Mabel
I watch Anton — the mysterious "driver" — disappear deeper into the restaurant, his tall frame cutting through the light like he owns it. My lips couldn't help but break out into a faint smile. I shouldn't be staring, but I do — because damn.
"He's so rude." I mutter. "And so freaking hot. Unfortunately."
My fingers brush against my lips, replaying the kiss that shouldn't have happened but refuses to leave my mind. My heart flutters. I hate that it does. But then my phone rings, yanking me back to reality.
I look down.
*Father.*
I freeze. My stomach sinks. If he's calling, it only means one thing — cheating-ass Luke opened his big mouth. My chest tightens.
Bastard. He sure as hell is.
I hesitate for a second, but I know better than to ignore him. "Hello?"
"Come home," Father says, voice calm — too calm.
Just two words, but they make my pulse race. Definitely the calm before the storm. I grab my bag and run out of the restaurant, flagging down a cab with shaky hands.
**Across town...**
The heavy mahogany door of Father's study stares back at me like the gate to hell. I've stood here before. Too many times. But this feeling is always foreign.
My palms are damp. My throat is dry. But I still knock, once.
"Come in."
That voice. I hate that voice.
My stomach churns as I open the door. Sir Isaac Grayson — father, politician, perfectionist, occasional human being — stands by his desk, rage neatly tucked beneath his calm expression.
"Good d—"
The slap lands before I can finish. A sharp, brutal crack that splits my lip and sends me staggering. Ah, his version of "hello."
I drop to my knees instantly, clutching his leg. "I'm sorry, Father! I'm so sorry!"
"Good," he says coldly. "At least you still remember how to beg."
I stay silent. Interrupting him only makes it worse.
"You filthy thing!" he snarls. "I took you in, gave you my name, and this is how you repay me? By humiliating me in public?"
He slams his palm on the desk, making me flinch. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Luke's father is crucial to my campaign, and you've ruined everything with your shameless behavior! You're no different from your mother!"
The second slap hits harder. My head jerks sideways, the sting blooming hot across my cheek.
My mouth tastes of blood. His way of showing affection, I guess.
My vision blurs, but I don't cry. I never cry. I learned that lesson early. Tears only feed his rage. Mother's words echoes from somewhere deep in my mind:
*Never let them see you break, Mabel.*
Father straightens his suit, regaining his calm like nothing happened. "Tomorrow morning, the Robertsons will be here for breakfast. You will apologize to Luke. Beg him if you must. I will not lose an election because of you."
His voice drops. "And this will be the last time I ever hear about you kissing random men in public. Do I make myself clear?"
I nod quickly, body trembling.
"Good. Now get out of my sight."
I stand shakily, turn, and walk out, every step heavy with suppressed rage.
It's only a matter of time, I tell myself. One day, this all ends.
***
It hasn't even been a full minute since I step into my room when the door bursts open and my half-sister, Ashley, struts in, smirk in place.
"Well, well, well," she drawls. "Look who's back from her scandal tour."
I exhale. "Not now, Ashley."
The last thing I need is her. My life is already a circus.
"Oh, come on." She laughs sharply. "You really outdid yourself this time. I thought seducing Luke into dating you was peak Mabel, but no, you just had to kiss a random stranger in public. Bravo!"
My patience snaps. My day has been a parade of humiliation from Luke's betrayal, the kiss, father's slaps, and now this taunting sister. I'm tired of being everyone's punching bag.
Straightening my shoulders, I meet her gaze. "What's it to you, huh? Even if I kissed every man on Earth, it shouldn't bother you. It's my lips doing the kissing, not yours."
Ashley blinks, then sneers. "You're forgetting I'm your elder sister."
"Elder by two years," I shoot back. "If you want respect, earn it. And maybe if you spent less time stalking my life, you'd find a man who doesn't charge by the hour."
Her face twists with rage. "How dare you!" She raises a hand, but I catch her wrist midair and shove it down.
"Don't even think about it," I warn, my voice low and dangerous. "I can tolerate being hit by him—" my tone drips venom at the unspoken name of father, "—but not by you. Try it again, and I'll return the favor."
Ashley yanks her hand back, taking a cautious step away. She knows I'm not bluffing. Still, she refuses to back down.
"What else should I expect from a prostitute's daughter?" she spit out. "Seduce men, make empty threats, rinse and repeat. Like mother, like daughter. You should be ashamed of following her footsteps. But then again, a child only mimics what she sees constantly."
My fists clench. Every word about my mother stings, but I refuse to give Ashley the satisfaction of seeing me break. I will never break.
"You know what?" I say quietly, stepping closer. "You need to leave."
Before she can react, I grab her arm and drag her toward the door. She stumbles, her heels clicking furiously against the floor.
"Let go of me, you filthy wench!" she
screams.
I ignore her, pushing the door open and shoving her into the hallway. "Don't ever come into my room without permission again."
With that, I slam the door, hard enough to make the frame shake.
For a long moment, I just breathe. Then sink onto my bed, staring at nothing as the day's chaos replays — Luke's betrayal, the kiss, Father's rage, Ashley's venom. It all feels like a nightmare that refuses to end.
"Damn you, Luke Robertson," I mutter, rubbing my throbbing temple. "You'll regret this. I swear it."
***
The next day…
The morning sun radiates all through the sky, filling the city with it's hopeful rays. It's the kind of day made for coffee and peace, not for groveling to an asshole ex.
I sit in the living room, wearing a soft green floral dress. My black hair falls over my shoulders, and I apply just enough gloss to hide yesterday's split lip.
Maids flit around nervously, prepping for the breakfast I've been ordered to attend. I munch a banana, trying to ignore the gnawing dread in my gut.
I'm not allowed to help. "Don't help, Miss Mabel," one of the maid had whispered earlier. "You'll jinx it."
Right. Because that's my superpower — ruining everything.
Then, the doorbell rings.
"They're here!" a maid announces, her voice trembling with urgency.
I toss my banana peel aside as Father descends the stairs, his politician-smile already in place — the one that hides the monster underneath.
The door opens, revealing Luke's family. Mr. Robertson greets father warmly, Mrs. Robertson hugs my step-mother, and Luke stands behind them, smirking like the bastard he is. I grit my teeth.
He's going to pay for this.
Before I can brace myself for the forced apologies to come, the doorbell rings again.
Father frowns. "Who else—?"
The maid opens the door, and my heart nearly stops.
Anton—the stranger I kissed yesterday—steps inside. Tall, composed, dressed in another tailored black suit and exuding quiet authority that swallows the noise of the room.
Conversations die instantly. Even Father falters.
"You?" I blurt out, immediately earning his gaze.
His eyes steady on mine and my breath hitches. "Miss Grayson," he says in that calm, deep voice that makes it sound like an order, not a greeting. "We need to talk."
The room freezes. Luke stiffens. Father's jaw tightens.
And me? My heart decides it's auditioning for a rock concerts.