His Mother smiled with satisfaction at Arka, who now looked just as fashionable as she did (albeit slightly forced). That smile wasn't just any smile—it was the satisfied expression of a fashion editor who had successfully overhauled her model overnight, full of triumph and confidence.
"Ready? Let's go," she said, her voice cheerful and authoritative once more. Her tone was light, but it carried the distinct firmness of a woman who knew exactly what needed to be done.
She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a key fob that looked heavy and modern. She aimed it toward the yard.
CHIRP...
The deep, classy sound of a car unlocking—not a cheap 'beep'—rang out from the yard. The sound echoed lightly, smooth and undeniably premium, slicing through the silence of the humid morning.
Arka, who was preparing to get into his mother's usual SUV, stopped dead in his tracks.
"Huh..."
His eyes fixed on something parked on the stone path, right in front of the porch. Something that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.
A Bentley sedan. A deep, metallic maroon red. Its surface reflected the lingering drizzle in the air, forming a wet sheen like expensive wine under the morning light. Even from a distance, the finish looked like liquid glass.
The car was brand new. Perfectly polished, contrasting sharply with the backdrop of the ancient wooden house.
Arka's gaze shifted frantically to the large trash bin near the porch pillar. Next to it was a large pile of clear plastic—the wrapping from new car seats.
The plastic still radiated the strong, distinctive scent of a new car—a blend of premium leather, high-quality industrial glue, and cold metal.
Arka's face paled. He turned to his mother, his gaze full of suspicion. This was the same pattern as his Grandfather.
"Mom..." Arka's voice sounded choked.
"Whose car... is this?"
His Mother looked at him as if Arka's question was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. Her eyebrow even raised slightly, showing just how absurd she found it.
"Arka, darling..." she said, flipping her hair.
"Obviously, it's Mom's."
She walked gracefully in her stilettos toward the driver's door. The click of her heels sounded crisp and confident on the wet stone, like the rhythm of a runway walk.
"PRIVATE PROPERTY," she added, emphasizing the two words proudly as she opened the door.
"Get in. You'll be late."
Vrooom...
Arka, still half-dazed, climbed into the seat that smelled of luxurious new leather. The interior felt cool, soft, and incredibly exclusive; the red stitching on the black leather seats was arranged with precision, like the work of a world-class artisan.
The car's engine purred to life with a vibration that was incredibly smooth yet powerful.
The luxury red car glided effortlessly out of the old wooden gate and cruised through the residential streets. Light rain swept across the windshield, creating diagonal patterns that shimmered with the city's reflection.
Arka's probing question was met with laughter.
"Hahahaha! A loan?"
His Mother laughed freely, a laugh of pure victory that sounded very expensive inside the soundproofed cabin of the Bentley. Her laughter bounced softly off the leather interior and polished wood panels, sounding like the laugh of a socialite who had just won a minor skirmish.
She patted the plush leather steering wheel affectionately.
"Oh, Arka, darling. You clearly underestimate your Mother."
She glanced at Arka briefly from behind her sunglasses, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
"Want to know what happened after you went to bed last night?"
Arka stayed silent, his bad feeling growing stronger.
"Last night's tragedy wasn't over when you went to sleep," his Mother recounted, her tone cheerful. "After your Grandfather made up that ridiculous 'King' story and your useless Father just stayed silent, Mom continued her acting."
Arka could almost hear the background sound effect 'dun dun dunnnn' when his mother mentioned the word 'acting'.
She cleared her throat slightly, then mimicked her own hysterical sobbing from the night before.
"Mom cried again. 'Boo-hoo-hoo... if Father is truly filthy rich...' " her voice feigned sadness.
" '...Father must be fair! Does Father only love his grandson but discard his daughter-in-law?! BOO-HOO-HOO...' "
Arka's eyes widened. Acting?!
"And your Grandfather?" his Mother continued.
"He finally couldn't take it. He roared, 'Bah! What do you want, you big whiny baby!'"
His Mother giggled softly, returning to her normal voice.
"That was when," she said, a mischievous, cunning smile curling her lips,
"Mom stopped crying."
