CHAPTER EIGHT

"I think you should remain...."

Before I could even finish my sentence, Paul held up his hand. "Don't even think about it, Suwilanji. I'm here to help you, these people are not to be trusted. Hence, I can't let you face them alone," he retorted, not at me at them.

But did he know they were werewolves? For him to mention that I can't trust them meant he might have sensed their werewolf powers.

"But they might assume…."

"I know. But that will just give me more reason to beat the leaving hell out of them. The father and the son," he smiled mischievously.

I just let it go, and we matched to a rather fancy-looking black gate. It was about fifteen feet high, and maybe ten or more feet in the width. I couldn't tell the exact size because I just sucked at that. The lights that surrounded the wall fence illuminated, making the outside look even more dashing. They sort it best to cover the wall fence with flowery things inscribed on it. And as I looked closer, I saw something like an animal chasing its play.

There was green glass just below the fence, but only three feet from the fence, and the garden trimmed them perfectly. Unlike our gardener. Apparently, we were not allowed to hire another gardener. We were supposed to use the community gardener. He was about fifty or something, hence his work was not on point. But I disobeyed that rule once. I found another gardener, and they talked about that for the past two weeks. And mother was seconds away from killing me.

If the outside was this highly designed, I can just imagine how the inside might be looking. I'm sure it was a castle.

Paul moved a step ahead and pressed on a small black, round button, and the gate suddenly opened. It hadn't even been a minute, not even a second. Did they see us somehow? I looked around for any cameras, but I saw none. They can't just open the door for anyone. Especially since they were rich. What if we were thieves? Maybe they sensed us somehow.

I let it go as me and Paul exchanged thoughtful looks and strolled inside. Just like I guessed, it was as dashing as ever.

The house looked as thrice as my parents' house. It was very tall, maybe about four to five floors high. The design of the house looked like those old castles, but looked dashing. At best. The surrounding area got lit by the lights that were on the wall fence and the lights that surrounded the house. They must have been about hundreds of lights that surrounded the house. Hence, making the surrounding so bright that a thief would think twice before breaking into the house.

Then they covered the ground with the same pavements as the ones at my parents' house. Even the design and the color were the same.

But I got knocked out of my thoughts as someone called for us. I noticed Paul flinched, just like I did. Which made me question my earlier statement. Was Paul rich or not? The man wore highly expensive clothes and drove a freaking expensive BMW. Even at the hotel, he wore expensive looking clothes. Maybe I was just being irrational about all this. I buried the thoughts and concentrated on the man.

The man was about in his late forties, about an inch taller than Paul, but he was little in body size as compared to Paul. He wore a highly expensive black suit that you can't find anywhere around. Well-polished shoes that glittered just like his bald black head.

Was he Zack's father? I asked myself. But judging by the way Paul looked at me, he had the same question as me.

"Good evening Mr. And miss," he bowed his head.

"Evening," we both said.

"Mr. Zimba has been waiting for your arrival. He will be very delighted to see you," he shot me a smile. "Follow me," he turned and began walking towards the door.

I looked at Paul, and he just nodded. According to the butler. Which I concluded because of his mention about Mr. Zimba, who was Zack's father.

So, the butler said Mr. Zimba had been waiting for me. Did Zack tell his father about me? And the way the butler welcomed us gave me a green light that Mr. Zimba might be as nice as everyone said he was. Just like our research said he was. Believe me just thinking about the man accepting me and my child made me feel like I was on cloud nine.

The butler opened the door, which was five stairs from the pavement ground. It was a brown, well finished door that might have cost them a fortune. But to them, it might have been nothing.

They did not light the inside like the outside, though. Despite them having a chandelier, that was twice the one at home. They only lit the small lights that were hanging on the walls. And by the looks of things, they didn't light the all house. But it was enough for me to see we were in the living room.

They were seven white couches with a golden touch on the front arm panels. Making the whole goddamned couch look even more appealing. At the center sat a matching table with the same golden touch around the top table as the one on the front arm panel. And I also spotted drawers on the side of the table as we went closer.

The room was maybe four times bigger than the living room at home. On the other side of the living room was a wooden dining table, that the maker well finished and ten matching chairs surrounded the table. But one chair stood out of them all. It was a bit higher, about five inches from the rest-even in width, it was bigger. Presumably, it belonged to Mr. Zimba.

