I woke to sunlight filtering through my curtains, casting golden lines across the floor of room.
I get dressed and step out of the house. I did not see Alex this morning during breakfast and honestly I don't want to think too much about it.
I drive to Mira's house for to begin with the day's activities.
The city was already awake, humming with life, but I had a day planned that required more than just ambition—it required patience, charm, and a willingness to smile at people who thought I owed them my time.
Mira was already at the door when I opened it. She leaned casually against the frame, oversized sunglasses hiding her amusement.
"You're late," she teased, smirking. "Again. I was beginning to think I'd have to drag you out by your heels."
"I'm not late," I said, feigning innocence as I adjusted the silk blouse I had chosen for charity. "I operate on my own time."
She rolled her eyes. "You say that like your dad doesn't text you at every hour to remind you who owns you."
I groaned. "You don't even know the half of it. He's like a walking guilt trip, a broken record, and a drill sergeant rolled into one."
Mira grinned. "Sounds fun. Let's get to work before he calls and ruins whatever sanity you've got left."
⸻
The charity campaign for my company was at a local community center. We were helping organize a fundraiser for education initiatives and after-school programs, something I genuinely cared about despite the public relations aspect.
"Okay, here's the schedule," I told the team, scanning a clipboard filled with notes. "We'll start with the volunteers, then speeches, then interactive booths. Everyone has a role, and we run smoothly. Got it?"
"Yes, CEO Hera," one of the young assistants said with a grin.
Jeez someone is doing too much.
I smirked. "You may drop the 'CEO' in casual conversation, but for now, keep it professional. Let's make this day count."
Mira elbowed me playfully. "Look at you, giving instructions like a boss. I think I need a coffee just to survive this level of authority."
Always teasing
"You should be used to it by now," I said, though I appreciated her humor.
The day passed in a blur of speeches, handshakes, and smiles. Children ran around the booths, parents asked questions about programs, volunteers coordinated tables and materials. I was in my element, my mind focused entirely on results, impact, and appearances.
By mid-afternoon, Mira tugged me toward the park across the street.
"I promised you ice cream," she said with a grin. "You've earned it after all that charity work."
We sat on a bench, watching kids chase each other, pigeons hop between patches of grass, and the sunlight glitter off the fountain. I let myself relax a little, the weight of my parents and my marriage temporarily pushed aside.
"This is nice," I admitted. "I almost forget there's life outside deadlines and family expectations."
Mira laughed. "You almost forget? Girl, you run your company. But don't let anyone tell you you can't have a normal day—even if it's just ice cream and pigeons."
I smiled at her, grateful for her perspective. "Thanks, Mira. For everything. Seriously. I don't say it enough, but… I need this. I need someone who gets it. Who gets me."
"Always," she said, nudging me gently. "Now, pick your flavor before your dad calls and ruins the moment."
I picked strawberry, savoring the sweet tang as Mira smirked with her chocolate cone. We joked, laughed, and talked about everything from wedding plans to work gossip to who would survive longest in a zombie apocalypse. It was refreshing. Normal.
⸻
By late afternoon, I knew I had to return to the inevitable—My parents mansion.
The gates rose before me, the marble floors echoing my heels as I entered.
My parents were waiting, and my heart sank. My mother gave me a small, almost timid smile. "You look… nice," she said softly.
"Thanks, Mom," I replied.
And then there was my father. The moment I met his gaze, the air felt heavy, suffocating.
Annoying old man.
"Hera," he said, voice low, measured, but sharp. "Do you think I enjoy leaving you to wander around doing… whatever frivolous activities you choose? Do you think running a company, charity events, and parks with friends is enough to justify the life we gave you?"
Of course he thinks giving back is a waste.
I squared my shoulders, not willing to cower. "I work hard, Father. I handle responsibilities, I give back to the community, and I manage my company with dedication. Isn't that enough?"
He stepped closer, towering over me. "Enough? Do you understand what we have sacrificed to put you in this position? The deals, the influence, the opportunities that could have been mine—or yours! And yet you waste time playing at normal life while I build legacies!"
"I'm not wasting time," I said, voice steady, though I felt my pulse quicken. "I'm living life. You gave me a company, a name, and resources—but not a soul. Not a choice. I'm not a machine to be optimized for your satisfaction!"
My mother shifted nervously, hands wringing. "Hera, please… let's not argue—"
"No, Mother," I said sharply. "I will not shrink just to make Father comfortable. I am not you mother. I will not spend my life in quiet obedience, trapped under his expectations. I have a voice. I will use it. Whether he likes it or not."