She even lifted her chin slightly, mimicking the dramatic transition from 'despair' to 'negotiation mode' like a professional actress.
She imitated the motion of wiping imaginary tears with the back of her hand.
"Mom said: 'The latest edition sporty red Bentley.'"
His Mother laughed with satisfaction again.
"Your Father? His jaw dropped. Completely speechless. And guess what? First thing this morning, this car arrived. Delivered directly."
She stroked the dashboard again.
"Your Grandfather is truly rich, Arka. And he hid it all this time. That stingy old man."
Arka sat frozen in his seat.
He didn't know where to begin. His expression was petrified.
His lips were slightly parted, his breath hitched, and his pupils shrank as if his brain had just received too much information to process at once.
He listened to the entire story without blinking. His mouth, initially open in suspicion, now hung wide open in total shock.
Realization hit him like a truck.
Last night, his Mother wasn't crying because of "sugar mommies."
She was crying because she hadn't gotten her share yet.
The "Emperor's" money, which he thought was Grandfather's bluff... turned out to be exploitable.
Real enough to buy a Bentley instantly in the morning.
His Mother... had just... blackmailed his Grandfather.
And it worked.
Arka's face went from suspicious, to deathly pale, then to beet red from frustration, then back to pale.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held his temples which were starting to throb as if they were about to explode.
He slowly raised his trembling hands, massaging his own temples hard, mimicking the desperate gesture his two family members had made the night before.
He was no longer suspicious.
He was no longer afraid.
He was just... tired.
Spiritually tired.
He leaned his dizzy head against the cold window, squeezing his eyes shut, ignoring the passing scenery.
"I... need a vacation," he mumbled softly.
"Far away from all of you."
✧ ✧ ✧
Arka, who had just begun to accept his fate, was jolted from his reverie. He looked out the window. The familiar buildings around his campus were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the Bentley turned left at a large intersection, heading toward the elite business district.
"Mom," Arka protested, straightening up from his resigned leaning position.
"Campus is that way. This is the wrong way."
His Mother didn't turn her head. Her smile, previously cheerful and triumphant, now shifted into a smile that was more serious, more purposeful. Her gaze was straight ahead, focused and sharp, like someone on an important mission.
"Quiet," she said calmly.
"We aren't going to campus. Mom has to have your mental health checked by Aunt Daisy."
The blood in Arka's body felt like it froze. Aunt Daisy?
"WHAT?!" Arka exclaimed, his voice rising an octave, almost shrieking inside the soundproof cabin.
"Mental health?! Are you crazy?! Who is messing around with older women?! That's a lie! Grandfather made that up!"
His Mother clicked her tongue dismissively, as if Arka were a patient in deep denial. Her fingers even tapped the steering wheel lightly, like an amateur psychiatrist assessing a patient's condition.
"Darling," she said, her tone lowering as if advising a stubborn child.
"Mom is still worried. Very worried. You have a tendency to like older women... Much older. It's not healthy. Mom couldn't sleep last night thinking about it."
Arka stared at his mother in horror. She wasn't joking. She genuinely believed in that absurd scenario.
"Ughhh... Mom! I don't want to!" Arka whined, his embarrassment overpowering everything else. He could picture Aunt Daisy, the woman who always looked at him with an intimidating, analytical smile.
"I don't want to go to Aunt Daisy! I'm healthy! I'm normal!"
His Mother, who had been driving casually, suddenly turned her head. The quick movement made the tips of her curly hair float slightly, and her sharp gaze behind the sunglasses made Arka stiffen instantly.
"Quiet, ungrateful child!" she snapped, her cheerful tone vanishing instantly, replaced by full authority.
"Aunt Daisy is Mom's best friend. A leading psychiatrist in this kingdom. Do you want to be cured, or do you like being crazy, huh?!"
Arka slumped back into his seat, utterly defeated. He looked away, staring at the drizzle slapping the window. The raindrops slid down slowly, reflecting his own image looking increasingly miserable.
He mumbled softly, full of despair.
"Mom... is the crazy one."
His Mother just smiled slightly, taking it as part of his symptoms.
✧ ✧ ✧
Vroooom...