Then to my left were stairs that led to the second floor. And before I even thought about it, I spotted the elevator. So, there were more than one floor up. Maybe there was even a fourth floor. The elevator was an authentic, golden one that glittered even in the dim lighting. But it had the same flowers like the outside wall fence scrambled around it. Making the damned thing look even expensive.

"You may take your sits," the butler said, gesturing for the couch as we stopped a foot from them.

Me and Paul matched and then sat on a two-sitter couch.

"I will be right back. Would you like anything?" He looked from Paul to me.

"No thanks," I said, and Paul just did a dismissive hand.

"Alright. But if you would like anything, do not hesitate. Be right back," he said and went upstairs.

Then I turned to Paul, only to remember that men aren't gossipers. Dammit. I cursed under my breath. I sure hoped Sarah was here with me.

"These bastards are as rich as hell, eh?" Paul said and shot me a smile.

The bastard read my mind. "Yeah. I mean, look at the damn fireplace," I said, and we both turned.

A fire place was about five feet from the couches. And the fire was still burning with a cracking sound. The smoke went up the chimney that protruded above the ceiling, in no doubt. But to be frank with you, I still get puzzled on how the smoke only goes up the chimney. It never spreads around the area, which is extraordinary all together.

Though I saw no need for a fireplace. They probably had air conditions. So, why not turn on them instead? Could it be that they were trying to stay a simple life as much as possible? Maybe the old man was as nice as everyone said he was. I realized I was smiling from ear to ear just thinking about my child running around the place.

"I will do the talking when they come, ok?" Paul said, looking as serious as hell. But that can't work on me.

"We talked about this Paul, and we are not discussing about it any further," I touched his hand that was on his thigh. "I appreciate your help. Everything you have been doing for me, despite not knowing me that much, you still helped me. I will never forget about this. But let me do this. I will feel better knowing I gave my child the childhood it deserved. Can I at least have that?" I spoke, choosing my words wisely.

But somehow, he looked hate. A bit mad, but he didn't allow it to take control. He smiled and patted my hand with his other hand.

"I understand. And I will not intervene. Though this is not a promise," he winked at me.

I just smiled. Then we both jumped up as we heard footsteps approaching down.

A man about five years older than the butler was walking along with the butler. Discussing under their breaths. I tried my level best to listen, but failed miserably.

Mr. Zimba had short black hair that went well with his black skin color. About a foot taller than his butler and a bit fat. He wore a black or brown robe. There was no way of telling due to the dim lighting. But he did put a matching trouser and a shirt inside the robe. Then he completed his look with house shoes. Hence making zero noise as they got closer to us.

"You may take your sit please," Mr. Zimba gestured.

"Thank you," both me and Paul said, and we sat.

"Jonathan, do get them something to eat. Tea or coffee preferably. It's chilly, so you should also get me one," Mr. Zimba said, looking at his butler.

"No sir, we are fine, thanks," I said.

"Don't be silly. My grandchild must be dying inside there," he smiled back at me. "Jonathan, please."

Jonathan just dipped his head and matched to the kitchen.

He just said his grandchild. That could only mean he accepted me. But why? His son refused. But whatever the reason, my heart was jumping from my stomach to my throat. Refusing to stay in its place.

As I looked closer at him, he had the same blue eyes as Zack. And they glowed as well.

"You didn't have to, sir," I said.

"We are not discussing about this. Anyway, is he your...." He looked attentively at me.

"Oh, no. He is a friend," I spoke.

"Oh, how are you, sir?"

"Fine, thank you, and how are you doing yourself?" Paul said politely.

"I'm doing great, young man. How nice of you to accompany your friend. I'm sure you were thinking of knocking some sense into my stupid son, eh? I sure hope that is the case. I can use a hand teaching that bastard son of mine a lesson," he smiled from Paul to me.

"That was the plan," Paul spoke. And before we knew it, we were all laughing.

Then I spoke after our laughter died down, "so, sir. Do you accept me just like that? Without me having any proof that it's your son's child. I mean, he did have a reason to doubt that I'm carrying his child. Anyone in his position can say the same thing."

Even though having him say those words was hateful and I had to slap the leaving hell out of him. He spoke the truth. They were rich, which gives every woman an advantage to lie about such a thing just to be part of the family.

But why did he accept me just like that? What were his reasons?