I linger in the corner, trying to compose myself.
My mother wasn’t always so harsh and mean. I was the apple of her and my father’s eyes. It’s after both their pride took a hit when Bianca cut us out of her life that their controlling nature increased tenfold.
Every step of mine was scrutinized. Every decision needed to have their approval. Under no circumstances was I to ever reach out to Bianca unless I wanted to be disowned.
I did it all to appease them, in the hope that it was all temporary because everyone’s emotions were high.
It was naïve thinking that one day we’ll all be a family once we’ve all calmed down.
Days turned into months. Months into years.
Nothing changed.
There was no light at the tunnel, but a locked gate.
Ever since, I’ve resented my parents for making me a villain in my sister’s eyes. Getting married to Aryan was my one chance to get out from under their thumb. I can’t breathe when I’m in their presence.
It’s another reason why I’ll never forgive Aryan. He’s witnessed firsthand how my parents have treated me like crap over the years. The pressure to be the perfect daughter who’s soft-spoken and does whatever her father tells her to.
Without giving me a warning, he plunged me back into my prison.
A part of me wonders if he made his decision because he didn’t want to be a part of my dysfunctional family.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in and out.
In and out.
Until I don’t feel like I’m going to faint. Smoothing a hand down my skirt, I summon confidence as I turn back and walk into the ballroom. Any time someone gazes at me, my mother’s remark flies to the forefront of my mind.
Do they also think I look like a hussy?
Is my dress too revealing?
Do I look like a prostitute?
Fuck. My thoughts spiral like water falling down a stream.
Drink.
I need a large drink. Finding the bar across the room, I stalk toward it as though I’m on a mission to quench my last dying thirst. Setting my small clutch on the bar top once I reach it, I lean forward with my palms resting on the surface. “Hello.”
The bartender turns his head toward my voice.
“Can I get a glass of scotch, please?” He nods.
I pull back, reaching for my clutch.
“Arya.”
The cautious voice sends a trickle of alarm down my spine. I stand still for the longest second, trapped against the bar by Aryan’s presence behind me.
My fight-or-flight instinct is warring inside my head.
Why won’t he leave me alone now that I don’t wish to see him? More importantly, how did he know I’m attending this party?
“Baby, look at me.”
The endearment brings a wave of fury. I whirl around, snapping, “I’m not your fucking baby!”
