Love And Tales

ELENA’S POV"You thief!" Alana screamed, her voice was harsh. I looked up at her, my face wet with tears, my hands clutching the doll I had taken from her room. I opened my mouth to protest, to tell her that I had no intention to take it, that it was an accident. But the words were caught in my throat, and all I could do was stand there, frozen, as she continued to yell."I knew I couldn't trust you," she spat. "I knew you were nothing but a common thief, a worthless orphan. It's no wonder your mother died, giving birth to a useless thing like you. She couldn't bear the shame of giving birth to a thing like you. ” The words cut deep, like a knife to my heart. My mother's death had always been a painful memory, and now to have it used against me in such a cruel way was too much to bear. I felt my knees go weak and I sank to the ground, my whole body shaking with sobs.Alana's mother watched me, her face twisted in a sneer. "You'll never amount to anything," she said, her voic

Elena's POVTears rolled down my cheeks as I sat in front of the mirror, gazing at my own reflection. Despite my unending attempts to wipe them away, they kept flowing like an unstoppable force. I knew perfectly that the tranquilized atmosphere in the house was temporary even at the late hours of the night. I work like an elephant and hardly get 3 square meals a day. I've grown to find out that the man who claimed to be my dad hardly stays at home. He's always going on business trips. My mood was aligned with the heavy cloud and Stormy night. My tears rolled down to the scar on my chin. “Beautiful,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. At 17, this particular scar was given to me when I was accused of snatching Alana's boyfriend at the prom. The memories flickered in my mind. I could feel the pain. “It's all for the best,” I said reassuringly, giving myself false hopes and expecting things to get better. I couldn't help but wonder, why was my entire world built around pa

Your wedding day, they say, is an important event in every young woman's life. But why don't I feel happy? Rather, I feel relieved that I have managed to salvage the reputation of my family name from the claws of the media. As I sat here, surrounded by my guests, I couldn't help but fix my gaze on Alana, my sister, the trophy daughter of Williams Woods. Her makeup is beautifully done, with just the right amount of elegance and subtlety that perfectly complements her natural beauty.One who's not a family or a close family friend might not be able to differentiate us because we could pass for twins. The only difference between us was the mark on the right side of my face, a reminder of the mishandling I suffered at birth by a public hospital midwife.As I caught sight of her, I was taken aback by her pale and unhappy appearance, and a wave of realization struck me. Was my marriage to Raymond not what she wanted?This thought kept running through me as I tried to concentrate on the g

ELENA’S POV"Who is the father of that thing you are carrying, Elena?" Mrs Lawrence's voice echoed through the sitting room, full of irritation and anger.I felt the weight of her question push down on me, filling me with guilt and resentment. I strained to compose myself, my heart beating as I searched for the appropriate words. "I...I don't know," I muttered, flushed from humiliation.As the seconds ticked by, all I wanted was to disappear into thin air, free of the implicit accusations and bearing the burden of my doubt.I heard that old wall clock ticking away in the background, mixed with the eager chatter of the stewards who were eager to listen to Mrs Lawrence's conversation."Once again, my mother-in-law's voice sliced through the sitting room air like a rusty blade. 'Who is the father of that child?' she demanded. I jolted back to reality, a guilty flush creeping up my nerves."I tried to reply to Mrs Lawrence.“I…I can ex…p…lain” I muttered trying to catch my already

RAYMOND’S POV.I woke up feeling rusty and sluggish. Figured it may be the alcohol of the previous night doing its job.Headed downstairs for lunch since I missed my breakfast some hours ago. As I descended the stairs, I noticed Elena was already seated at the dining table, likely waiting for Mary to get her lunch.Lately, Elena and I barely exchanged words. We say a few hellos and hi's whenever we came across each other.I sat at the dining table and responded to her “Hello” while requesting some oven-dried chicken with macaroni Pasta salad. Hmm, back at this issue again. The president doesn't give a damn about you all. You go on protests every other week and nothing changes," I muttered, staring at the television. "Yet you still believe them. That's the difference between you guys," I pointed at the television, "and the rich, ha ha," I scoffed as I forced a piece of dried chicken placed in front of me."Bring me some orange juice," I called out to one of the housekeepers standing