The powerful V12 engine roared softly. The luxury car sped up, breaking through the drizzle, carrying the fashionable and desperate Arka toward a therapy session he never asked for. The vibration was smooth, but enough to remind Arka that this was a vehicle purchased with the proceeds of last night's manipulation.
The red Bentley glided silently and parked perfectly in the driveway of a magnificent modern house. The façade consisted of tall glass and white brick, framed by a minimalist garden with symmetrically pruned small trees.
This elite residential area was silent, the only sound being an automatic lawnmower from the yard next door. The air smelled fragrant, a mix of morning rain and fresh wet grass.
"Let's go," his Mother said, killing the engine.
Arka stepped out of the car reluctantly. He felt overdressed and ridiculous. The cold morning wind touched the skin of his neck, making him realize how thin the remaining comfort of the day was.
His feet, clad in expensive sneakers, felt heavy as they stepped onto the pristine marble leading to the main door.
The interior of the house was extremely minimalist, cold, and filled with abstract art that probably cost as much as the new car his Mother now owned.
The white walls gleamed, the floor reflected soft light from the skylight, and the scent of a bergamot diffuser filled the room with an impression that was expensive and clinical all at once.
"Wait here first," his Mother ordered, pointing to an ivory-white leather sofa in the spacious living room.
"And behave politely."
Arka simply sighed in resignation and threw himself onto the sofa. The cold leather made his body flinch slightly, as if the sofa too refused to partake in his suffering.
His Mother walked confidently, her stilettos clicking softly on the marble floor, toward a set of double doors on the other side of the room.
Every step was rhythmic, sounding like the arrogant 'clack... clack... clack...' typical of a high-class woman already very comfortable with luxury.
She opened them.
"Daisy...." his Mother called out in a cheerful tone.
Silence for a moment.
Then came a shriek of surprise from another woman.
"Oh my goodness... Arlene?! Oh my God!"
Arka frowned. He thought they had an appointment.
He waited for his mother to start the topic—about Arka's "tendencies," the "sugar mommies," or his sanity.
But what he heard from the next room was a wave of conversation that was completely different.
"Crazy! You look amazing! Is that a new jumpsuit? Which designer?" (Aunt Daisy's voice)
"Hahaha, of course! But look at you... your hair! Where did you get it cut? It's so nice! Hey, have you heard the latest gossip about the Minister of Finance? They say he..." (His Mother's voice)
"Oh, I know! I know everything! He was caught... blah blah blah..."
Their voices quickly devolved into giggles and raucous whispers. They gossiped uncontrollably. The topic of Arka's "therapy" seemed to evaporate the moment the two socialites met.
Their tones were pitched high, full of sensation, like two exotic birds showing off their plumage to one another.
Arka sank deeper into the cold leather sofa. He raised his hands, massaging his forehead which was starting to throb with a headache.
"I am truly wasting my time here," he muttered in frustration.
Arka slumped on that ivory-white leather sofa.
Hour after hour felt like thick glue slowly dripping down a wall—unmoving, torturous, and unending.
One hour.
Almost a full hour he was stranded there.
The gossip from the next room showed no signs of stopping. The voices only grew louder. The laughter and dramatic gasps of the socialites even echoed softly in the spacious room, bouncing off the cold white marble.
The topic had shifted from ministerial scandals to the price of the latest Birkin bag, then to who-slept-with-whom at last week's socialite party.
His Mother's giggles and Aunt Daisy's shrieks of "SERIOUSLY?!" alternated in the air.
Arka checked the time on his phone. His first class was definitely missed. His patience ran out.
"MOM!"
His frustrated shout echoed through the silent minimalist house, bouncing off the marble walls.
The sound was almost like a small explosion shattering the atmosphere of sterile arrogance.
"IT'S BEEN AN HOUR! I'M GOING TO BE LATE!"
The sound of gossip in the next room stopped instantly.
Total silence.
Then came Aunt Daisy's voice,
"Oh my goodness, Arlene, you brought your son?"
"OH RIGHT!" His Mother's voice sounded surprised, as if she had just remembered.
"I have to take Arka to campus after bringing him for counseling with Daisy! Oh gosh, I forgot! I was just gossiping, HEHEHE... Oh, where is Arka?"
