Father

The excuse died in Mia’s throat. She swallowed hard, the cold weight of reality hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Her mother was right, and that was the worst part. Six years ago, when her parents’ marriage ended in a bitter, explosive divorce, her father hadn't just walked out—he had left them with a mountain of hidden debt. They were weeks away from losing the house, completely drowning. It was Roland, her dad’s younger brother, who had stepped in. He broke ties with his own brother to pay off their debts and keep a roof over their heads. He had looked after them ever since.

"I know what he did, Mom," Mia whispered, her voice dropping. "You don't have to remind me every single time."

"Clearly I do, because you're sitting there making excuses about work when the man who saved our lives is waiting for his niece to show up," Jane said, softening her tone just enough to let the guilt really settle in. "He asks about you all the time, Mia. He's so proud of your job. It would break his heart if you weren't there. Just dress up a little, put some makeup on, and come for an hour. For me? Please?"

Mia let out a long, defeated breath. The fight completely left her. "Fine. I'll come. I promise."

"Good. Don't be late. We're sitting down in forty minutes."

The line went dead with a sharp click.

Mia stared at the black screen, feeling utterly trapped. She couldn't go home to change; the restaurant her mother chose was upscale, and she was currently wearing a plain corporate blazer. Then she remembered the garment bag hanging on the back of her cubicle door.

Twenty minutes later, Mia stood in the office's executive restroom, staring at herself in the mirror.

She had just put on the emerald-green gown she kept hidden in her locker for emergency corporate dinners. It was a dress she regarded as excessively expensive—it had cost her about two hundred dollars, which felt like an absolute fortune on her budget. The silk clung to her frame, making her look elegant, but it did nothing to hide the hollow, exhausted look in her eyes.

She leaned against the marble sink, looking at her reflection. She was about to go to a family dinner pretending everything was fine, while her entire career hung by a thread a few floors above her.

"Ahh! I don't feel like going," she muttered to the empty restroom, her voice cracking. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, checking to make sure the zipper was secure. "But it's the only option I have."

She couldn't let Roland down, and she certainly couldn't deal with the lifetime of guilt her mother would throw at her if she skipped. Gathering her things, Mia took a deep breath, forced her face into a mask of composure, and finally walked toward the elevators.

Mia watched her reflection distort in the elevator’s polished steel doors before stepping out into the lobby. Her throat still burned from the confrontation with Julian, and her mother’s demands echoed relentlessly in her mind. Stepping out onto the busy street, she flagged down a taxi, the yellow car pulling up to the curb with a sharp screech of brakes.

The interior of the cab smelled faintly of old pine and cheap vinyl, a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of the high-rise she had just left behind. Mia sank into the worn leather seat, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. As the city blurred past in a smear of neon and brake lights, she watched her fingers trace the silk fabric of the emerald-green gown. It felt entirely wrong—an expensive armor she couldn't actually afford, worn to an event she didn't want to attend.

The taxi eventually pulled up to the entrance of the Grand Horizon Venue, an opulent glass-and-marble event center that cost thousands of dollars just to secure for a single night. Mia stepped out of the car, the cool evening air doing little to soothe the knot tightening in her stomach. Looking up at the towering columns and the brilliant, cascading chandeliers visible through the massive glass facade, she felt a heavy wave of reluctance.

"Okay then," Mia murmured to herself, taking a slow, grounding breath. "Here I come."

The moment she stepped through the grand double doors, the sheer scale of the wealth in the room hit her like a physical force. Brilliant, multi-tiered crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a dazzling shimmer across an expanse of plush, deep-red carpets. The room was a sea of high society—crowds of affluent men and women moving in effortless symmetry. They wore flawlessly tailored suits and sweeping designer gowns, their movements accompanied by the subtle glitter of gold and diamond watches catching the light.

Mia stood frozen near the entrance, her hand gripping her evening bag tightly. Against the backdrop of such unyielding extravagance, her two-hundred-dollar dress felt entirely ordinary, a cheap imitation of the luxury surrounding her. A suffocating sense of displacement washed over her. This place isn't for me, she thought, her heels spinning instinctively back toward the doors. She wanted nothing more than to run back to the quiet anonymity of the streets.

Before she could take a single step toward escape, a pair of slender, manicured hands wrapped warmly around her shoulders, arresting her movement.

"Where do you think you're going, Mia?"

Mia turned to find Aunt Lucia standing there, a vibrant, joyful smile lighting up her face. As Uncle Roland’s wife, Lucia possessed an innate grace that always made people feel seen, and tonight she looked radiant in a shimmering silver gown.

"Look at you! You look absolutely beautiful," Lucia said, her voice laced with genuine warmth as she gently pulled Mia into the room, cutting off any possibility of retreat. "Come on, the party is just starting. Everyone has been waiting for you."

Lucia kept a firm, affectionate arm woven through Mia’s, guiding her through the swirling crowds toward the far side of the ballroom. Mia tried to force a polite smile onto her face, but her heart was hammering against her ribs.

As they approached the massive, circular family table at the center of the pavilion, Lucia gestured toward the gathering of extended family members. Mia’s eyes swept over the familiar faces of aunts, uncles, and cousins raising their glasses in toasts. But then, her gaze locked onto a figure sitting near the center of the table.

Her breath caught sharply in her throat, her entire body going entirely rigid. Sitting there, laughing smoothly at a joke as if he had never left a trail of destruction behind him, was her father—the one person in the world she hated most.