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Chapter 3. The Confrontation.

 

Sofia POV.

 

The drive to the house was a long one; I sat there in person, but my spirit was gradually leaving my body. I was literally tired.

 

I was tired of being alive.

 

I was tired from running from one chaos to another, and the one person who's supposed to comfort me and be like a shoulder to lean on, he was the same nitwit in the school group requesting a thousand dollars to drop the full video.

 

The car finally came to a halt, the gate swung wide open, and the security guard, also dressed in a suit, bowed while the driver drove in.

 

I had come here countless times, but Tristsin never allowed me past the gate. He sang praises of his father's brutal attitude, so I didn't push further.

 

Seeing the mansion in its full glory, my jaw fell open in admiration, the compound a sight to behold, everything screamed of luxury.

 

The atmosphere was cozy and cold at the same time, and the driver drove to the middle of the compound.

 

Light glowed from large pillars down to each unit; it looked like a view from heaven, and the whole place smelled of affluence.

 

I stepped out of the car; the cold breeze pressed against the nubskin, my body moved, and my guts shifted.

 

 

The old man stepped out from the other end, walking toward me. He grabbed me by the hand, and I allowed him; his touch was cold against my hand.

 

“Come”: He pulled me gently, and I followed suit, cleaning my eyes. I hated Tristain, but still I didn't want to see myself looking like a mess; that would only fuel his ego. Tristain is a proud type and a very selfish lover. I had put up with him this long because he was my first love. Little did I know I was signing up to be humiliated. I should have left when I caught him curled up in the dormitory with a female classmate, but no, I was too stupid to read the handwriting on the wall.

 

See what it has led me to.

 

The main door opened the moment we got close; it was more like those doors we saw in luxury commercials. The man pulled me in, then walked behind me.

 

A figure was seated in the royal chair, his head blocking the entrance.

 

It was him.

 

Tristain held his phone, laughing drastically.

 

"Tristain." The man called out coldly.

 

"Dad." He answered promptly, wearing his slippers and walking towards us, his eyes not leaving his phone, his lips still spread wide in laughter.

 

I wanted to aim at him.

 

I wanted to pour my frustration on him.

 

For the first time in five years, inside the man I giggled over, something overwhelming consumed me, and it wasn't love; it was pure hatred!.

 

“I was…” He raised his gaze from the phone, and then our eyes met.

 

He opened his mouth in shock, his phone slipped from his hand, and his father stared at him coldly, and so did I. Triatain tried to stay composed afterwards, but his reaction had sold him out; he didn't expect to see me in the house, nor did he expect me to walk in with his father.

 

“What's going on?" His eyes were scanning both of us.

 

“And how did you get in?" He snapped at me.

 

I bite my lips; the surface peeled again, causing the wound to open.

 

“I'm disappointed in you." His father answered, walking past him into the living room.

 

"Sofia, come sit here." The father offered, and I walked towards him, sitting close to him. The couch was soft, the whole place was cold, and my eyes caught the bar. Expensive drinks were on display like they were being auctioned.

 

Tristain stared at me, his body uneasy.

 

Everything in the house screamed of luxury: expensive art frames that cost quite a fortune hung low-key in each corner, a spotless surface, a luxury chandelier that hung in the air, and a wall clock made of gold.

 

 

It all made sense now.

 

Tristain wasn’t acting proud; it was his nature. He was bored and raised in wealth. No wonder he saw me as a side thing, that creamy pussy he needed around to warm his bed and ejaculate when he felt horny!.

 

I was a fool to think a son of a wealthy mafia lord would treat me better; even the maids in his father's house lived a more comfortable life than I ever did in my past life.

 

The tears poured, but I controlled them.

 

“Dad, what is she doing here?" Tristain asked again, sweat gathered on his forehead.

 

His father put both phones on the armchair table, pulling the suit and throwing it on the seat, paying little or no attention to Tristan.

 

The old man tapped on a bell close to him; two maids ran out, one carried a new set of cozy slippers, and the other brought him a glass of water.

 

I sat still watching the whole drama unfold.

 

“Do you know her?" His father asked, his hands in his pants trousers, his bare chest fully in the open. I saw his tattoos fully, his handsome face coming to full light. I stared at them, the way the old man rubbed on my chest, and the memory all came flooding back.

 

“Did I raise you in this way?" His father's voice brought me back to reality.

 

"Dad, it's not what you think." Tristain's sister was trying to explain, but his father wasn't having it.

 

“Are you trying to tell me you didn't post them?" His father raised a brow.

 

“Dad, it's not that serious." Tristain tried to laugh it off, but it was too late; I lost my patience.

 

"You…"

 

“You dare to release my vulnerable state to my school group, and you dare to say to me." I tapped on my phone screen, pointing it directly in his face, the phone still buzzing with messages. “And you say to me it's not that serious?" I laughed awkwardly.

 

“Stop faking emotions."

 

"What?"

 

I walked close to him, and he looked down on me in disgust.

 

“What did you say to me?" I asked again to be sure I heard right.

 

“Stop faking…”

 

I landed a hot shot on his face.

 

He held his cheek in shock.

 

The father looked at me in satisfaction.

 

“Did you…”

 

“Did you just?" He rubbed his cheek, still in denial.

 

I hissed: