Viona's POV
I was pacing around like a hamster on espresso in a VIP waiting room. My father wanted to talk to me alone. Just the two of us.
The thing that made my fingers fidget anxiously, though, was that he was now talking with Rafael alone too. Was this the next test? What were they discussing?
I pressed my ear against the thick wooden door connecting to the next room, trying to catch even the smallest sound of breathing, but it was muffled. Deaf. Thick.
My face twisted with frustration. I hated the uncertainty looming in front of me.
If I could just hear what they were discussing, I could grasp what I needed to say later. What if Rafael and I missed each other's facts-check?
The sound of the hallway door opening snapped my head up. My mother.
Her furious frown made me flinch. She slammed the door shut before marching toward me with a hurriedly firm stride. Why? Would I get another slap?
"Mom…" I called her, my voice hesitant. My feet retreated slightly, ready to bolt from an enemy attack.
But then, she grabbed my wrist, yanked me forward, and hugged me. Tight.
Something she never did, not even when I fell from my bike and needed a three-inch stitch on my knees at seven years old.
"You are a wife now. Oh God… My Viona is a wife now." Her emotional voice felt strange. She wasn't scolding me?
However, the warmth of her embrace melted me, and my hands hugged her back hesitantly, like testing the water before drowning in it.
"Mom… Are you not angry?" I asked, confused, half-expecting lightning instead of a rainbow.
She pulled away. Her gaze softened.
I smiled wryly. It should have given me comfort, but it didn't.
Maybe I had grown too used to her absence of affection—like a cactus confused by sudden rain.
"It was surprising. But… I'm not angry. You're finally free from the arranged marriage bond. I'm sorry for slapping you yesterday. Please forgive my failure as a mother, dear. I was worried…" She smiled warmly and clutched my shoulder.
Worried? About me?
I smiled faintly at her apology, careful not to get swept up in her sudden softness.
I had to remind myself, she wasn't a normal mom.
Even if she'd never slapped my face before, I was used to her hitting my back or shoulder whenever frustration got the best of her.
"Mom, shouldn't you ask me how I could bring Rafael into this mess? I—"
"It doesn't matter, dear… You both knew each other since you were teenagers, right? You want to be free from the Island-Housley bond, and you got it. With your father's blessing, on top of that." She sounded excited.
My gut sensed something weird in her intonation. Like what she was relieved about wasn't actually me getting married. I distanced myself and sat on the edge of the table.
"You know it's fake, Mom. You know what we did at the altar was just a performance. Even if the whole world believes it, you should be worried that your obedient daughter has started to rebel, shouldn't you?" I challenged.
Her smile faded, and she pressed her lips together, refusing to meet my eyes.
I sounded hypocritical. I should be happy she supported me, but for once, I just wanted to hear her real feelings.
"I think it's better this way. For you… and for Vivian. You wouldn't release yourself from Roman, sweetheart. I know you. Even if you were suffocated, you would accept your fate. And standing as a substitute would make Vivian worry. She should be full of happiness in her last days."
I chuckled in disappointment. What did I expect? Of course, it would circle back to Vivian. I crossed my arms, my nails digging into the skin of my elbow to subside my anger.
"Mom, if we were fraternal twins, I would be convinced that I was adopted. Do you hate me that much?"
"Viona, why would you see it as hate? I was frustrated when you were forced to be a substitute if something happened to Vivian. I was helpless. So there is no happier news than your father accepting your lie with Rafael."
Helpless?
"So accepting lies is your way to get out of the guilt as a helpless mother?" My voice came out too sharp and cold than I intended. Was I too harsh on her?
"What's wrong with that?" Her voice shook. "I am a mother. And if lies could protect you both, I will gladly turn a blind eye." She stepped closer and softly stroked my cheek.
I could feel the genuine warmth in her eyes. My chest tightened.
"And you know, dear… You are so much like me. Not just that you are physically stronger than Vivian, your heart is far tougher, too. I believe you can strongly face whatever problems are thrown at you." My mother spoke with deep conviction and a gentle, motherly voice I had never heard before. She was always tough and firm with me.
Was I really like her? But she hated herself.
She hated how she always suppressed her feelings during her time as Mrs. Island.
Didn't that mean she hated me? I bit back my words, I didn't want to sound whiny like a kid seeking affection.
It was useless. I lost faith in her.
Just as I was about to challenge her words, I froze.
Lucky for my mother, the door connecting the rooms opened, and Rafael and my father emerged.
I straightened my back, clasping my hands together like a student who had made a mistake and was preparing to receive punishment.
I knew I hadn't done anything wrong—at least not from my point of view. It was my body's reflex since perhaps the time I could stand tall on my small feet.
"Oh honey… are you done?" My mother put on her cheerful face and clung to my father's arm. She was too stubborn to live a life full of pretense.
"Wait outside. I need to talk to her." His voice was flat and dismissive.
He stared straight ahead at the window, walking away and ignoring my mother's clinging hand.
And like a gentleman, Rafael immediately grabbed my mother's dangling hand and placed it on his arm.
"Mother, I wanted to speak with you too," he said smoothly, leading her out of the room like he'd rehearsed it all his life. He left me alone with my father.
Why could he play son-in-law so smoothly, as if he already practiced it?
And now, wait…
What did he say to my father? What am I supposed to say to him alone?
I bit my lower lip, twisting my fingers nervously. The hammering in my ears grew unbearably loud, a sharp contrast to my father's cold composure as he stared out the window.
"Is this the path you really want to take?" His voice dropped—calm, but heavy like thunder warning the rain to behave.