The bath towel she needed was hanging on a high rack. She held her face towel with one hand and reached up with the other. The tug loosened her grip, and in a blink, the towel slipped and pooled around her feet. Her first instinct was not to grab it. It was to look at Wyatt.
He was on the balcony, on the phone. But at the sound, he turned. His gaze froze, then dropped, then rose again to meet hers. She stood frozen, stunned, before finally scrambling to snatch up the towel, cheeks blazing. She fled to the vanity to dry her hair.
Wyatt’s eyes glinted with amusement as he ended the call and walked toward her. Her hand paused mid-motion as she saw him place a neatly folded set of women’s pajamas on the vanity in front of her. Then he turned and went into the bathroom. Yunice slowed her drying motions. She had dropped that towel on purpose. She wanted Wyatt to see her clearly.
Although Wyatt never brought up Paul again, it didn’t mean the seed of suspicion wasn’t quietly planted in his heart. That was precisely why Yunice wanted him to see her: there wasn’t a single mark on her body.
By the time Wyatt finished washing up, Yunice was already in bed, dressed in her pajamas. The room was dark; only the soft rustle of fabric as the mattress sank slightly beside her. A corner of the blanket lifted, and Wyatt lay down behind her.