The door clicked softly as Aliana slipped inside, her heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might give her away. The house was silent, the kind of silent that made every shadow feel alive. She moved quietly, taking off her shoes so they wouldn't thud against the floor. Hoping no one would see her as she made her way to her room, It was strange coming home used to bring her comfort, but now every corner felt foreign, like she was trespassing in her own life.
Her throat tightened as she tiptoed past the hallway mirror. The reflection staring back at her looked tired, messy, and nothing like the girl she knew. A man's clothes oversized and wrinkled. She shook her head and hurried towards the stairs.
She had just reached the bottom of the staircase when a voice, cold and cutting, froze her in place.
"Aliana Jordan, where have you been the whole night?"
Her mother's voice echoed down the hallway like a verdict. Aliana turned around slowly, her skin draining of color. Her mother stood near the dining room entrance, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp and assessing.
For a long second, neither of them moved. Then her mother's gaze swept from Aliana's tousled hair to the borrowed clothes, and her brow furrowed.
"What is with those clothes, young lady? Don't tell me you "
"Mom, no!" Aliana blurted out, throwing her hands up. "It's not what you're thinking. I just had a few drinks with friends, okay? My clothes got dirty, so I borrowed some from a friend. Nothing happened."
Her mother's expression didn't soften. She looked at Aliana for a long, uncomfortable moment, as if weighing her words. Finally, she exhaled, though the tension in her face didn't fade.
"Go get changed. We'll discuss this later. Your father and I have something we need to talk to you about, so come downstairs once you're done."
The pit in Aliana's stomach dropped. Her mind flashed instantly to Beatrice. They know Mom has never sounded so serious before; it has to be her. The thought made her throat burn and her chest tighten. She managed a small nod before rushing upstairs, each step heavier than the last.
Once inside her room, she shut the door harder than she meant to. The sound echoed through the walls, but she didn't care. She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the wood, her knees drawn close. Her hands clutched her stomach as it twisted and rolled with anxiety, a sick, burning ache she couldn't breathe through.
For a long moment, she just sat there, trembling, trying not to cry. Everything around her her posters, her bed, her clothes scattered across the chair, looked distant, almost unfamiliar.
She used to belong here.
Now, she wasn't sure she belonged anywhere at all.
-
The morning light poured through the dining room window, brushing against the edge of the long table where Arman sat stiffly across from Peter and Samara. Neither of them spoke. The air between them felt strange thick with something unspoken.
Arman wasn't the kind of man who dropped by uninvited, especially not early in the morning. He was always careful, distant even. So his sudden visit had already set off quiet alarms in both their minds.
Samara finally broke the silence, setting down her teacup. "Aliana just got home," she said, her tone calm but edged with suspicion. "She was out with friends last night. You can tell us what you came here for until she joins us."
Arman blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he'd just realized what she was implying. "Out with friends?" he echoed, before quickly nodding, pretending it didn't bother him. He shifted in his seat, fingers drumming lightly on the table. For a man known for his composure, he looked almost nervous now and that alone made both Peter and Samara uneasy.
He cleared his throat. "I know this might come across as... inappropriate, and I understand your feelings are attached to this, but I wanted to say "
Peter leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Arman, you don't have to look like you're about to face an execution. Whatever it is, just say it. We're adults here."
Arman looked between them, his throat moving in a slow swallow. "I want to break off the engagement with Aliana."
The words dropped like a stone. Peter and Samara both froze. Then, almost immediately, a sharp crash rang out from the hallway, glass shattering, as a vase met the floor.
Samara's head whipped toward the noise. "Who's there?" she called, standing up quickly. When no one answered, she went to check. The hallway was empty, the broken pieces of porcelain glinting under the light.
She frowned but brushed it off, murmuring an apology as she returned to her seat.
What she didn't see was Aliana pressed against the wall just outside the door, one hand clamped over her mouth, her body trembling. Her face had gone pale, her heart hammering in her chest so hard it hurt.
He's going to tell them. He's getting rid of me.
Her thoughts spun wildly, a blur of shame and disbelief. Every memory every look, every word she had once thought meant something felt like a cruel joke now. All those years she had poured into him were collapsing around her.
