CH.4

TESSA

The first breath feels as though I'm swallowing shards of glass mixed with gasoline and setting my lungs on fire.

I wake up screaming.

Not the soft gasp of someone emerging from peaceful sleep, but the raw, animalistic shriek of prey that's just realized the predator's teeth are still buried in its throat.

My body convulses against the hospital bed, monitors exploding into a symphony of medical panic as my heart rate rockets past dangerous into lethal.

"TESSA! TESSA, NO!"

My mother's voice cuts through the chaos, but I can't see her through the blood-red haze of memory.

All I can see is Maya's triumphant smile, Derek's cruel laughter, the flash of phones recording my destruction.

All I can feel are boots connecting with my ribs, hands in my hair, the taste of copper and betrayal flooding my mouth.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I'm clawing at the IV lines, ripping at the bandages, trying to escape a hospital bed as if it's the marble floor where I died.

"DON'T TOUCH ME! PLEASE DON'T—"

"Sedate her! NOW!" comes a voice sharp with urgency.

"Do it," my father's voice cuts through the chaos, cold and clinical. "She's making a spectacle of herself again."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. Even here, even now, his primary concern is appearances.

He appears in my line of vision, but there's no warmth in his eyes. The man who's conquered boardrooms and destroyed business empires looks at me with the same expression he reserves for failed investments.

His face is perfectly composed, every hair in place, his suit immaculate despite spending days in a hospital. He looks like he's attending a board meeting rather than visiting his daughter's deathbed.

"You're awake," he states flatly. "Good. We need to discuss the damage you've caused."

I'm not safe. I'll never be safe again. The video is out there, spreading through every social media platform, every group chat, every corner of our world. By now, everyone has seen the fat girl's ultimate humiliation.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to this family?" His voice is measured, controlled, but underneath I hear the fury he's keeping leashed. "Our name is trending on social media. Trending, Tessa. The Whyte name has become a punchline."

My mother materializes beside him, and the sight of her breaks something fundamental in my chest. She looks torn, glancing between my father and me with obvious distress. Her designer dress is still perfect, her makeup flawless, but her hands shake as she reaches for me before stopping herself.

"Adam, please," she whispers. "She just woke up."

"She's been unconscious for three days while our family's reputation burns," he snaps back. "Three days of damage control, of lawyers, of trying to contain the disaster she created."

I've never heard my father speak to me with such open disgust before. He's always been distant, critical, but this is something else entirely. This is revulsion.

"Please, baby," my mother tries, her voice breaking. "We need to know what happened. The whole story."

How can I tell them? How can I explain their daughter is the kind of pathetic creature who steals from her own family to fund her own destruction? How can I admit I was so desperate for love that I let myself be used as a human ATM?

So I turn away.

I fix my eyes on the sterile white ceiling tiles above me and let the silence stretch between us.

"The person who brought you in disappeared before anyone could thank them," my mother tries again, desperation creeping into her voice.

"All your medical expenses have been covered," my father adds, but his tone suggests this is another mark against me rather than a kindness. "Someone paid for everything. Another humiliation. We can't even pay our own daughter's hospital bills without charity."

Hours crawl by. My mother takes shifts by my bedside while my father paces, his phone constantly buzzing with what I assume are crisis management calls.

The breaking point comes when he finally stops pretending to be patient.

"I've been fielding calls all morning," he says suddenly, his voice sharp with barely contained rage. "Reporters, business associates, board members. Everyone wants to know about the Whyte family scandal. About my daughter who became a viral laughingstock."

I remember being eight years old, wanting that princess dress, being told princesses weren't supposed to be fat. But that memory feels distant now, overshadowed by the cold disappointment in my father's eyes.

"You were supposed to be better than this," he continues, each word carefully chosen to cut deep. "You were supposed to represent this family with dignity. Instead, you've turned us into a national joke."

"Adam," my mother whispers, but there's no real conviction in her protest.

"No, Caroline. She needs to hear this." He steps closer to my bed, his presence looming. "Do you know what the board said to me yesterday? They suggested I step down. Step down from the company I built because my daughter can't control herself."

And suddenly, I can't hold it in anymore. The dam doesn't just break, it explodes.

