Chapter 20–My Cupcake

Natasha’s POV

By the time I woke up, the sky had darkened into shades of blue and orange, the last traces of sunlight slipping through the curtains. I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

There was a message from Ananya. I didn’t bother checking it.

I scrolled through my phone until one headline caught my attention.

Is Miami’s most dangerous bachelor—Tristan Castillo finally off the market?

I opened it without hesitation. It was a picture of us at the shop. “They didn’t even get a better angle on me,” I muttered.

The news was already everywhere.

Natasha Whitmore and Tristan Castillo? A pair we never saw coming.

I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.”

I dropped the phone beside me, letting it sink into the sheets.

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

This wasn’t how I imagined any of it would happen. Not the wedding. Not the man standing beside me at the altar. And definitely not without my mother’s blessings.

A sharp ache spread through me suddenly.

She should’ve been here.

The thought came quietly, but it hurt more than I expected.

Maybe she would’ve helped me choose a dress today. Maybe she would’ve cried seeing me in it.

Maybe she would’ve comforted me and told me everything was going to be okay even if it wasn’t. Or she would’ve put a stop to all this.

Instead, all I had left were fading memories of her.

My mind drifted to her room. I hadn’t entered it in years. No one did. Father forbade it, and I’m still trying to figure out why.

I swung my legs off the bed quietly, heading to the door.

I stood in the hallway, my gaze lingering on my mother’s room. I dragged my feet slowly down the corridor until I stopped in front of the door.

My hand moved instinctively to the knob. I twisted it open, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked.

Where could the key be?

I instantly thought of where my father would hide something if he didn’t want anyone finding it. Definitely not his bedroom.

I went into his study and opened the drawers. Nothing. I checked his old briefcase next, then the document boxes and bookshelves. Still nothing.

My eyes settled on a framed photo hanging on the wall—my parents on their wedding day. I’d never seen this one before. My father looked really happy while my mother looked… distant.

I stared at it longer than necessary. Slowly, I walked toward it. My hands hovered above the glass, then I lifted the frame off the wall. My fingers traced their images slowly.

As I moved to hang it back, something caught my eye—a small key taped to the back of the frame. “There you are.”

I carefully peeled the key free and tucked it into my palm. After hanging the photo exactly as I’d found it, I slipped out of the study, pulling the door shut behind me like a thief.

Every step down the hallway felt heavy, but I moved silently, my feet whispering against the floor as I made my way back to my mother’s room.

I slid the key into the lock, not sure if it was the exact key. It turned with a quiet, smooth click that sent shivers down my spine. I twisted the knob again this time, it opened.

I stepped into the room quietly, shutting the door behind me. Darkness swallowed everything. The air was thick and dusty. A cough escaped my throat before I could stop.

I pressed my hand against the wall, tracing my fingers along it, searching blindly for the light switch. I flicked it on.

The room came alive under the weak glow of an old chandelier. My mother’s old things surrounded me like a shield.

Framed photographs lined the dresser. A jewelry box was left half-open. I opened it completely. It was the same jewelry set I saw in her wedding photo. My fingers traced over the bracelet. It glittered with diamonds. I set it back down.

I paused in front of a bunch of photos… my mother as a young woman, smiling in ways I’d never seen in real life. Then my gaze landed on the dresses. Several elegant gowns hung in the open closet, including her wedding dress.

In the far corner, half-hidden behind an old chair, sat a plain cardboard box. A strange curiosity settled over me. I dragged it out. It scraped loudly against the floor. My arms trembled as I pulled off the lid.

I dropped to my knees beside the box. Inside were dozens of envelopes, neatly bundled and tied. My brows pulled together as I picked up one of the bundles. They were all addressed to me and Victoria. Letters. Birthday cards. Notes for holidays I barely remembered. Some dated back years. All of them unopened.

I chose one of the letters addressed to me, the paper yellowed with age. It was dated from when I was ten. I slid my fingers under the seal and unfolded the letter.

My mother’s elegant writing filled the page in blue ink. I stared at the words until they blurred.

A tightness formed in my chest. Was this why my father never wanted us here?

“My cupcake,”

I read the first line, then stopped. That was what she called me when I was little.

I yanked the ribbon off the stack of letters. I opened every single one of them. They had been written for every birthday from the time I was eight until I turned sixteen.

All these years, I thought she had forgotten us. And all this time, my father had kept her words locked away in this dusty room.

The exhaustion I’d been carrying for days suddenly felt heavier, mixed now with anger, grief, and the deepest kind of betrayal. Not even the sell-off could top this.

My vision blurred as tears stung my eyes. I picked up the first letter I’d opened—the one from my tenth birthday.

“My cupcake,”

Happy 10th birthday, Natasha!

My little girl is growing up so fast.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you today. I wish I could see you blow out your candles and eat cake with you. I know how much you’ve wanted a puppy. But I promised you one when you turn ten. To keep my word, I got you a puppy. Her name is Pixie. I hope she makes you smile every day.

Always remember that I love you and miss you so much, cupcake.

Happy birthday, baby.

Mom.”

The tears I’d been holding back finally slipped free, streaming down my face. A broken sob tore from my chest. I pressed the letter against my heart as my shoulders shook.

All those years, I never got this letter. I never got a fucking puppy either. My father made me believe she had forgotten about us. Made me believe she never cared. He told us she left and she never looked back.

And the whole time he had hidden this—proof that she remembered, that she probably kept every promise she could. Because what else could she have done that my father hid?

My hands clenched around the letter as tears continued to fall. “That spawn of the devil,” I whispered through sobs.

I couldn’t stop myself. I started pulling out all the letters addressed to Victoria. I didn’t open them. There was an envelope that had my name and Victoria’s. Christmas. Nine years ago.

I tore it open.

“My sweet girls,

I think this may be the last letter I write for a while.

I know it’s been years since I heard from either of you. And maybe hearing from me no longer brings you comfort the way I hoped it would.

I spoke to your father recently, and perhaps he’s right. Maybe continuing to reach out only makes things harder for everyone.

The last thing I ever wanted was to bring pain into your lives.

Please, never think a day passed where I forgot you.

I couldn’t. Not when everything around me still reminds me of you both.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Love, mom.”

Fresh tears poured down my face. Her words broke something in me. What made her think she could stop reaching out? What could father have said to her?

And maybe hearing from me no longer brings you comfort the way I hoped it would.

I read that line more times than I wanted to. If only she knew how much I wanted to hear from her right now.

Before I could read it again, I heard footsteps in the hallway. The light from the room was spilling out into the corridor under the door.

“I thought I made it clear that no one comes into this room!” My father’s voice rose with anger.

The door swung open.

“Natasha?”

I rose slowly from the floor, legs unsteady. Without saying a word, I walked straight to him and shoved the letter into his chest.

“I hope you’re happy,” I said, my voice shaking.

He looked at the paper, and realization kicked in.

“Natasha—”

“Don’t!” I raised my hand to stop him. “Don’t you say a fucking word to me.”

I brushed past him without saying another word. I raced down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the floor, vision still blurred with tears. I reached the entrance door and yanked it open with all the strength I had left.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me into the night, barefoot and breathless. Cold pavements bit into my soles. I didn’t look back.

I dashed through the driveway and into the dark street, tears spilling freely. I didn’t care where I was going. I just needed to get away from this house.

I waved down the first cab I saw, my hands trembling desperately. The moment it stopped, I ripped the door open and slipped inside, chest heaving.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, ma’am?”

I slammed the door shut. “I don’t know. Just fucking drive, please!”