Inside, Samara's voice broke through the tense silence. "Why, Arman? Why would you decide that all of a sudden?"
Arman hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to say the truth that Aliana wasn't truly their daughter. His hands tightened around his cup instead. "I've come to realize I don't love her," he said slowly. "And I can't keep her happy. With the wedding approaching, I feel that marrying her solely for the sake of business ties would be an injustice. She deserves more than a transaction."
Outside, Aliana's throat clenched. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She took a shaky breath, straightened her dress, and wiped her face with trembling fingers. If he was ending this then she would make sure he didn't get the last word.
A second later, the door opened, and she stepped inside.
"Oh, Aliana," Samara said softly, startled by her sudden appearance. The color drained from her face. Arman looked up too, his posture tightening, guilt flickering briefly in his eyes.
But Aliana didn't look at him. She went straight to her parents, voice steady though her hands trembled at her sides. "I wasn't going to tell you this now," she said, "but since he's decided to speak first, I don't have to keep it a secret anymore."
Samara frowned. "What do you mean, dear?"
Aliana took a breath that hurt to release. "I like someone else. And I've been thinking about moving in with him."
The words hit the room like a thunderclap.
Arman was the first to react his chair screeched back as he shot to his feet. "What are you talking about?" His voice was low, sharp. He grabbed her arm, pulling her closer. "Who is he?"
She jerked her arm free, glaring up at him. "Exactly what you heard. I like someone else, and I want to make our relationship official."
"Aliana, dear " Samara started, her voice trembling.
But Aliana barely heard her. Her thoughts were spinning, her heart clawing at her chest. What am I doing? she thought frantically. I'm making this worse. She knew it. She knew she was cornering herself. But somewhere deep down, it felt like the only way to protect what was left of her pride to leave before they left her.
She turned to her mother, forcing a faint smile that barely held together. "Mom, I'm an adult now. I can't keep living here like a child. I have a life of my own, and it's time I live it. It's for the best for all of us."
Her voice faltered at the end, but she didn't look back. She gave Arman one last look one filled with pain, defiance, and something close to heartbreak before turning toward the door.
Samara excused herself quietly and followed after Aliana,
"Aliana, wait..."
But Aliana didn't stop. Her footsteps were fast and uneven as she climbed the stairs. Samara barely caught up to her before she reached her room. The door slammed, and Samara pushed it open before it could lock.
"Aliana!" she said sharply, reaching out to grab her wrist. "Why are you doing this? You clearly love Arman. You can't just—"
Aliana turned around slowly, her eyes red and glassy but her expression flat. "I didn't love him, Mother. You did."
Samara froze, her hand still holding on.
Aliana's voice shook, but her words came out steady. "You and Father were the ones who kept saying he was perfect for me, that I was lucky. You tied me to him before I even had the chance to figure out what I wanted. I was following what you believed in. You chained me to him."
She took a step back, pulling her wrist free. "And now, for the first time, I can finally choose someone I actually like. Someone I want to be with."
Samara stared at her daughter, completely taken aback. The tone, the defiance, it didn't sound like her Aliana at all. "What has happened to you?" she whispered. Her voice cracked, her eyes glistening. "This isn't you, Aliana. You're trembling. You're saying these things, but I can see you're holding back tears."
"You are right, It isn't Aliana." Alina said through her gritted teeth.
Aliana turned away, opening the wardrobe. Her back stiffened. "It's all in your head, Mother. I'm fine. I have to pack my things, so please, just go."
Her voice broke slightly near the end, but she didn't stop moving. Her hands reached for her clothes, folding them too quickly, too harshly.
Samara stood there for a long second, her heart aching as she watched her daughter's shaking shoulders. She wanted to reach out again, to pull her close and ask what was really wrong—but something in Aliana's posture warned her not to.
So she swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to leave.
The door closed softly behind her.
And the moment it did, Aliana's strength gave out. She dropped to the floor beside her clothes, curling in on herself. Her fingers dug into her knees, her forehead pressed against them as the sobs tore through.
All the pride, all the words she had forced out, shattered the moment no one was there to see her.