"I'M TIRED!" The scream rips from my throat. "I'M SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING THE JOKE!"

My father's face hardens further. "Language, Tessa. Haven't you embarrassed us enough?"

"I'm tired of hating every mirror, every photograph, every reflection!" The words pour out, unstoppable. "I'm tired of walking into rooms and knowing everyone's looking at me and thinking the same thing!"

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you made yourself into entertainment," my father says coldly.

The words hit me like physical blows. My own father, speaking to me like I'm a stranger he despises.

"I'm tired of pretending it doesn't hurt!" I'm sobbing now, ugly tears that make my face red and swollen. "It ALWAYS hurts!"

"And whose fault is that?" he demands. "Who chose to steal from this family? Who chose to throw money at people who were obviously using you?"

The truth hangs in the air between us. He knows. He knows about the money, thanks to Maya and Derek.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" His voice drops to a whisper that's more terrifying than shouting. "Twenty thousand, Tessa. Twenty thousand of family money used to fund your own humiliation."

My mother gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. She looks between us with growing horror.

"Adam, what are you talking about?"

"Our daughter," he says, never taking his eyes off me, "has been stealing from us. Transferring money to fund her pathetic attempts at buying affection from people who saw her as nothing more than a walking ATM."

The silence that follows is deafening. My mother stares at me with a mixture of shock and disappointment that makes me want to disappear entirely.

"I want to disappear," I whisper. "I want to stop existing like this."

"Well, you can't," my father snaps. "You can't disappear. You can't undo what you've done. You've made your choice, and now we all have to live with the consequences."

"I want to matter," I whisper so quietly they're barely breath. "I want to be beautiful. I want to be wanted."

My father's laugh is harsh, bitter. "You want to be beautiful? You want to matter? Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you turned yourself into a viral video."

My mother finally finds her voice. "Adam, please. She's our daughter."

"Is she?" He turns that cold gaze on her. "Because the daughter I raised would never have brought this kind of shame on our family. The daughter I raised would have had more self-respect than to steal money and throw it at people who despised her."

The words cut deeper than any physical wound. This is my father, the man whose approval I've spent my entire life chasing, telling me I'm not even worthy of being called his daughter.

"You remember what we discussed before?" my mother asks through tears, her voice barely audible. "The surgery? The procedures overseas?"

I remember. The pamphlets, the careful conversations about transformation. I'd refused then, too scared, too convinced I didn't need it.

"That's exactly what's going to happen," my father states with finality. "You're going abroad. You're getting the surgery. You're losing the weight. And you're not coming back until you can represent this family properly."

His words aren't a suggestion or an offer of help. They're a command, delivered with the same tone he uses to fire employees.

"I don't want you here while you look like this," he continues, gesturing at my body with obvious disgust. "I don't want you in our house, at our events, anywhere near our business until you've fixed what you've done to yourself."

"Adam!" my mother protests, but her voice lacks conviction.

"No, Caroline. Look at what she's cost us. Look at the damage she's done. I won't have her destroying what's left of our reputation."

Through my tears, through the pain that feels like it's splitting me in half, I understand what he's really saying. I'm being exiled. Sent away not out of love or concern, but because I'm an embarrassment he can't afford to keep around.

"I want to live," I whisper, but the words carry no hope now, only resignation.

"Then you'll do exactly what I tell you," he replies coldly. "You'll go abroad, you'll get the surgery, you'll lose the weight, and you'll come back as someone who won't humiliate this family again."

My mother reaches for my hand, her own shaking. "We'll help you become whoever you want to be," she says, but her words sound hollow compared to my father's harsh ultimatum.

I feel something other than pain and shame now. I feel the crushing weight of conditional love, of acceptance that comes with a price tag and an expiration date.

But then I remember my phone. The device that's been buzzing constantly since I woke up.

"I need my phone," I say hoarsely. "I need to see what they've done."

"Absolutely not," my father states immediately. "You've seen enough. You've done enough damage."

"I need to see exactly what I'm fighting against."

After a long moment, my mother reaches into her purse and pulls out my phone with trembling hands. My father's jaw tightens, but he doesn't stop her.

The first thing I notice is the notifications. Hundreds of them. Thousands even. My phone has been buzzing nonstop for three days, and now I understand why.