The man is cutthroat, ruthless, and to top it off, a real asshole.
There is not one good bone in his whole body.
He is the devil incarnate.
A feeling of dread always overcomes me when I know I have to see him. That I will have to acknowledge his presence at all.
But the worst part about it, the part I dread the most, is that no matter how hard I try to break away, he still has complete control over me. It’s gotten worse too. Every year, it gets worse. My heart lurches again as bile travels up my throat.
I hate the man.
The feeling is mutual, I’m sure.
There is no love lost between us.
As if manifested by a higher power, my cell phone dings on the table. I know it’s him before I even check who’s calling.
Other than Julia, no one calls me.
Not even my mother.
She is the dutiful wife. The perfect politician’s accessory.
Too bad she is an awful parent. Even awful is an understatement for what she is.
I grab my phone and look down. Just as I suspected, there on the screen is a message from dear old dad.
Governor asshole: Dinner tomorrow. 6:00 pm. Do not be late, Viviana.
Great. He’s scolding me through the phone.
I tip it toward Jules to show her what he wrote. She laughs when she sees it.
“Governor asshole? Not Dad?”
“Lord no. That wouldn’t properly depict how I feel every time he calls me. Now would it?” I smile. It’s a sugary sweet smile, but one hundred percent laced with venom.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It wouldn’t.”
Julia knows how much I hate my father, but she doesn’t truly understand.
She doesn’t understand that the money my family pays hers is hush money more than it is to help them. And she doesn’t know the secret of why . . .
When her mother died in my house, she and her brother were orphaned, left to live with poor relatives. Everything I have ever done that my father has asked of me is to make sure he helps her and Jonathan.
I shake my head. I can’t think of that now.
Especially when there is nothing I can do to get out from under his thumb.
He leverages everything on me. Always making sure I behave.
Needing to think about something else, I stand from the chair and turn to face Julia.
“I’m going to get showered. Need to look good for tonight.” I smile. The truth is, I don’t care what I look like, but my guilt eats away at me, so I have to leave.
“Yeah, you kind of smell too.” I laugh at her words and shake my head as I walk toward my bedroom, leaving a giggling Julia behind.
Once I’m in my bathroom, I strip off my clothes, turn the shower on, and step under the water.
It’s scalding hot.
Too hot.
Reminding me of a time before. A time when my whole life changed. A time that is still holding me hostage all these years later.
They say that time can heal all wounds.
But what if the wounds are still festering?
What if there is no cure?
What do you do then?
It’s been twelve years, and I still have no answer to that question. It hovers over me like a black hole in the dark universe. I know it will eventually suck me in and eat me alive. The only question is when.
As I stand here, lost in my thoughts, I forget how hot the water is. The bathroom is fogged up, and I can barely see in front of me.
Quickly, I turn the shower knob. The water temperature changes fast. Now it feels like it’s pouring ice over my body.
I shiver against the pellets hitting my skin.
But I welcome it. The job is done. It cools the memories, thrusting them back into the crevices of my mind where I need to keep them.
At least for now.
That maybe won’t be the case soon, but until I can do something about it, I have to make it day by day. I have to survive the torture this man inflicts upon me, even if that means entertaining his friend’s children. Or being paraded around like a high-priced hooker, one whose virtue is the price of the right political alliance.
I take a deep breath and continue to wash my hair until the water runs clear from the suds, then I turn it off and pull back the curtain to grab my towel.
When I’m done drying my skin, I can’t help but stare at myself in the cloudy mirror.
I lean over the bathroom countertop until I’m close enough to touch my reflection. I look exhausted, weary, and above all—like I’ve seen too much. Although my face is what others might construe as perfect, at twenty-two, to me, it’s anything but. Too much emotional weight sits on my shoulders. Eyes that always look haunted by the ghosts of my past.
Will I ever feel young and carefree again?
You will figure it out, Viviana.
Everything will be okay. I must tell myself that, even if it’s not true.
I’m almost done with school. I’ll get a job.
Yep. That’s it. Once I get a job, it will be over. I won’t need him anymore.
Pushing my shoulders back, I stand taller, knowing I won’t let him win.
Eventually, I will be the victor.
Hours later, we’re at the bar.
As much as I pretend I want to be here, I don’t. My nerves are too shot for what tomorrow will bring. Carefree hasn’t been in my vocabulary since I was ten years old and learned what I was born into.
I know I should get drunk with my friend and not think about it, but I can’t.
The black cloud hangs over me. There is no pushing it away. How could I? Every time I see him, there is another demand made of me. Something he needs me to do that I don’t want to.
No matter what, though, no matter what is asked, I’ll do it.
I will willingly give another piece of my soul for the price of my friends.
The music blares through the space, drowning out some of my thoughts. I can barely hear anything as I feel Julia’s hand on my arm.
“Let’s grab a drink,” she says, pulling me with her to the bar. I take a moment to let my eyes scan the room. Sleek, red velvet booths surround the space, and black crystal chandeliers hang from above.
“Sure!” I yell back.
Together, we make our way across the room. Once we are standing in front of the bartender, we order drinks.
He’s quick at making them, smiling at me as he pours the liquid into the glasses.
As I lift it to my mouth, I swear I see someone staring at me from across the bar.
Yes. He’s one hundred percent looking at me.
Wow.
He’s handsome. Dangerously so. The kind of handsome you read about in romance books.
Mesmerizing eyes. Jet-black hair.
He has the perfect five o’clock shadow, and his cheekbones are so sharp my fingers itch to touch them.
Something is menacing in the way he stares at me, making my back muscles go rigid.
“Viv,” I hear Julia say, but I’m transfixed by the man across the bar. “Viv…” she says again, and I finally turn to her. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“I was just … The man over there,” I respond, gesturing over my shoulder with my head.
A line forms between her brows. “What man?”
“Across the bar.”
“There’s no one—”
“Right there . . .” I look over to where he was, and no one is there. The space is completely empty.
I shake my head in confusion.