The Party That Broke Me

(Ciara’s POV)

I arrived at the Peninsula Beverly Hills Hotel at exactly 8 p.m.

The moment I stepped out of the taxi, I paused for a second, taking everything in. The entrance was glowing with soft golden lights, and people moved in and out of the building like they belonged to a completely different world. Their clothes were elegant, expensive, and perfectly styled, and for a brief moment, I felt out of place standing there.

I could not remember the last time I had been surrounded by this kind of luxury.

Maybe because I had spent the last few years trying to survive rather than belong.

I tightened my grip on the small gift box in my hand and exhaled slowly.

“This is for Aunt Persia,” I whispered to myself.

That was enough reason to be here.

No matter how uncomfortable it felt.

I walked inside.

The interior was even more breathtaking than I expected. The decorations were flawless, every detail carefully planned, from the floral arrangements to the lighting that gave the entire hall a warm, inviting glow. Soft music filled the air, blending perfectly with the quiet chatter of guests.

Whoever planned this event knew exactly what they were doing.

I found myself admiring it despite everything going on in my head.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

“Ciara!”

I turned immediately.

“Uncle Eric,” I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face as I walked toward him.

He pulled me into a warm hug, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

“I am so glad you made it,” he said, holding my shoulders as he looked at me. 

“It has been too long.”

“I had a lot of thoughts when Annie called,” I admitted, smiling lightly. “But how could I miss Aunt Persia’s birthday?”

He laughed softly.

“That is what I like to hear.”

We exchanged a few more words before I excused myself and moved further into the hall.

“Annie!” I called out the moment I spotted her.

She turned instantly, and the smile on her face widened as she rushed toward me.

“Ciara!”

We hugged tightly, and I closed my eyes briefly, letting myself feel the comfort that came with her presence.

“I missed you,” she said softly.

“I missed you too.”

When we pulled apart, I noticed Aunt Persia standing nearby.

She looked radiant.

Elegant, graceful, and glowing in a way that made it hard to believe she was turning fifty.

“Aunt Persia,” I said, my voice softening as I walked toward her.

Before I could say anything else, I wrapped my arms around her.

She held me just as tightly.

“My baby is here,” she said warmly. “Ciara, I am so glad to see you.”

I smiled, blinking back the sudden emotion in my chest.

“I would not miss this for anything.”

I stepped back and handed her the gift I had been holding.

“This is for you.”

“You did not have to,” she said, though I could see the appreciation in her eyes.

“I wanted to.”

She took it from me, smiling, and for a moment, everything felt right.

But it did not last.

Because the moment I lifted my head and looked across the room…

I saw him, my father, Standing there, Laughing, Talking.

Living his life like nothing had ever happened.

Like my mother had never existed.

Like I had never existed.

My smile faded slowly.

The air around me felt heavier, harder to breathe.

He saw me.

I knew he did.

Our eyes met for a brief second.

And then…

He looked away.

Like I was nothing.

Like I was invisible.

Something inside me twisted painfully.

Memories I had spent years trying to bury came rushing back all at once.

My mother lying weak on the hospital bed.

The smell of antiseptic.

The quiet desperation in her eyes.

The way she held my hand and smiled, even when she was in pain.

We could not afford her chemotherapy.

We tried. Aunt Persia and Uncle Eric did everything they could, even when things were not going well for them at the time.

But it was not enough.

It was never enough.

And the one person who could have saved her…Refused.

My father.

He chose not to help.

He chose another woman.

Another family.

Another life.

And my mother paid the price.

She died.

And he moved on.

Like she meant nothing.

Like we meant nothing.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but the anger was already rising, burning through my chest.

Before I could turn away, a voice cut through my thoughts.

“So you finally decided to show up.”

I turned slowly.

Cassandra.

My father’s wife.

Standing there with that same polished smile that never reached her eyes.

“I did not see you greet us,” she continued, her tone light but sharp underneath.

I kept my expression neutral.

“I came for Aunt Persia.”

Her smile tightened slightly.

“That is still no excuse for your disrespect,” she said.

I said nothing.

I did not trust myself to speak.

But she did not stop.

“Your mother would be disappointed in you,” she added casually.

That was it.

Something inside me snapped.

I stepped closer, my voice low but steady.

“Do not mention my mother.”

Her brows lifted slightly, but she did not back down.

“I am simply stating the truth.”

I laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.

“The truth?” I repeated. “You want to talk about the truth?”

Her expression changed slightly.

“You destroyed a home,” I continued, my voice rising. “You took someone else’s husband and still have the audacity to stand here and talk about respect.”

“Watch your tone,” she snapped.

“Or what?” I shot back.

Before she could respond, another voice joined in.

“Who do you think you are talking to like that?”

Taylor.

Of course.

She stepped forward, her expression filled with irritation.

“That is my mother,” she added.

“And she is a homewrecker,” I replied without hesitation.

Her eyes widened.

“How dare you”

“Enough.”

The voice that cut through everything made the entire space fall silent.

My father.

He stepped forward, his expression dark.

“You will not speak to my wife like that,” he said.

I laughed again, this time louder.

“Your wife?” I repeated. “You mean the woman you chose over your own family?”

His jaw tightened.

“You have no right to stand here and insult us.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You lost the right to talk about respect the day you let my mother die.”

The words hung in the air.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

His hand moved before I even realized what was happening.

The slap came fast.

Sharp.

Pain exploded across my cheek as I stumbled slightly.

For a second, everything went silent.

Then the whispers started.

I straightened slowly, my hand pressing against my cheek.

My eyes met his.

But this time, there was no pain.

No hurt.

Just clarity.

“Mr. Casper,” I said calmly.

The name hit harder than any insult.

His expression changed instantly.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, Mr. Casper,” I repeated.

“You are no longer my father.”

Silence fell again.

“I disown you,” I continued, my voice steady despite everything. “Completely.”

His face darkened with anger, but I did not wait for him to respond.

I turned.

And walked away.

Each step felt heavy, but I did not stop.

I did not look back.

Not until

I saw him.

Lucas Blake.

Standing a few feet away.

Watching everything.

My breath caught.

How long had he been there?

How much had he seen?

Our eyes met.

And just like before…

Everything else disappeared.

There was no crowd.

No noise.

No past.

Just him.

And the weight of everything that had just happened.

Before I could say anything, my father’s voice broke through again.

“Mr. Blake!”

I froze.

Slowly, realization settled in.

He was the special guest.

Of course he was.

Of course it had to be him.

Why was he everywhere?

Why was he part of every moment I was trying to escape?

Lucas glanced at me one last time before turning toward them.

I did not wait.

I walked out.

Fast.

Ignoring Annie’s voice calling my name behind me.

Because if I stayed even one second longer…

I would break completely.

And I refused to let them see that.