Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
GISELLE
I sat on the edge of the stiff hotel bed and stared out the window as if it held the answers to the disarray of my life.
The view was lackluster—a sprawling cityscape dulled by a gray sky—yet I found myself searching for hope in its monotony.
The hotel was decent enough, clean and spacious enough to provide a veneer of comfort.
But it was far from the luxurious Giselle Kors standards I had once taken for granted.
The only reason I was able to secure the modest room was the eight hundred and ninety-seven dollars nestled in my purse that fateful day.
That paltry sum represented everything I had left to my name when the officers pulled me from my own home, treating me like a common criminal with no regard for my dignity or the life I had built.
In my frantic search for support, I reached out to everyone I could think of: friends who once laughed with me, distant family members who I believed would extend a hand in my time of need, and people who owed me favors, who used to greet me like royalty.
Yet, each call went unanswered and messages fell flat, seen but disregarded; some even blocked me.
I soon realized it wasn’t a mere coincidence that led to this betrayal; it was Robert. He had poisoned the well before I ever got a sip by turning everyone against me with quiet whispers and fake charm and burned every bridge while I was still walking on it.
What cut deeper than any betrayal was the painful silence from my children.
Not one of them had thought to call, check on me, or reach out in any way.
The thought that Robert had turned them against me, too, gnawed at my heart, leaving me to wonder if I was truly alone in the world now.
The realization of being a woman who once commanded attention and respect, now struggling to scrape together enough money for a week in a mid-level hotel, twisted my stomach in knots.
With a deep breath, I lifted my chin and adjusted my robe like a tailored suit meant for a warrior.
Because no matter how far I had fallen, Giselle Kors would never allow the world to witness my breaking… even if I already had.
When the knock came, I straightened my robe and opened the door, expecting a concierge with fresh towels or an apology for a noise complaint I hadn’t filed.
Instead, “Hello, Mother, ” Imanio said, cool and collected, stepping past me.
I closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet room.
“It’s been four days,” I commented, my voice tight with frustration. “I was beginning to wonder when you would finally show up.” I folded my arms. “Where’s your sister? I half-expected her to come along.”
“She’ll come on her own,” he replied, his gaze scanning the room as if searching for something hidden. “But right now, I need to talk to you… alone.”
With a heavy sigh, I walked over to the edge of the bed and sank onto the mattress, allowing the weight of the conversation to envelop me.
“Come to gloat?” I asked, trying to inject a hint of sarcasm into my words, masking my unease.
“No,” he responded, his voice firm and unwavering.
There was a calmness in his demeanor that surprised me—no trace of the smugness I had anticipated. Imanio stood there for a moment in contemplative silence, the air thickening between us. Finally, he turned to face me, his voice low and charged with emotion.
“I came to say what I’ve been holding in for years, and I need you to truly understand this: whatever version of me you think you raised… that boy is gone. You don’t get to manipulate, control, or make me feel guilty anymore.”
His words hung in the air like a weighty declaration, signaling a shift that I wasn't sure I was ready to accept.
“Everything soft in me, you tried to weaponize it. You didn’t want me cold, Giselle; you wanted me pliable, moldable, and easy to manage .
You wanted a grown-ass man who still acted like a mama’s boy…
someone who still asked for permission before living and let you pull the strings and smiled while doing it.
Any time I showed a backbone that didn’t curve in your direction, you tried to break it.
Every bit of heart I had? You bent it until it stopped beating for anyone but you.
Loyalty? Too much. Emotion? Weak. Independence? ”
He let out a humorless laugh.
“ Ungrateful .”
I opened my mouth—to spin it, to cry, to guilt—but he kept going.
“You didn’t raise a son; you tried to raise a reflection… someone quiet, polished, and predictable that made you look good.”
My expression flickered—wounded, furious, powerless.
Imanio stared me down, his voice sharp as glass.
“But guess what?” he said, stepping fully into my space. “I grew the hell up! And I’m not your mirror anymore, Giselle. I’m a man who sees exactly who you are now, and I damn sure don’t need a mother who only shows up to control what she couldn’t kill.”