My father's eyes narrowed. "You think defiance is strength. You think independence is power. You are still a child, Hera. One day, the world will remind you of your place, and you'll see—"
"—my place," I interrupted, voice rising, "is wherever I choose it to be. Not where you assign it. Not where you dictate it. I owe obedience to no one. I owe my gratitude, my respect, and my effort—but not my life. Not my freedom."
The silence after that was heavy. My father's jaw tightened. My mother looked away, guilt and fear fighting behind her eyes.
Finally, my father spoke, voice low but dangerous. "Remember this, Hera. You may act defiant now, but one day… defiance has a price."
And I will make sure I won't be the one to pay it.
I didn't flinch. I would not allow fear to dictate my actions. "And one day, Father, obedience has a cost too—and I refuse to pay it with my happiness."
I turned sharply, leaving the room before he could respond further, my heels echoing down the marble halls. I didn't look back. I didn't need to.
Sometimes I wonder if he really is my father. How could he be so heartless towards his own child.
Inside, beneath the anger and adrenaline, I felt the familiar mixture of fear and thrill—fear of his wrath, thrill of finally standing my ground.
But will it be short lived?
———
When I got home, the mansion wasn't as quiet as I expected.
The lights in the living room were dimmed, warm instead of cold, and Alex was on the couch—jacket off, sleeves rolled up, laptop balanced on his knee. Papers were spread across the coffee table, his phone buzzing intermittently beside him. He looked… human. Tired. Focused. Not the untouchable mafia heir or the man I was supposed to tolerate at arm's length.
He glanced up when he heard my heels.
"You're back late," he said, not accusatory. Just observant.
"Went to see my parents," I replied, dropping my bag by the door.
That was all it took.
His fingers stilled over the keyboard. He closed the laptop without another word and set it aside. "That bad?"
I laughed softly, but it came out broken. "Worse."
I didn't sit right away. I stood there, arms folded, staring at nothing in particular. The words were stuck somewhere between my throat and my pride.
Alex watched me for a moment, then spoke carefully. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to."
"I do," I said quietly. "I just… don't know how."
That surprised him. I could tell by the way his posture shifted, how his attention sharpened.
I finally sat—on the opposite end of the couch, leaving space between us out of habit more than intention. "My father still looks at me like I'm a disappointment wrapped in silk," I said. "Like no matter what I build, no matter how much I give, it'll never be enough because it wasn't his idea."
Alex didn't interrupt.
"My mother barely speaks," I continued. "She just… watches. Like she's afraid if she defends me, she'll disappear altogether."
My voice wavered then, and I hated that it did. "I stood up to him today. Actually stood up to him. And part of me is proud, but another part of me feels like a scared little girl waiting to be punished."
The tears came before I could stop them. Silent, traitorous. I scrubbed at my cheeks angrily. "I hate this. I hate that after everything, he still has this power over me."
The couch shifted.
Alex moved closer—not touching, just close enough that I could feel his presence. Solid. Grounded.
"My father," he said slowly, "never yelled. Never needed to. One look from him could make a room full of men fall silent. Including me." He paused. "It took me years to realize fear isn't respect. It's just control dressed up as authority."
I looked at him then, really looked at him.
"You don't owe him your soul," he added. "Or your silence."
A tear slipped free, and this time I didn't wipe it away. "I don't want to become her," I whispered. "I don't want a life where I disappear just to keep the peace."
"You won't," he said immediately. Firm. Certain. "Not if you don't let it happen."
I laughed weakly. "Easy for you to say."
"Not really," he replied. "I've spent my entire life being molded into something I didn't choose. The difference is—I stopped pretending it didn't cost me anything."
Something in my chest cracked then.
"I'm tired, Alex," I admitted. "I'm so tired of being strong all the time."
He hesitated, just for a second, then gently rested his hand over mine. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there.
"You don't have to be strong here," he said quietly. "Not tonight."
The words undid me.
I leaned forward before I could overthink it, resting my forehead against his shoulder. My breath shook, and the tears finally fell freely. He didn't stiffen. Didn't pull away. One arm came around me, steady and warm, anchoring me to the present.
We stayed like that for a long moment—no labels, no expectations, no contracts hanging between us.
Just two people who understood what it meant to live under someone else's shadow.
When I finally pulled back, my eyes were swollen, my pride bruised, but my chest felt lighter.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He nodded once. "Anytime."
Our eyes met then, something unspoken passing between us. Not desire. Not obligation. But something we both refused to identify.
And as I stood to go to my room, I realized something quietly terrifying and strangely comforting all at once—
This wasn't part of the deal.
But it might be the first real thing we'd shared.