Chapter Eight

“Make sure you handle this one with care, Lucy. I don't want to see a single scratch on it by next week.” my father said to me.

“I will, Father. Thank you.”

“Anything for my princess.”

The words should have made me smile. Instead, guilt tightened in my chest. I lowered my eyes to the unopened box. My father had bought the phone without hesitation. He hadn't questioned the damage or complained about the expense. He had simply paid for it because he believed I needed it. But I knew the truth. I made him spend all that money for nothing.

I tightened my grip on the box. The phone wasn't what bothered me. It was the reason I had needed it. An excuse to return to the company. A chance to see Brian. And my father had unknowingly paid for that excuse.

He walked away, leaving me alone with the box. I stared after him. The guilt followed me upstairs. Inside my bedroom, I placed the unopened phone box on my vanity. I didn't open it. I couldn't. Every time I looked at it, I remembered how easily my father had believed me.

“Why did I do that?” I whispered.

I already knew the answer. Brian.

I closed my eyes. I knew exactly what had drawn me back to the company. Him. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Then I rose from the bed and walked toward the window. I pulled the curtains aside. Everything outside looked normal. My life didn't. I pressed my palm against the glass.

“What is wrong with me?”

Silence answered me. I lowered my hand. My father had spent years protecting me from the outside world. He controlled where I went, who I met, and how much freedom I had. I had grown up in luxury, but I had also grown accustomed to being alone. Other girls had friends they could call at any hour. They had people to confide in, people who understood the awkwardness of growing up and discovering feelings for the first time. I had never had that.

Perhaps that was why everything inside me felt so unfamiliar now. I had no experience with emotions I couldn't control. And Brian was becoming one of them.

I turned away from the window. My eyes landed on the small mahogany table in the corner. My mother's photograph stood there. I walked toward it. For several seconds, I simply stared at the familiar face. Then my eyes filled with tears.

“I wish you were here.”

My voice cracked. I slowly sat on the floor beside the table, pulling my knees toward my chest.

“Mom, I don't know what I'm doing.”

A tear rolled down my cheek.

“I don't know if this is normal.”

I wiped it away.

“I met someone, and I can't stop thinking about him.”

My gaze remained fixed on the photograph. I let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

“I sound ridiculous, don't I?”

The photograph gave me no answer. I looked down at my hands.

“I keep finding reasons to see him.”

My voice became quieter.

“And today, I made Father spend money because I wanted another excuse to go back there.”

My throat tightened.

“I know that was wrong.”

I took a shaky breath.

“But I don't know how to stop myself.”

I leaned closer to the photograph.

“Is this what obsession feels like?”

My eyes burned.

“Because I don't think this is just a simple crush anymore.”

I paused.

“I'm eighteen. I should know better.”

My fingers curled against my knees.

“But how am I supposed to know what I'm feeling when I've never been allowed to experience anything like this?”

I looked back at my mother's face.

“I don't have anyone else to ask.”

My voice broke.

“I wish you could tell me what to do.”

The room remained silent. I stayed there until the tears finally slowed. The confusion hadn't disappeared, but one thing had become clear. I needed answers. Not from my father. Not from anyone at the company. From the woman I trusted more than anyone. My mother.

I slowly stood. My mother's grave was the only place I could think of going. I needed to understand whether what I felt for Brian was real or simply the result of years of loneliness and isolation. And the only person I believed could help me was my late mother.

Tomorrow, I would finally ask her the question I had been too afraid to ask anyone else.