Chapter 6

Lois’ POV

I stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me. My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. I was so mad I could barely breathe. I couldn’t believe I had let my guard down like that. I let him kiss me. Worse, I kissed him back. I couldn’t even say he forced me because I responded. And that made me even angrier—with him, yes, but more with myself.

How could I be so stupid?

The drive home took about an hour, but it felt longer. My thoughts were all over the place. I kept replaying the kiss in my mind. His hands, his lips, the way he looked at me. I hated it. I hated that it felt good. I was supposed to be in control. This marriage wasn’t real. It was just a deal. But now I wasn’t sure anymore, and that scared me.

I pulled into the driveway and parked. I sat in the car for a minute, trying to calm down. I was hoping to come home, lie in bed, cry maybe, and just be alone for a while.

But the second I looked up and saw a very familiar black car in front of the house, my heart dropped.

I knew that car. I knew who it belonged to.

There was only one person who had a spare key to my house—my mum.

What was she doing here?. I was in no mood for any of her shenanigans. All she does is nag about things I really don't care about.

I sighed and got out of the car slowly. I didn’t want her to hear me. Maybe if I moved quietly enough, I could slip inside and go straight to my room. I opened the front door gently and tiptoed into the house.

It was quiet, but the lights were on. That meant she was still awake.

Just my luck.

As I tried to sneak in, I heard a voice behind me.

“What are you doing here?”

I jumped and turned around fast. My heart skipped a beat.

“Mum!” I said, holding my chest. “Oh my God, you scared me.”

She didn’t laugh or smile like a normal mother would. She just stared at me with that cold, blank look she always had. No emotion. No kindness. Just disappointment. I hated it when she looked at me like that. It makes me feel like I am not doing enough, like I am just wasting my time doing the things I do, no matter how hard I work on something once she looks at me like that I immediately feel so discouraged.

She was my mother, but she never acted like it. Growing up, she didn’t hug me or tell me she loved me. She wasn’t soft. She was like a strict teacher who only cared about being perfect. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.

“I asked you a question, Lois,” she said again, her voice sharp. “What are you doing here?”

Of course, she didn’t ask how I was doing. She didn’t ask if I was okay. She didn’t care about the stress I was under or what was going on with the company. That would be too much to expect from her.

“I didn’t know I needed permission to come to my own house,” I snapped. “Maybe I should be the one asking you what you're doing here.”

“You’re married now,” she said coldly. “You have only one home. With your husband.”

That did it.

I felt the anger rise all over again, stronger than before. My chest got tight, and my face burned.

“You need to go back,” she said, as if she were the one in charge of my life.

I had enough.

“If you don’t leave my house right now, I’ll call security,” I warned, my voice shaking from rage.

She didn’t flinch. She just smiled, like she found me funny.

What was so funny? Was I a joke to her?

“You still don’t get it,” she said with a sneer. “You’re so foolish. Sometimes, I feel ashamed to say you’re my daughter.”

I froze.

Those words hit hard. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away, but it was too late. The damage was done.

She saw it.

My heart felt heavy. I couldn’t breathe properly. My body was hot, but I was shaking.

And then the memories came rushing back.

All the times she had said things like:

“You’re not good enough.”

“You’ll never amount to anything.”

“I wish you had died the day you were born.”

“Get out of my sight.”

I tried not to remember, but the memories came anyway. They hurt just as much now as they did then.

Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t hold them in anymore. They ran down my face, warm and fast. My hands started to tremble, and my legs felt weak.

I looked at her, hoping she might feel sorry—even a little bit.

But no.

She just smirked.

That same cruel smirk.

“I hate you,” I whispered. My voice was soft, but the words were real. The hatred in my voice could be heard, and the trembling in my voice was visible.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her silence told me everything.

She didn’t care.

She never did.

I wanted to scream, yell at her, throw something. But I didn’t. I just stood there, feeling like that helpless little girl all over again.

In school, I was bullied a lot. But nothing ever compared to the bullying I got from my own mother. She was my biggest bully. The one I could never escape. The one I could never fight back against.

“What kind of woman leaves her husband in the middle of the night?” she said, her voice full of disgust. “Do you want to ruin the company? Is that what you want?”

I stared at her with pure anger. I wanted to shout that I didn’t care about the company. That I didn’t want any of this. But I knew it would be pointless.

My dad was strict, too, but at least he wasn’t heartless. If I had to choose between him and my mum, I’d pick him every single time.

“Good night,” I said, turning around.

“You’re not going back?” she asked.

I did not respond. I was done talking. I just kept walking.

“Well, see you at dinner tomorrow,” she called out. “And don’t be late.”

I walked into my room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I leaned against the door, breathing hard. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry more. I hated her. I hated how she made me feel. How could a mother treat her own child like this? How could she carry me for nine months, raise me, and then act like I was nothing?

I sat on my bed and put my head in my hands. I had come here to clear my head. To get away from everything.

But even here, I couldn’t have peace.

I couldn’t have anything.

I wiped my face and took a few deep breaths. Slowly, the tears stopped. I leaned back, resting my head on the pillow.

And then, out of nowhere, I thought of Aaron.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.

But I did.

I suddenly started missing Aaron, I wish I could cuddle him and be comforted in his arms. Although I did not like him, I felt being in his warm arms now would make me feel a whole lot better. I missed him.

I thought of his face, his voice, the way he looked at me before the kiss. The way he touched me gently, almost like he cared. The way he didn’t yell or insult me. The way he made me feel safe—even if just for a second.I missed being near him.

I missed the warmth of his arms. I wanted to crawl into his lap and hide. Even if I didn’t like him that much, even if I still didn’t trust him—right now, being with him sounded better than being alone.

I hated myself for it, but I missed him.

I hugged a pillow close and closed my eyes.

Maybe I’d go back tomorrow. Maybe not.

The realization hit me like a wave. I missed his arms around me. I missed the quiet strength in his gaze. I did not even like him—not truly, not yet. But at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be held by him, to bury my face in his chest and forget all of this.

Maybe, just maybe… I didn’t hate him as much as I thought.