As they exchanged pleasantries, she couldn't help but feel a sense of hopefulness. Maybe, just maybe, she would be the one to capture his attention tonight. He stood in front of the mirror, meticulously adjusting his tie and smoothing any wrinkles in his suit.
It wasn't enough for him to look good; he had to be the most handsome person in the room. It was a matter of pride, a way to assert his dominance over others. But it wasn't just about looks. He knew that the way he dressed was a display of his wealth and status.
The expensive fabrics, designer labels, and perfectly polished shoes all spoke to his success and power. It was a way to show the world that he had made it and was someone to be reckoned with.
And so he stepped out into the world, his head held high, his confidence radiating from every pore. He knew that he looked good, and he knew that he was rich. And that was all that mattered. Damian's eyes wandered to the other women in the room, but he knew it was futile. His heart was already spoken for, promised to another by his father's decree.
No matter how appealing another female may be, he was bound by duty to honor the prearranged agreement.
The soft fabric of the dress flowed gently around my legs as I walked. The color was a deep shade of blue, complementing the clear sky above. I couldn't help but feel a sense of elegance and grace as I moved, the dress swaying with each step.
As I sat in front of the vanity mirror, my mother stood behind me, gently running the comb through my hair. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of the bristles against my scalp. When she finished, I reached for my makeup bag and began to apply my cosmetics. With each stroke of the brush, I felt myself transforming into the person I wanted to be. Finally, I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection. I was ready for whatever the day had in store for me.
As I stood in my beautiful dress, my mother approached me and gently took my hands. With a soft and loving voice, she whispered, "You look lovely, my princess." Her words filled me with warmth and comfort, and I couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence in my life. I smiled back at her, feeling confident and beautiful, ready to take on whatever the day had in store for me. Standing in the doorway, I turned to my mother and flashed her a small smile.
"Thank you, Mamá," I said, expressing my gratitude for her help. A knock interrupted our conversation, and I turned to see Mark standing at the door.
As we stood at the bus stop, Mark took my hand and led me toward the front entrance of the building.
Limousine. As we were about to leave, my father appeared from his study.
He sighed deeply and cast his eyes to the ceiling as if searching for the right words.
Finally, with a monotone voice, he spoke, "The limousine is en route." I could sense the tension in the air as I stood before him, my heart pounding. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding my gaze as he fidgeted with his hands.
He was clearly eager to get rid of me, to be done with this conversation and move on to something else.
I tried to keep my composure, to remain calm and collected in the face of his obvious discomfort. But it was hard not to feel hurt by his dismissive attitude, to wonder what I had done to deserve such treatment.
As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment wash over me. It was clear that our relationship was not what I had hoped it would be; something was missing between us that could never be bridged.
But even as I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what might have been if only he had been willing to give me a chance. I averted my gaze from my father, not out of necessity but of choice.
Mark's voice boomed through the room, causing my father to flinch. "I'm not happy about this!" he shouted, his frustration palpable. My father stood there, taking in Mark's words, knowing that he had to face the consequences of his actions.
The tension in the air was thick, and I could feel my heart racing as I watched the two men confront each other. It was a moment that would be etched in my memory forever. Mark continued to play his video game, ignoring his mother's plea.
She raised her voice; frustration was evident in her tone. "Mark, stop it!" she yelled, her words echoing through the house. Mark finally looked up from his game, but his eyes remained glued to the screen.
His mother sighed, realizing her words had fallen on deaf ears. My father's face contorted with anger as he spat out his words, "You do not get a say in this; none of you do." His voice echoed through the room, silencing any objections that may have been brewing. As I stepped outside, a chill ran down my spine. The air was crisp and cool, and I could see my breath before me. And then, I saw him.
He stood there, shrouded by his breath, looking out into the distance. It was a moment frozen in time that I would never forget. My father's eyes narrowed as he glared at me, his voice low and menacing.
"Take that jacket off immediately," he snarled, "once we get inside, do you understand?" I nodded mutely, feeling a knot form in my stomach. I knew better than to argue with him. As we made our way to the door, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me inside.
I found myself nodding repeatedly, unable to contain my agreement with what was being said.
As the sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb, my brothers and I eagerly entered.
The plush leather seats welcomed us as we settled in, excitement coursing through our veins. My father stood outside, tapping his foot impatiently as my mother bustled around, helping me load my outfit into the car. He turned to his mother and growled, "Faster." With a fierce glance, she told him he would have been delighted attending the ball in sweatpants and a t-shirt.
She looked at him with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "It was you who wanted this dress," he repeated, his voice low and accusatory.
She couldn't believe he was trying to blame her for this. She had only bought the dress because he had insisted on it. She had wanted to tell him it was too expensive, that they couldn't afford it, but he had brushed off her concerns and insisted that she deserved something nice for once. And now, here he was, trying to make her feel guilty for something entirely his idea. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady.
"You know that's not true," she said, her eyes locked on his.
"You wanted me to have this dress.