My face cracked. “I was trying to maintain order!”
“ Order ?” he retorted. “You mean control . Giselle, you judged everyone who didn’t live up to your picture-perfect idea of what family should be! You talked down to Pops, you ignored Dess’s feelings, and you tried to make me your trophy until I started making my own decisions!”
“I was building a legacy!” I deflected, voice shaking.
“No, you were building a prison; one where love only counted if it matched your aesthetic and pain didn’t exist if it threatened your image.”
I clenched my fists in my lap. “You make it sound like I’m a monster!”
“No. Monsters know what they are; you still think you’re the victim.”
That stung.
Deep down, a part of me still believed I did it all for them—for him, Dessign, and our name. But maybe that was the lie I told myself to sleep better at night.
I looked away, jaw tight. “I made mistakes,” I admitted.
He didn’t say anything.
“I… didn’t know how to be soft,” I continued. “That’s not what was handed down to me. You want to blame someone? Blame my upbringing… blame the way I was raised!”
“That’s your excuse? The way you were raised?” he scoffed. “Then why come for Naji every time she showed emotion? Why attack her for being vulnerable when you knew exactly how that pain felt?”
My mouth opened, then closed. I didn’t have a good answer; only a lifetime of habits wrapped in pearls and pride.
“You didn’t like Naji because she reflected everything you tried to bury. Her tics, her honesty, her softness… it made you uncomfortable.” He stepped closer, every word laced with truth I hated hearing. “But she didn’t fold, and neither did I.”
I stared up at him, my own son—flesh of my flesh—now a man I could barely reach.
“When do I stop paying for being too much of a mother and not enough of the right kind?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Imanio looked at me for a long moment.
“When you stop pretending you did it out of love and finally admit you did it out of fear—fear of losing control, being ordinary, and of people seeing you the way you see yourself deep down. You had a son who would’ve died protecting you, and you trained him to hate himself for feeling anything that didn’t serve you.
And when I finally started choosing myself—when I stopped being your lapdog—you called it betrayal. ”
I faltered. “So what now? I’m just nothing?! That’s what you want?”
“Giselle, you’ve been acting like nothing mattered but your reputation.
Now you get to see what that looks like when it’s all you’re left with.
Sometimes life doesn’t humble you; sometimes it strips you so you can start over…
with truth . You can stay bitter, you can convince yourself we’re cruel, but every dollar Pops took, every card he froze and every favor he reversed…
it’s because the woman you’ve become needed to be broken before she broke someone else. ”
My eyes watered, but he didn’t care.
I glanced around my temporary room—spacious, sterile, forgettable. My nails were still perfect. My lashes still curled. But everything beneath the surface—cracked.
“No more allowance,” he announced coldly. “No more access. No more faking like we’re family in public while you tear us down in private. And if you try to spin this like we abandoned you, just remember, you’re the one who handed us the scissors.”
“So you’re punishing me for protecting you?!” I snapped, voice shaking.
“You were never protecting me; you were protecting your image, your ego, and our name,” Imanio corrected. “The day you brought strangers to my house to try to take my wife, you didn’t just cross a line… you stepped off a cliff.”
With that, he turned to leave.
“Imanio, what am I supposed to do for clothes?” I called after him, voice high with frustration and desperation. “I can’t live in a hotel forever! Not to mention—I’m broke!”
Imanio paused at the door, hand on the knob.
Without turning around, he answered flatly, “I’ll make sure your room is paid up and that you got food to eat until I figure out what I’ma do.”
A pause.
Then he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes cold.
“But don’t mistake that for me caring.”
“Y-you’re really cutting me off?!”
He turned slightly. “Not forever. But until you remember who you used to be; the woman who wore dignity before diamonds, made lemon cake from scratch, and hugged me when I had nightmares.”
His voice softened for the first time.
“I miss her. But I won’t enable the one standing in her place.”
The door opened just as fast as it shut.
The clock ticked ominously in the background, each second dragging out the reality of my situation.
And in that moment, I finally understood what losing everything really meant: it was an emptiness that filled the void, echoing with memories of what once was, coupled with the stark realization of what I had lost.