"You're going to that fundraising gala, Amelie. No arguments." My mother's voice, sharp and unyielding, sliced through the rare peace of my Saturday morning. I was supposed to be finalizing my packing for Project Chimera, but instead, I was trapped in a three-way call with my parents.
"Mom, I don't understand why," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "I'm leaving for the project in two days. I have so much to do."
"Kendall needs you," she immediately retorted, as if that explained everything. "She's still recovering from... everything. She needs a supportive presence. And frankly, your father and I could use some help navigating the social intricacies. This is for his career, Amelie."
My father, Gerry Riggs, a mid-level government official, always hovered silently in the background, a weak-willed echo of my mother's demands. He never stood up for me, never questioned her favoritism towards Kendall. He just followed her lead, always prioritizing appearances and Kendall's fragile ego.
"Why does Kendall need my help, Mom?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping me. "She's perfectly capable of charming her way through a room full of strangers. She always has been. What's wrong with her now? Can't play the damsel in distress at a fancy party?"
There was a gasp on the other end, followed by the familiar, high-pitched wail. Kendall. She was listening in. Of course she was.
"Amelie, how could you be so cruel?!" Kendall's voice was thin, reedy, dripping with manufactured tears. "I'm heartbroken! Bryce left me! And you... you abandoned me too! Now you're mocking my pain?"
Bryce left her? My jaw tightened. So he had gone through with his plan to marry Kendall, even after I ended our engagement. The depth of his cynicism, his calculated manipulation, never ceased to amaze me. He really did just move on to the next convenient solution.
"Oh, please, Kendall," I scoffed, my patience finally snapping. "Don't pretend you didn't know exactly what you were doing. You always get what you want, don't you? It's always about you, your feelings, your crises. You thrive on this drama."
"Amelie!" My mother shrieked, her voice reaching a shrill crescendo. "How dare you speak to your sister like that! She's suffering! She's a divorcée now, after everything Bryce put her through! She needs our support, not your callous judgment!"
A divorcée. The word hung in the air, a twisted mockery of my own annulled engagement. Bryce had actually gone through with it. He had married Kendall. Just to help her get access to that exclusive psychiatrist. And now, he had divorced her. It was all a cold, calculating transaction, and Kendall, willingly or not, had been a part of it.
"She's a divorcée now because of her own choices, Mom," I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. "And Bryce didn't 'put her through' anything. He used her, just like she uses everyone else. And he used me too."
Suddenly, there was a harsh cracking sound, then a sharp, burning pain across my cheek. I gasped, dropping my phone. My mother had slapped me. Hard. My head snapped back, the force of the blow rattling my teeth.
"You ungrateful little bitch!" My mother's face was contorted with rage, her eyes blazing. She had driven over while I was on the phone, clearly intending to physically drag me to the gala. She was standing over me now, her hand still raised, ready to strike again. "How dare you speak ill of Kendall! How dare you disrespect Bryce, a decorated officer who only ever tried to help your conniving sister!"
I stared at her, tears welling in my eyes, not from the physical pain, but from the raw, agonizing betrayal. The mother who had always dismissed me, always favored Kendall, was now physically assaulting me for daring to speak the truth, for daring to finally stand up for myself.
"You will go to that gala," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "You will accompany Kendall. You will smile. You will act like a supportive sister. Or so help me, Amelie, I will personally ensure your security clearance is revoked. Your father has connections. You think Bryce was bluffing? I'm not bluffing."
Her words were a colder, more precise version of Bryce's earlier threat. My own mother, threatening my career, my future, to force me into compliance, to maintain the fragile illusion of their perfect family.
"And when you come back from that desert project," she continued, her voice dripping with malice, "you will marry the man I choose for you. Someone respectable. Someone who can help your father's career. You will learn to be a proper wife, Amelie. And you will stop this ridiculous pursuit of a 'career' that only makes you unfeminine and undesirable."
My cheek throbbed, a fiery testament to her violence. My head swam. Marry a man she chose? Be a "proper wife"? My mother, who had never once valued my intellect, my ambition, my dreams, was now dictating my entire future, punishing me for my independence.
Who is the real monster here? I wondered, my mind reeling. Bryce? Kendall? Or the parents who had enabled it all, who had taught their children that manipulation and selfishness were acceptable, even desirable, traits?
Later that evening, a red, angry welt still burning on my cheek, I found myself in a lavish ballroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and false smiles. I wore a simple black dress, chosen more for its anonymity than its elegance. My mother had insisted on covering the bruise with a thick layer of makeup, but I could still feel its angry pulse.
I found a quiet corner, nursing a glass of sparkling water, trying to make myself invisible. My sister, Kendall, was at the center of a small cluster of admiring women, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, recounting her "heartbreaking ordeal" with Bryce. She looked pale, yes, but also strangely triumphant, as if her recent divorce was just another dramatic plot point in her ongoing soap opera.
I could feel the stares, hear the whispers. "That's her, Amelie Riggs. The one Bryce Hunter was engaged to." "Did you hear? He married her sister instead, and then divorced her weeks later!" "Such a scandal. And Amelie just ran off to some secret government project. Probably unstable." "Poor Bryce, caught between those two sisters." "And her father, Gerry Riggs, such a rising star. This must be terrible for his career."
My name was being dragged through the mud, twisted into a narrative of my own making, a story where I was the conniving, unstable, career-obsessed woman who couldn't keep her man. They whispered about my character, my worth, the kind of woman I was.
I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea washing over me. This was the price of wanting more, of daring to defy. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I had heard worse, of course. My mother's words from earlier still echoed in my ears, far more damaging than any gossip. But to have it all laid bare, to be judged and dissected by a room full of strangers, felt like a public execution of my dignity.
A tear escaped, burning a path down my cheek, tracing the still-tender bruise my mother had inflicted. I quickly wiped it away, forcing my face into a mask of composure. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I wouldn't break. Not here. Not now.
My head throbbed. My heart felt like a shriveled, bruised thing in my chest. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be on that remote desert base already, far away from the judging eyes, the malicious whispers, the suffocating toxicity of my family. I wanted to be free.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of my self-respect. It was a fragile thing, battered and bruised, but it was all I had left. And I would protect it, no matter the cost.
