Page 98 of I'm sorry, Princess
He steps toward her. She slowly rises from her chair, her eyes flicking between him and me, her breath uneven.
“Did you slap my daughter?” His voice is dangerously low, lifting her chin with his fingers.
Tears fill her eyes instantly. “I—I didn’t want to!” she rushes out. “I apologized! It was the first time!” She turns to me, her face desperate. “We’re fine now, aren’t we, honey?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t blink.
I don’t even look at her.
She knows the answer.
My father slowly exhales, but his grip tightens just slightly before he releases her. He doesn’t say anything else, but the tension between them is suffocating. I almost want to laugh. He won’t do anything about it. He loves what this family represents too much.
But I don’t have the energy to care anymore.
I just want to leave.
“Can I go now?” I ask, turning my attention back to him.
He finally looks at me, then at his watch, like we just wasted his precious time.
Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and tosses something onto the table.
An envelope.
I hesitate before picking it up, and the moment my eyes scan the first few lines, my stomach drops.
My fingers tighten around the paper, my breathing uneven as I look back at him, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
He just stares at me blankly, unfazed.
“I want this signed by next month,” he says flatly, like it’s nothing, like he just handed me another set of business documents.
Like it’s not my entire life he’s throwing away.
Then, without another word, he takes my mother’s arm and leads her out of the room, leaving me standing there, empty.
Marriage contract.
I push my tears to the back of my mind. Not here. Not now. I can’t afford another breakdown, not in the middle of this party, not when everyone’s watching. I shove theenvelope into my bag like it burns to touch, like if I don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist.
The reception is still packed, people chatting, drinking, laughing. The music hums in the background, but all I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I need a drink. I need to switch off. I need to not feel.
But as soon as I step inside, my body stiffens.
He’s still here.
Lorenzo.
He’s standing there, whiskey glass in hand, surrounded by men in expensive suits talking about money, power, business, things I should care nothing about. But the second his eyes land on me, the conversation around him ceases to exist. His gaze lingers, piercing through me like he sees something no one else does.
I look away. I can’t do this tonight. It hurts too much. It’s too much.
I weave through the crowd, avoiding him at all costs. I don’t have the strength to play his twisted little game right now.
Sienna spots me first, abandoning whoever she was talking to and walking straight toward me.
