All Chapters of Her Neglected Scars: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“I’m fucking sick of you always whining, Miranda. Caesar will inherit the company, and that’s the end of it!” I was ten, clutching the comfort my crocheted teddy bear gave me. It was Mom’s gift, and I’m staring at her as she’s being beaten by my own father.“That kid Caesar is a terrible choice for the company! She has the heart and the skills to lead! You’re too blinded by your prejudices to see it!” My mother argues.“Fuck prejudices!” He slams his fist on the table, causing it to shake. “It’s called tradition! Men are meant to run the business, not women. What kind of leader would a girl make?”“It’s about capabilities, Theodore! What about the way Caesar was treating Eva? You’re letting him abuse her!” Father grabs mom by the shoulders, furiously shaking her as she glares up at him.“Abuse? She’s being soft! If she can’t handle a little pushback, she’s not fit for anything!” He yells at her face while Mom was trying to break free.“She’s been through a lot. I won’t stand for this.

The drive to the party was silent. The doorman sat right beside the driver, who was also silently managing the wheel. There was the beautiful bouquet and the smell of expensive wine that’s supposed to be shared by the two engaged people—who, by the way, doesn’t have the balls to show up to me right now—was the last hospitality they could give me. They didn’t have the courage to ask how I’m doing. Considering the guy I was supposed to marry sent me a ride to the party without coming along. Not that I would expect them to. These are Konstantin Morozov’s henchmen, built to intimidate and kill, not pamper a woman their boss is planning to dispose of once deemed unworthy.Finally, we arrived at the large mansion. It was filled with different classic cars parked in the corners, which tells me the guests were already here. Only to witness the fiance walking on her own inside.I inhaled a huge amount of breath and slapped my cheeks with both hands. It was the only loud sounds that cracked th

“Eva! You’re finally here! I actually waited for you but the dresses were just calling me out!” She chuckles before waving her hands for the attendant to leave her be. She bows down before stepping off the platform. Wow, she is enthusiastic. That’s the total opposite of the shy character hiding behind Konstantin the entire night of the engagement party.Well, I guess it’s too hard to be judging a book by their cover.Irene Morozov smiled at me, the sun casting a glow on her face. She’s gifted. She’s god’s gift to all men. Honestly, I’m not being all judgmental but she looks like the traditional wife you would love to go home to after work because there will always be tasty food prepared on the table. “Right. I was uh . . . told to come here?” I mutter, confused as to whether this is actually my wedding fitting or hers. She’s already wearing a wedding dress. “Of course, of course! I’m sure you would want to look good if you’re getting married to Konstantin.” She smiled before pulling

The wedding went by fast.So quick with all the feigned kisses I didn’t remember all the names which both cursed my hideous gown behind my back and introduced themselves to me with a smile on their lips.What I know for sure though is I am incredibly relieved I’m not once more drowned in people’s gossip and harsh glares inside the church with a sharp corset poking my ribcage—thank fuck I finally was able to convince my stylist to change considering we are now moving onto the reception on a different location now.The dress is still tight on the chest, and I was told it was Irene who chose this one.I’m glad it’s not insufferable but I sure would have been happier if she picked something that’s more loose.It’s not like we both have the same petite melons to go with.However, I don’t really think God is now permitting me to relax and have a peaceful and quiet moment all on my own.At least not yet.“Evangeline? Do you feel sick? Was I talking too much? I knew I shouldn’t have come here

It was time for the dancing. One thing I'm definitely not good at.The music starts. The kind of slow, sweeping melody that’s supposed to make you feel like you’ve stepped into a fairytale.Except fairytales don’t have bruises hidden beneath satin, or fathers who trade their daughters like currency. And they sure as hell don’t have men like Konstantin Morozov.His hand presses against my waist, his grip firm, possessive—he’s laying claim, even though I was never mine to begin with. My fingers rest against his shoulder, light but steady, and I pray to whatever cruel god is watching that I don’t fuck this up.He leads. I follow. It should be simple. It’s not.Every step is a battle. The weight of a hundred eyes digging into my skin, choking me. I don’t have to hear them to know what they’re saying.My dress glides over the floor, my heels clicking against the polished marble, my heart thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird.I can feel their whispers slithering through the air."She