Sting
My father leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to inherit the family business. This is what it takes, Lana. Sacrifice. If you refuse, I’ll have to make Athena my heir.”
I froze with words stuck in my throat.
“You wanted to fulfill the promise you made to your mother, didn’t you?” he continued, unrelenting. “You said you’d do anything. So do this and prove your loyalty to me.”
The room seemed to shrink, the walls inching closer. I stood surrounded by silence, by the weight of the promise I made to my mother and I realized that the right to say no had long since slipped from my grasp.
I nodded once.
Then he stepped back with the precision of a man who owned every second in the room, and said, “You’ve always been a good girl. Don’t disappoint me now.”
A nod toward the door ended the conversation. “You’re dismissed.”
Heat crawled up my neck as I walked out. The hallway swam in and out of focus, each step sending a pulse of molten pain through my ribs. I swallowed the pain, willing the ache to dull.
I turned a corner and nearly collided with her.
Athena. My stepsister. The bane of my existence.
She leaned against a column, her gown clinging like a second skin. Light caught the warm undertones of her skin, sliding across high cheekbones and a sculpted jaw. A glass of red wine dangled loosely from her fingers.
“Well, well,” she drawled, lips curving into a smile. “You look like shit.”
I kept walking with my head down, determined to ignore her.
She stepped into my path with a lazy grace, the faint bite of her perfume mixing with the sting of my own blood.
“Tell me, Lana,” she said, eyes flicking to the spreading stain on my side, “why do you still bother trying to win my father’s affection?” Her voice was filled with amusement. “Move,” I muttered, already pissed off.
She sipped her drink slowly, deliberately, as if savoring my discomfort. “You love it, don’t you? The pain. The scraps. Those pathetic crumbs of approval. You’re addicted, just like a mutt waiting for its master to toss a bone.”
“You’d better stop talking,” I hissed, curling my hand into a fist. My ribs flinched briefly at the jab, but I forced the pain down, masking it with defiance.
She grinned, teeth gleaming. “There it is.”
I pushed past her, my shoulder brushing hers lightly. She staggered a fraction and the cup fell down and shattered into pieces.
Her voice became venomous. “Maybe if your whore mother kept her legs closed, you wouldn’t exist.”
I stopped mid-step, a brief sting pricked my chest. “You want to go?” My voice was low, controlled, close enough to make her lean in. “Right here in the hallway?”
She laughed softly, the sound designed to mock me. “Please. I don’t fight dogs.”
I stepped closer, the faint heat of anger pooling in my chest. “I think you’re just jealous,” I whispered, letting the words linger. “Jealous because he respects me and you know that’s more than you’ll ever get.”
Hurt flashed across her face but it was quickly swallowed by anger. Her mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat. I smirked, moving past her. Behind me, her voice rose, low and trembling with fury.
“You’ll suffer for that.”
I said nothing. The door clicked shut behind me, shutting her out entirely. Her words still burned in my head, but I forced myself to push them away.
My room was a little peculiar but completely designed to my taste. It had dark curtains and a crystal chandelier that scattered faint light across polished wooden floors. Everything spoke of wealth, of order, of perfection but none of it felt alive.
I sank onto the bed, pulling the first aid box onto my lap. The antiseptic burned when it touched my wound. My jaw clenched as I worked, tying the gauze tight enough to hold but not so tight as to cut off circulation.
Finally, I let out a long breath, slumping against the headboard. Fatigue weighed me down, settling like dust on every muscle.
I rose again and crossed to the desk. The laptop screen lit at my touch, bathing the room in a pale glow. Words filled the page, a speech I had shaped and reshaped countless times. Tomorrow was the general debate at school. And I was definitely going to win.
I started making final corrections, my hands shook faintly, fatigue and pain whispering at my control, but I ignored them. Confidence radiated through every word. A yawn slipped out, but I fought it back.
“Enough,” I muttered, closing the laptop. “Time to sleep.”
I slid beneath the covers, the pillow cool against my cheek. Darkness crept in around me, and my thoughts blurred, slipping into a quiet and tentative dream.
**
“Lana, Lana, Lana!"
The voice was familiar.
“Mmh, Mum?” I answered in a childlike voice.
“I want you to love and live happily,” her voice whispered, warm and tired. “Have a love that is real, one you don’t need to hide. When you find that person… love, love, love.”
“But Mum… isn’t love painful?” My child-voice trembled. “You always cry when Mr. Vincent leaves. And then when he’s here too.”
“Shh… Lana, he’s your father, not Mr. Vincent.”
“My… father?” I asked, uncertain. “Why does he always leave? Does he not love me?”
Her answer came choked but firm. “He loves you. So much more than you’ll ever know.”
**
A tear slid down my cheek, and I snapped awake. I’ve always had these kinds of dreams since I came here, sometimes comforting, sometimes nightmarish. I wiped the tear quickly, forcing myself to calm down. I took my bath and dressed up quickly in my school uniform, my hair was still a bit wet from the shower. I packed up my laptop in my bag ready to leave. Just as I was about to step out, I heard a soft knock.
I went to open the door and the butler was standing at the door, his expression composed as ever.
“Young miss,” he said, his voice neutral.
“Madam just arrived this morning from her vacation and she is requesting your presence at the dining table.”
My stomach tightened.