The Return of the Ex: Dangerous Him and Love

I had never truly felt that the name "Marion" belonged to me. Over time, it had become less of a name and more like a code name of me as a marionette.

It had never been easy to be Olivia Caldwell's daughter. I could not even utter the name my father gave me with pride.

My father had named me Eucalina. The "Eucali" part of my name was taken from "Eucalyptus", a tree known for its strength and resilience, because he had wished for me to grow tall, strong and unshakable, just like the mighty eucalyptus tree.

The "Na" came from the name "Serena," which carries the meaning of peace and safety. By choosing this name, my father had offered a silent prayer, hoping that I would live a life filled with health and security.

However, my mother, Olivia, had something else in mind. She had wanted me to be nothing more than a shadow of her, a mere part of her that never dared to shine brighter. I had to remain dim, insignificant, always under her control.

I had been fully aware that the whole blind date charade had not been born out of any genuine desire for my happiness. It had been just another strategic move from her playbook, a way to dangle me as bait to secure a high-end endorsement.

Too bad for her, though. All the flowers from the young men representing those luxury brands she had wanted so badly had not ended up with me. They had been given to another man right in front of everyone.

It had been a shame for her that this might have been the last time she would attempt to walk down this road of influence.

I smiled quietly to myself, thinking back to Elliot's clear and gentle voice over the phone earlier. His soft "Eucalina" had echoed in my mind.

Only Elliot had known that I was once called "Eucalina Caldwell" and he had been the only one who reminded me of it, time and time again.

I cherished this name.

More than that, I cherished Elliot Sinclair.

However, because I liked him, I found myself being extra cautious around him. Because I liked him, my pride melted away whenever he was near.

Elliot was just like a flower of the high mountain in the eyes of all the girls since our high school days. He could only be admired from afar and considered unattainable. He was consistently ranked second in our grade.

Whenever the principal invited him to share his learning experience, Elliot would step up to the podium with an air of effortless grace, facing the entire school. He would take the microphone in hand, walk leisurely across the stage while speaking impromptu and answer each student's question with patience and care as if no inquiry was too trivial.

Despite all the praise, he always humbly insisted that he was not as intelligent as the top student in our class. Yet, unlike that top grader, who was always buried deep in books, wore thick black-rimmed glasses and constantly skipped physical education classes, Elliot managed to balance everything with ease. He found time after school to go to the art studio, where he would paint one vibrant landscape after another, his strokes full of life and color.

As a science student with an impressively high IQ, Elliot was not just brilliant in academics. Not only were his motor skills well-developed, but his mind was filled with humanistic ideals. He wrote with a sense of romance, painting a beautiful world with his words as much as he did with his brushes.

Needless to say, he was exactly my type.

I often found myself running to the studio just to watch him paint, quietly placing small snacks and desserts on the corner of the table where he kept his paints.

I would sit in a shadowed corner of the room, content to simply watch him, the sunlight filtering through the window and gently illuminating his long, delicate eyelashes.

Every now and then, he would turn his gaze toward me, a faint smile curving his lips and he would nod in greeting.

Each time I recalled this image, my heart would soften.

Though, of course, he never said anything particularly romantic to match the picture-perfect moment.

"Caldwell, if you really have time to spare, perhaps you should spend it going over more math problems in the classroom. You only scored a 71 on the last test."

And just like that, I would always find myself at a complete loss for words.

No matter how carefully I planned to talk to him or how perfectly I tried to present myself, I would always lose my composure when I was actually in his presence.

My roommates used to tease me about it all the time. They said it was almost amusing to watch someone like me, who always walked confidently across campus, chin raised slightly, with naturally curly black hair cascading down my back in a free-spirited and flamboyant way, suddenly lower her head, blush furiously and speak with a voice that turned soft and sticky whenever Elliot was around.

But the truth was, Elliot had never seen me the way I saw him. He had his own "special person".

And now, receiving this sudden phone call from him had left me feeling a little confused. The jealousy in his tone... had it been real, or was it just my imagination running wild?

No matter what, I had more immediate problems to deal with.

Though I said it was troublesome, the corners of my mouth had already curled up unconsciously.

It had been three days since I had last seen Vincent Blackwood.

This morning, as I got up and began tidying up my room, I noticed the long black dress I had worn on the blind date hanging near my pillow. My mind wandered back to the warmth of that day, to the touch of his presence lingering against my skin.

Strangely, I kind of wanted to see him again.

I stretched lazily, mentally planning a sandwich for breakfast, when I opened the door to my bedroom and froze at the sight before me. My mind went blank.

I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was not imagining things.

Scattered across the floor were countless photos, photos of Vincent and me, taken inside his car, capturing us in intimate moments.