I finally managed to wiggle my way out of the twins' sticky grasps.
It had been a week since I moved into their house. They abruptly forced me to move in with them, without giving me a chance to go home and pack my things.
They brought me to a store to buy some clothes after my first day at work, but most of the clothes were picked by them. The majority of them had a plunging neckline that didn't fit my tastes. I ended up wearing the same three blouses for the whole of last week, even wearing one blouse two days in a row because the laundry couldn't finish on time.
The twins always had some excuse to keep me staying in the house: they were lonely; the movie hadn't ended; they needed someone to cook breakfast. They were lame excuses, at best. We spent most of the time rutting—that was the main reason why I hadn’t gotten a chance.
It was partially my fault. I tried to find excuses for myself, too. I couldn't get enough of the twins, and the paparazzi were particularly de-motivational.
Somehow, I convinced them to let me go one hour ago—it probably had something to do with my constant complaining about not having my stuff. They wanted to get Tyrone to fetch my things instead, but I was having none of that.
I understood that, as rich twin billionaire heirs, they were used to getting everything they wanted, but there had to be limits to how controlling they could be.
I told them if they kept me in the house, there'd be no sex for a week. I knew they hardly believed me—I hardly believed myself. And then I told them there wouldn't be any breakfast. My bargaining chips were laughable, at best. I doubted they really cared much for breakfast, but they sarcastically acted like they did and let me go.
We had been in the midst of watching a movie when I left. I wondered how that movie ended.
The paparazzi had dispersed from my house, and it was easy for Tyrone to ward off the lone, scrawny cameraman camping in front of my apartment block. I supposed after not seeing me for a whole week, and sighting me close to the twins' house, most of them simply gave up looking for me at my apartment.
I took out my keys from my pouch and opened my door while making a list of things I needed in my head. The twins provided for most of my necessities. All I wanted to take along were my clothes and my laptop. I had some trouble figuring out exactly which clothes I should bring, though, and I definitely needed more than one pair of shoes.
They had bought me a new laptop for work purposes, but I was still too used to the one I had before. Frankly, I thought the laptop I bought myself had better specs than theirs; although, the one they got for me looked way cooler.
I shut my front door and turned around. My jaw dropped when I saw who was sitting on my couch.
"Damien? What the heck?" I said, leaving my bag on my table.
My ex-boyfriend was lounging on my furniture, snacking on some of my potato chips, as if he owned the place. He shoved another handful of chips into his mouth and lazily turned his head. His eyes widened, as if he just saw a ghost. "Scarlet! Oh, my God, you're back. I've been trying to look for you."
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Crap. I had forgotten to get my keys back from him. The twins left me too distracted.
"Waiting. I've been coming here after work for the last week looking for you. Why haven't you been home?"
I took a whiff of the air and had to stop myself from gagging. Damien had turned this whole place into a junkyard, with unfinished food and tissue paper left all over the floor. Did I have to clean up the mess this asshole left behind?
Furiously, I opened my door and gestured to the corridor. "Get out."
He stood up, spilling the chips all over my carpet without even blinking an eye. "I've been waiting all week. You could at least tell me where you've been. Was it the twins' house?" He showed me another one of those magazine headlines: 'Crawford Brothers' Mystery Girl Having a Baby!'
Where in the world did these people get their information?
"I'm not having a baby, Damien. And even if I am, it's none of your business."
"But you're hanging out with the twins?"
"That's none of your concern, either."
"I blocked you."
He sneered, "You blocked me? Why would you do that?"
"Because you were an asshole, that's why. I don't want to talk to you again after what you've done."
"I said I was sorry."
Was this guy for real? "Sorry doesn't cut it. You slept with someone else in my own bed. And on my birthday."
He parted his lips in shock. "It was your birthday? Damn. I’m so sorry. I was drunk."
I put my hands on my hips. "Oh, really? You seemed perfectly sober when you yelled at me for being a controlling bitch after that."