ASHLEY'S P.O.V“I think I need to sit down” I mumbled breathlessly.My legs felt like shaky twigs; if it was due to the baby in my stomach or the shock from Dominic's age, I couldn't tell. I planted a hand on the chair as I gently settled down.A relieved exhale left me and the pressure on my bladder loosened “Much better” Dominic, however, was still standing, his cheeks were red, and he fumbled with his fingers. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?” I opened my mouth to speak, but my daughter chose to kick me hard in that moment. My eyes squinted as I let out a small wince. “I'm fine.”Dominic was instantly at my side, his hand hovered near my elbow in uncertainty, then dropped and hovered again as if he couldn't decide if he should touch me. “I don't think you're fine.” His voice was laced with panic. “Should I call for help? Do you need water? Are you in labour, you don't look far gone”Despite myself and the situation, I chuckled lightly. Dominic reminded me of my friend Sydney who wa
ASHLEY'S P.O.VIf I were to be honest, and I mean brutally honest, my father's life wasn't worth the hassleIt's not that I hate my father but I wouldn't say I loved him either. Pete was just a shadow in my life, always there but present. He was better than Genevieve, though, giving that he was the parent who attended all my school functions and recitals— albeit reluctantly.So why am I doing this? Letting Genevieve use me because of my ‘father's safety’? Maybe it's guilt, perhaps a part of me cares more than I'm ready to admit, or perhaps I just don't want to lose both parents because, as far as I'm concerned, Genevieve Cece Harrington is dead to me.The moment she threatened me in front of Leonard Beau was the moment my illusion of her cracked and shattered into pieces.I had been trying to paint a saint out of a demon. Genevieve doesn't care about me; she doesn't care about my daughter. All she wants is power and control.So she lied about her cancer, lied about my father's whereab
ASHLEY'S P.O VI had a plan And yes, I was still living in the Harrington's manor with the evil known as Genevieve Cece Harrington.As a young girl, I craved for her attention, her presence. I wanted my mother to sit with me while we binged-watch cheesy rom-coms. I wanted her to tell me which colour of nail varnish would suit me best, I longed to experience the mother–daughter relationship I had seen so much around me.But with each passing day, each birthday she forgot, and every single milestone of mine she missed, I was convinced that I would never get that. And I found a way to live with it; I did.I chalked Genevieve's absence to the fact that she was taking care of our empire and legacy. I turned a blind eye when my mother and father started keeping lovers outside their marriage. I convinced my mind that Genevieve didn't know how to love, that was why she always guilt-tripped me into doing her will, gaslighted me into obedience, and made me feel like I was worthless without th
ASHLEY'S P.O.V“This better be one of your jokes” My voice came out dangerously low. The food in front of me was forgotten, only her words rang in my ear.For a moment, I doubted if I had heard Genevieve right. Did she just say I was to marry Dominic, as in a freaking arranged marriage? Arranged. Marriage.Hold up. I wasn't even ready to venture back into that aspect of my life, I don't even think I'll ever be willing to tie the knot with someone else and Genevieve just said I was to marry this asshole's son Yeah right. Laughable.I forced a look around the table. Mrs Beau's entire body was locked rigid; she gripped her fork so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Mr Beau had a smug smile on his face as his gaze flickered between me and Genevieve.And then there was Genevieve. Deceitful, cunning, control freak of a mother Genevieve. I wanted to laugh.She had gone out of her way to fake sickness and pretended to be happy about my pregnancy, all because she wanted to expand our fa
ASHLEY'S P.O.VThere are different reasons why people laugh.Some people laugh out of happiness, say when they pass an exam or get a modeling trip to Hawaii. Others from excitement, like when they hear good gossip. Some people laugh in victory and some laugh to mask defeat or shame.Laughter can be a language when understood. You can tell so much by the sound of it, the person, and why he or she is laughing.I’ve laughed through my sadness before. I remember some lonely days at the Briarwood, when I missed Kellan so much it was hard to get up from bed. I'd cry and laugh at the same time. So yes, I understand the shades of laughter. I can tell when it’s real, when it’s broken, when it’s born of hysteria, and when it's full of masked pain.And I can also tell you that no laugh is more fake than Genevieve’s. This woman had just talked to me like I was vermin, but now she's smiling and pretending to be all nice and sweet. It made me sick. The meal tasted like cardboard on my tongue as I
ASHLEY'S P O.VGenevieve's stare as I dressed made me feel self-conscious.Too self-conscious.I knew that my body was doing its best to try and accommodate the baby inside me, but she didn't have to look at me like I was a swollen science experiment she couldn’t decide whether to poke or disregard.“Try on this coat instead. It will be a better job at concealing the pregnancy” Genevieve frowned and handed me a deep red coat.“Are you being serious?” My tone was laced with irritation, but Genevieve didn't reply, she threw the coat on my bed and looked away like I wasn't worth giving an answer to.I bit the inside of my mouth to stop from lashing out. It wasn't even cold outside, and Genevieve instead I wear a coat because we were going to see some ‘important people’ and she didn't want my pregnancy to be the centre of focus.My ears blazed red when she said that, the mild embarrassment there since Genevieve started inspecting my dresses quickly turned into anger.I'm a twenty-six-year