CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Selene
I woke up in confusion, something gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. My room was bathed in soft morning light, but something felt… off. My heart lurched in my chest before I realized what it was. My alarm hadn't gone off.
I bolted upright, already reaching for my phone, only to see that it was past my usual wake-up time. Panic kicked in, sharp and blinding, before I registered the date. Saturday.
Oh.
I exhaled a breath, my body still buzzing from the unnecessary surge of adrenaline. Right. It was the weekend.
Then, just as quickly as the relief came, it was replaced with another sinking realization.
The family gathering.
God, kill me now.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. A shark-infested ocean would be more welcoming than that dinner table. It wasn't that I didn't love my family. At least, not all of them. My father… well, he was just spineless. He loved me in his own way, I knew that. But love without action was meaningless. And when it came down to it, he'd rather watch me get torn apart than risk upsetting the balance.
And my mother?
I wasn't even going to unpack that right now.
I flopped back onto my pillows, staring at the ceiling as a deep, bone-weary sigh escaped me. I should have put my phone on silent last night—maybe even pretended I lost it—so I could claim I never got the invitation. Not that I ever received one in the first place. My presence was usually neither wanted nor required, which suited me just fine. But for some reason, this time was different. My mother had made sure I knew I had no choice in the matter.
That alone was enough to put me on edge.
I reached for my phone again, unlocking it with a lazy swipe. My unread notifications stared back at me, the first one being a text message from Brianna.
Devil's Spawn: Try to look presentable today. No one needs to be reminded of your situation. Also, don't be weird.
Ah. A classic Brianna greeting.
I scoffed, shaking my head.
First of all, what "situation"? The fact that I was unemployed for a while? That I wasn't attached to some shiny, rich fiancé? That I had the audacity to exist in their orbit without playing my assigned role of the disappointing younger daughter?
And secondly, "don't be weird"? Really? What did she think I was going to do? Start breakdancing on the dinner table?
I didn't even bother responding.
Instead, I scrolled down, my stomach twisting when I saw the next notification. A voicemail from my mother.
Of course.
I pressed play, bringing the phone to my ear as I got out of bed.
"Selene." The sharpness in her tone made my muscles tense immediately. No greeting, no warmth. Just business. "Don't embarrass us today. Your father and I expect you to be civil. You know how important this is." A pause. Then, "And wear something appropriate."
The line went dead.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat.
How utterly predictable.
I tossed my phone onto the bed, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled through my nose. This was why I stayed away. Why I kept my distance. Every time I let myself get dragged back into their world, it was the same old story. The subtle (and not-so-subtle) jabs, the disapproval, the unspoken reminder that I would always be the family disappointment.
But whatever.
I was going, and I'd deal with it.
With the energy of a sloth, I trudged into the bathroom and went through my morning routine, letting the scalding water of the shower wash away the last remnants of sleep. By the time I stepped out, I felt a little more awake, but no less irritated.
I wrapped myself in a towel and walked back into my bedroom, standing in front of my closet with a sigh. If I had to endure this miserable evening, I'd at least do it while looking like I had my life together.
After a moment of deliberation, I reached for a fitted black blouse and a pair of tailored slacks. Professional. Clean-cut. A little sharp around the edges, but not too formal. It sent just the right message—I'm here, but I don't actually want to be.
Satisfied with my choice, I got dressed, pulling my hair into a sleek ponytail and adding minimal makeup. A touch of mascara, a bit of blush to fake the illusion of liveliness. Done.
As I slipped my feet into a pair of heeled boots, my eyes flickered to my phone again. On impulse, I grabbed it and typed out a message to Maya.
Me: Guess who's being forced into family bonding time today?
The reply came almost instantly.
Maya❤️🔥: Oh no. Who's getting married? Who died?
Me: No one. But I suspect it has something to do with Brianna and Trevor.
Maya❤️🔥: Oof. Do you need me to fake an emergency? I can say I'm in labor.
I snorted.
Me: Tempting. But I think they'd notice you're not nine months pregnant.
Maya❤️🔥: Details. I can be nine months pregnant if you need me to be. I'd do that for you.
I smiled, shaking my head.
Me: I'll survive. If I don't, tell the world my story.
Maya❤️🔥: Your tragic tale will be told for generations.
I tossed my phone onto the bed with a smirk before grabbing my bag. A single overnight bag. Not that I planned to stay. But just in case my mother pulled some last-minute stunt, I'd rather be prepared than be stuck borrowing Brianna's clothes.
God forbid.
With everything packed, I grabbed my car keys and headed out.
---
The drive itself was uneventful. Just an hour on the road, filled with a combination of my music blasting through the speakers and my internal dialogue running wild.
Most of it consisted of me mentally preparing for the inevitable snide remarks. The questioning looks. The "subtle" reminders of where I stood in the family hierarchy.
It wasn't even just Brianna and my mother.
No, everyone had their part to play.
Aunt Meredith, my mum's elder sister, with her sweetly condescending, "So, Selene, what are you doing these days?" as if she wasn't fully aware of my employment status.
Uncle Paul, Aunt Meredith's husband, with his booming voice, "Back at the kids' table, huh?" like he said every single time, thinking it was funny.
And then, of course, there was Trevor.
Trevor, who had once looked at me like I was his entire world. Who had promised me things, whispered them against my skin late at night. Who had immediately gone to my sister after he saw he was dating the "knock off" version as Brianna told me.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened.
It didn't hurt anymore. Not in the way it used to. But it still lingered, a dull ache buried deep in my chest, like an old scar that acted up in bad weather.
But that was the past.
I was going to get through this evening. I was going to sit through dinner, exchange pleasantries, nod in all the right places, and then I was going to get back in my car and drive away, leaving them all behind.
That was the plan.
And if anyone tried to mess with that plan?
Well.
I wasn't above making this family gathering a little more interesting.