CHAPTER VII
As soon as that girl — Riru — walked away to meet her parents, my father approached me. The moment I saw the look on his face, I knew what was coming.
"Nexa," he said in a stern, disappointed tone, "do you have absolutely no regard for my reputation? What in the world are you wearing today? Couldn't you have worn something royal for once — at least today?"
I stood silently for a beat, then answered flatly, "I don't have anything royal to wear. And… these clothes were given to me by that girl."
Father raised an eyebrow. "You mean your girlfriend, right? And you don't even know her name?"
His sarcasm stung a little more than I wanted to admit. I turned my gaze away and muttered, "I didn't feel the need to know."
He gave me a look of disbelief, shaking his head. "Everyone in her family calls her Riru."
"I know," I replied coldly. "I just don't like saying it."
Though I said it with indifference, in truth, my mind had already been turning that name over and over. Riru. What kind of name is that? It sounds… strange. Soft. It lingers, like a whisper that doesn't want to fade.
And just as if summoned by thought, Riru came rushing toward me, her smile radiant, her steps light. She looked like she belonged in this grand world of chandeliers and silk, while I… I felt like I was just passing through.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed her hand in front of my father. Maybe it was a petty act of rebellion. Maybe it was comfort. Maybe I just wanted him to see something.
And then, still holding her hand, I walked away — straight to Malti and Jenny, who were standing near a crystal display, completely engrossed in whatever beauty tip my mother had just shared. They barely noticed us approaching.
I wasn't sure what I was doing, or why. But Riru didn't let go of my hand, and strangely… I didn't want her to.
The hall was glowing, laughter echoing from all sides. Celebrities posed for photographs, chandeliers twinkled like stars caught in a palace. But inside me, it felt like a storm was brewing — a mix of confusion, stubbornness, and something dangerously close to hope.
And all of it was because of one girl… with a ridiculous name I couldn't stop thinking about.
I turned to Malti, frustration lacing my voice as I confronted her. "This is exactly why I brought you both here — so you could be with me, talk to me, stand by me. And what are the two of you doing instead?" My voice trembled, not with anger, but with something closer to hurt.
Jenny, ever the peacemaker, tried to calm the rising storm. "Calm down, Nexa," she said with a light laugh. "Your mom is like a magician! She's giving us such amazing beauty tips — you should've heard her!"
I let out a bitter laugh. "Yes… for others, she is a magician. A beautiful illusion. A performer for the world."
Just then, my mother noticed me. Her perfectly manicured hand reached out and grabbed my arm gently but firmly. "Nexa, look at your skin," she said with disapproval, scanning me like I was some flawed object. "It's so dull, so messy. Drink this water — it's enriched with minerals. Your skin might start glowing… like mine."
I pulled my arm back. "I don't need to glow like you," I said quietly, yet every word struck like ice.
She smiled, but it was hollow. The kind that hides venom behind charm. "You know, Nexa, if we hadn't been the ones to organize this party, I wouldn't have even bothered to look at your face tonight. Guests are here. Just pretend to be happy — act, the way I'm acting."
I bit back every emotion threatening to break through. But I couldn't stop myself. "Is there anything you know besides acting?" I asked.
And that was the moment everything shattered.
Her smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by pure rage. Without warning, she raised her hand — and slapped me across the face.
The sound echoed across the lavishly decorated hall like thunder. The music screeched to a stop. Conversations died mid-sentence. Glasses froze in mid-air. Every eye turned toward us.
My cheek stung. But more than that… it was the silence. The humiliation.
My father clenched his fists. I saw it. I felt it. But he didn't say a word. His pride, his carefully crafted image — it mattered more.
My mother, with the elegance of a queen who knew she had an audience, picked up a glass of soft drink from a waiter nearby. With theatrical grace, she flung it right at me. The cold liquid splashed across my dress, my face, dripping down like poison in front of all those perfect strangers.
"You know, Nexa," she said loud enough for everyone to hear, "you will never understand what luxury truly means. Because just like your real parents, you prefer to wallow in poverty."
I stood there — soaked, burning with shame, eyes stinging, not from the drink, but from the words. Her words sliced deeper than any slap could. I could hear the whispers, feel the eyes crawling over me.
And in that moment… I didn't know whether I wanted to run — or set the whole place on fire.
I wasn't just humiliated.
I was unseen. Unwanted. Undone.
My father's voice finally broke the stunned silence. He stepped forward, glaring at my mother with a mix of rage and disbelief. "Ariana," he snapped, "she may not be your biological daughter, but she's our child. We both raised her. That makes her ours — equally."
I turned to him slowly, my voice low and bitter, every word laced with the ache of betrayal. "Raised? You both raised me?" I laughed — a short, hollow sound. "I don't need parents like you. And you don't have to worry, Your Highness… I'll never come back here again. Not now, not ever."
The room remained frozen as I moved, my pride stitched into every step. Without a word, I walked up to a guest, plucked the napkin from their hand, and gently wiped the sticky drink from my face. I saw the discomfort in their eyes, but I didn't care. Another guest stood nearby — I took the black sunglasses from their shirt pocket and placed them firmly on my face, like armor.
I was done being someone's showpiece. I wasn't a princess for display. I was a storm — and storms don't apologize for their presence.
I walked out of the grand palace hall, my heels clicking like war drums against the marble floor. The moment I stepped outside, I was so engulfed in anger and hurt that I didn't even realize — Riru's hand was still in mine. I'd pulled her along in my silent rebellion. She hadn't let go.
Outside, the night wrapped around me like a cold blanket. Without hesitation, I raised my hand and summoned the little spark of power I still had left within me. My luxury car — the very symbol of the life they wanted me to live — shifted before my eyes, metal folding, wheels reshaping, frame condensing until it transformed into a sleek, powerful black bike.
Without saying a word, I climbed onto it. Riru stood silently beside me, her expression unreadable, her hand still caught in mine. I looked at her for a brief second, but I didn't say anything — couldn't say anything. My heart was too full… of rage, of pain, of the desperate need to escape.
She didn't ask questions. She didn't let go.
And just like that — I revved the engine, the sound piercing the heavy silence of the night, and we drove away from the chaos, from the lies, from the masks worn by people who claimed to love me. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't care.
All I knew was… I needed to breathe.
So I headed toward the forest.
Toward the wild.
Toward the unknown.
And maybe… toward the truth.
To be continue...