The double doors across the room opened.
"Oh my God..." Arka mumbled, sitting up straight.
"Arka is this big already..."
Gulp.
Arka swallowed hard as Aunt Daisy stepped out, followed by his Mother.
Arka was very reluctant to see her.
Aunt Daisy was not a gentle, motherly figure. She was tall, very slender, with platinum blonde hair cut into a sharp asymmetrical bob.
Her haircut reflected the room's light, giving off a cold authority like a freshly sharpened knife blade.
She wore a striking lime-green silk pantsuit.
Her eyes, behind expensive cat-eye frames, locked onto Arka instantly.
It was the analytical gaze of a psychiatrist.
A gaze that was sharp, calculating, and instantly made the hairs on the back of Arka's neck stand up.
Aunt Daisy walked toward Arka.
She didn't ask, "What is your problem?" or "How are you feeling?"
She assessed Arka from the tips of his hair to the tips of his shoes.
"Arlene..." Aunt Daisy hissed, her eyes still fixed on Arka.
"Oh God... when did that chubby baby become this tall?"
She stopped right in front of Arka, who now felt like a specimen in a laboratory.
"Look at him! So handsome!" Aunt Daisy praised, her slightly raspy voice sounding sincere and enthusiastic.
"And so fashionable! The outfit is perfect! Do you see that jawline? So distinct. And those shoulders... gorgeous. Your son really won the genetic lottery, Arlene."
Arka felt increasingly nauseous. He wanted to disappear.
His jaw tightened, his lips drawn into a thin line of despair. This praise felt clinical, embarrassing, and completely unrelated to the reason he was dragged here.
While Arka shrank into the sofa, his Mother seemed to expand. Arlene stood next to Aunt Daisy, arms crossed, chin lifted.
"Of course," she said, her smile incredibly proud. "Just look at his Mother."
This was the session Arka had desperately, desperately wanted to avoid.
Aunt Daisy's clinical analysis finished in a split second. Her eyes, previously sharp and assessing, suddenly turned wide and sparkling. Her professional smile vanished, replaced by an excessive grin of enthusiasm.
"OH SO CUTE!"
Before Arka could stand up politely or even just scoot over, Aunt Daisy launched herself like a lime-green projectile.
The woman "pounced."
She pulled Arka into a tight hug that was stiff and slightly suffocating.
Arka, who was much taller, folded awkwardly like a tall tree forcibly pulled down.
Smooch! Smooch!
Two wet kisses that left thin lipstick trails and the stinging scent of citrus-floral perfume landed forcibly on both his cheeks.
The lipstick marks stuck clearly—two stamps of humiliation that felt permanent.
Arka froze.
Stiff as a board.
His face burned red with embarrassment, his ears on fire.
"Arka! Since you were a baby, I've always wanted to eat you up! Hahahah!"
Aunt Daisy's laughter sounded shrill, bouncing off the marble, completely unprofessional. Her laughter even rolled with a reverb effect, making the scene feel ten times more humiliating.
This was what Arka hated. Since he was a baby, every time he met Aunt Daisy—he was always assaulted with brutal kisses like this.
Aunt Daisy finally released her hug. But her slender, strong hands now gripped Arka's shoulders, staring at him intently from top to bottom. Her gaze was like a specialist doctor assessing the spine quality of an ancient human.
"And it turns out you've grown this big... Oh my Goood!"
Her eyes widened in amazement.
"Where have I been forgetting you? Knowing you grew up well and healthy like this, I should have visited more often!"
Arka could only stand stiffly.
His face covered in lipstick marks.
His cheeks sticky.
His dignity crushed.
His right hand slowly lifted reflexively to wipe his face—but he held it in the air, realizing it would only smear the lipstick worse.
He glanced at his mother in despair, begging for any help at all.
His Mother, Arlene, just stood to the side.
She crossed her arms, smiling proudly, as if showing off a trophy she had just won.
Arka felt even sicker.
He let out a long breath, his chest rising and falling like someone who had just finished swimming 200 meters in an ocean of insanity.
He had officially become a display doll.
_______ ✧ _______ ☾⚜☽ _______ ✧ _______