Amanda's Plight

Amanda’s phone lit up for the third time that hour. She snatched it off the duvet, thumb flying across the screen.

Patrick: My apologies, Ms Amanda. Mr Damon is quite busy at the moment and will be unable to respond to your calls.

Amanda flung the phone onto the pillows and pressed both palms to her temples. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

She knew damned well that Damon wasn't busy. She knew he was intentionally avoiding her calls and text messages. After dropping her off in the middle of nowhere and leaving her stranded, the least he could do was apologise but he didn't.

Yet she had pictures of him laughing and smiling with that witch called Naomi! Maybe her P.I did a great job, too great a job even! It only confirmed to her that he wasn't busy at all!

The soft cream walls of her bedroom did nothing to calm her. She paced from window to dressing table and back again, the sound of her heels muffled by the thick rug.

Outside the tall bay windows, the Kentwood estate stretched under a slate-grey sky; rolling lawns, a fountain at the centre, the same place she had played as a child. All of it should have been hers to inherit.

Yet here she was, waiting on messages from Patrick about a man who clearly didn’t care enough to return her calls.

Maybe she cared too much. It was of no use. But she couldn't brush off the fact that Damon used to respond to her, used to entertain her until Naomi moved in with him.

She stopped at the mirror, smoothing an invisible crease in her silk blouse. In the glass her own reflection stared back: perfectly painted lips, hair like a sheet of dark water, eyes burning.

People called her beautiful, and she knew it. But next to Naomi she might as well be invisible. Even now she could hear her grandmother’s voice cooing..

Our darling Naomi. So beautiful.

Amanda groaned as those words echoed in her ears. It's been years since she last heard that but man did it piss her off.

Her mind flicked back to a memory she hated and replayed anyway: a Christmas morning years ago, the drawing room full of tissue paper and ribbons. She had been eleven, Naomi nine. Amanda had waited for her grandparents to hand her the first present as always: she was the eldest, the first grandchild, the one who should go first. But the ribboned box had gone to Naomi instead, with a fond pat on the head and a “for our little star.”

Amanda had smiled then, pretending she didn’t mind. She had even clapped when Naomi opened a velvet dress meant for a princess. Later, alone in her room, she had cried until her throat hurt. It was the first time she realised she would always be standing in someone else’s shadow.

She crossed to her desk and stared at the framed photos lined up there. Not one of them was recent but laying right next to it were new pictures.

Of Naomi.

Naomi stepping into Damon’s car at the company's parking lot. Naomi smiling at Damon. A short article on Naomi, the supposed heir of the Pearl group had how she disappeared from the media after her father's death.

Everything was about Naomi and nothing echoed her name in the slightest. Not her achievements, not her beauty, nothing.

Her phone buzzed again. Patrick.

Patrick: Would you like to try again tomorrow? Mr Damon won’t be able to respond today.

She typed back with stiff fingers

Amanda: No. Leave it. He’ll call when he feels like it.

She tossed the phone aside and sat heavily on the bed, staring at the carpet until her vision blurred. Fury, envy, humiliation, they all churned together until she felt sick.

The door opened without a knock. Clara swept in, carrying a faint smell of gardenia perfume. She closed the door behind her and took in the sight of her daughter with a slow shake of her head.

“I can hear you stomping from the hallway,” she said. “What’s happened now?”

Amanda looked up, her expression sharp. “What’s happened? Patrick just told me Damon’s ignoring me. Again.”

Clara arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow and moved to the armchair by the window. She sat with the grace of someone who had been born to rooms like this.

“Is that really worth getting this upset about?”

“Yes.” Amanda’s voice cracked. “He used to pick up when I called. He used to…” She bit her lip. “Now it’s all Naomi this, Naomi that. I can’t stand it.”

Clara watched her daughter with a cool gaze.

“You’re letting her win by working yourself into a state.”

“I’m not letting her anything,” Amanda snapped. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to always come second? Always? Even when you’re first?”

Clara tilted her head. “ Your grandparents were fools. Favored the daughter of their favourite son.” Her tone softened but only slightly. “I warned you about Damon, remember? Men like him don’t change. They go for what benefits them. Right now Naomi benefits him and sadly, that won’t last.”

Amanda rubbed at her temples. “You say that every time, but nothing ever changes. She’s still with him.”

Clara smiled faintly. “Patience, darling. Something huge is about to happen.”

Amanda’s eyes snapped to her mother’s. “What do you mean? What’s going to happen?”

Clara smoothed an imaginary speck of lint from her skirt. “Let’s just say… Naomi’s pedestal isn’t as steady as it looks. When it tilts, Naomi will jump off before he falls with her.”

“What are you talking about?” Amanda demanded. “If you know something you have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Clara’s voice held a touch of amusement. “And I’m not going to ruin the surprise.”

Amanda stared, stunned. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enjoying the thought of balance being restored.” Clara leaned back, crossing one elegant leg over the other. “You’ve been angry for so long, Amanda. It’s exhausting to watch. But soon…” She let the word trail off, a hint of satisfaction curling at the edge.

Amanda pushed to her feet, pacing again. “You can’t just drop hints like that. What’s going to happen? Did you set something up?”

Clara’s eyes glinted. “Some things work better when they unfold naturally.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Amanda stopped pacing, fists at her sides. “Ever since we were kids she’s had everything. Everyone loved her. Even Dad.”

Clara’s expression flickered, just for a heartbeat. “I’ve always loved you.”

“Then why didn’t you fight for me? Why didn’t you tell Grandma and Grandpa to stop treating her like the second coming?”

Clara sighed. “ My parents only had ears for their only son. I reminded them a dozen times but it went in one ear and straight out the other.”

Amanda sank back onto the bed, breathing hard. “I’m tired of biding my time.”

“Then get ready.” Clara rose, smoothing her skirt again. “Because the time is coming.”

Amanda looked up at her mother, trying to read her face. “You’re sure?”

Clara moved to the door. “Very sure.”

Before she could leave Amanda blurted, “Does Damon know?”

Clara paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I'm sure he doesn't and knowing him, his impatience will make things so much easier.”

And then she was gone, leaving the scent of gardenia in the room.

Amanda sat very still, listening to her mother’s heels click down the hallway.

Outside the window the fountain kept splashing, steady and indifferent, the same sound it had made when she was a child crying over Naomi’s presents.

She picked up her phone again. The screen was blank. No call from Damon. No message. She thought of Naomi’s smiling face in the pictures, Damon’s arm around her waist, and a hot wave of hatred rose like bile.

“Something huge,” she murmured to herself. “Something that makes her leave him.”

She didn’t know what her mother had planned. She only knew she wanted to see it happen.