8. Venetia
“ Y ou’re whoring yourself out to him!” A shudder ripples through the room, punctuated by the loud crash that sends a wave of unease through me. Eyes tightly shut, I step forward, desperate for him to stop. But no words come—I can’t make a sound.
Eli’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he runs a hand through his hair, some strands standing on end. “This isn’t the 18th century! He can’t treat you like some cheap whore! He’s your father, for God’s sake!”
I know it. I know, but what can I do about it? I’ve never had the backbone to stand up to my parents. It’s as if that trait has been missing from me since the day I was born. I’m trapped by the belief that he must know what’s best. He’s wiser, so I should just shut up and listen.
“Tell him,” Eli rasps, taking a few steps closer. “You’re an adult, Venetia. Just tell him no .”
I blink at him, hot tears welling in my eyes as my heart tightens with longing. I want him to touch me, to understand. To look me in the eyes, cup my face in his hands, and whisper that everything will be okay. That I’m doing well and he sees it.
That he sees me .
But he keeps his distance, disgust radiating from every part of him. I can feel the intense, boiling emotion rolling off him, see it in every twitch of his muscles and the way his face contorts when he talks about me.
He does nothing, just waits for me to fight my own battles. That’s what he always does.
Part of me had hoped he would finally snap. Not at me, breaking my fucking souvenirs, but at my father. I wanted him to tell my dad that he loves me, and if my father doesn’t approve, he’ll take me away from here. It sounds insane when I say it out loud—like a scene from a rom-com, where young lovers run off into the sunset with nothing but dreams.
But in our case, it’s possible. Eli is a lawyer who can work anywhere, and I have enough savings to start a business with him.
And he knows it. He knows we can run away and find our happy ending.
But he doesn’t choose me.
So why should I choose him?
“You know I can’t do it, Eli,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. Inside, I’m falling apart, my heart screaming for him to act, to help me, but I keep my emotions in check. Life has taught me that emotional outbursts never end well. “His word is law. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep our business and climb higher.”
He sighs heavily, his head bowed. “Okay,” he whispers, taking a step back. “You’ve made your decision.”
But I didn’t. I don’t get to decide what happens in my life.
He turns and storms out of my room, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that makes me flinch. Hot tears spill from my eyes, tracing paths down my flushed cheeks. As my knees buckle, I sink onto the mattress, my fingers nervously reaching out to pick at the skin around my nails.
My mind is a buzzing chaos, a drill pounding against my skull, painfully drowning out any semblance of composure. I don’t even notice my father entering my room until he clicks his fingers in front of my face, demanding my attention.
“Hey, Dad,” I greet, my voice hoarse with emotion.
I glance down at my hands to see the damage I’ve done. The skin around my nails is no longer white; it’s smeared with shades of crimson, some darker than others. Blood seeps into the creases of my nails, amplifying the strain I feel.
“You’re back at it again.” Disappointed, he clicks his tongue before roughly grabbing my hand, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the wounds. “This is embarrassing, Venetia. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
I wish I knew. Sometimes, I don’t even realize I’m hurting myself until I feel blood running down my skin and my vision begins to blacken.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, immediately regretting my response. Dad hates it when I mumble. I should speak loudly and clearly, keeping my chin high. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop. I’m just a little stressed.”
He nods toward the door. “What did he tell you?”
Surprise flickers across my face as I turn to him, shocked that he actually cares. “Nothing good. He told me I’m selling myself to West, and that it isn’t right.”
He groans, running a hand over his stubbled chin. “Don’t start this. You know how the world works. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. He never belonged in our world to begin with. I’m glad I won’t have to see him again.”
The sharp retort forms on my tongue but dissolves before I can voice it. Arguing with Dad is pointless. And why bother? It won’t change anything; it’ll only make him angry and lead to hurtful words that linger long after, ruining my mood even more.
“It won’t be like it was with Zayden, hopefully. Mostly, you just need to smile and handle the business.”
“I just—” A sob breaks through my thin facade of composure, followed by a wet chuckle. “I just don’t understand. Why can’t we run the business without the marriage?”
He exhales a long, annoyed breath, clearly frustrated by my resistance. “His father doesn’t trust him, Venetia. You need to understand—West is chaos incarnate. He’s impulsive and unpredictable. And it only gets worse,” he explains. “But you? You’re the only one who can calm him down. You can tame him. You don’t realize how powerful the two of you will be once you create something together.”
He leans in, his expensive perfume invading my senses. A wave of revulsion surges in my throat, forcing me to swallow hard. “Something is happening to him. Help him, Venetia.”
I shake my head vigorously, feeling a venomous parasite of anger growing inside me. “I have no interest in that. I don’t want to deal with his trauma or whatever problems he has. I’m not his mother, and I’m not someone who will care about him.”
“I don’t think you understand.” He grabs both of my hands, yanking me closer when I try to look away. “Have you forgotten who you are? Or what happened with Zayden? All the mess you’ve made, and how I was forced to help you clean it up? Huh?”
The repeated mention of my ex-husband intensifies my unease, twisting my face in disgust.
“To others, you’re seen as damaged—broken after everything you’ve been through. After years of being alone, there’s finally a chance for you to have someone. This is the perfect opportunity to show everyone that you can stand tall despite it all—and a perfect chance to gain more profit than we ever could,” he continues, his voice trailing off dreamily. “Lucas has a shot at becoming a powerful politician, Venetia. That means we have the chance to make a political difference. It’s the highest rank—how don’t you understand?”
“I understand perfectly, Father. I’m not stupid,” I retort. “I just don’t want to do it. I don’t want anything from Lucas or West.”
“Then you need to make yourself want it. I don’t care how, but you have to convince everyone of your love.” Finally, he releases my hands, allowing me to pull them back to my knees, and tilts his head. “Understood?”
I stay silent.
“Take more Xanax, do some coke, or whatever the fuck you need,” he snaps, his fury seeping through as he stumbles over his words. “Anything to stop wearing that fucking sour face all the time. Snap out of this depression, for Christ’s sake. It’s been long enough.”
He stands and walks out of my room. When the door clicks shut, the tension in my body melts away. I bend forward, releasing a deep exhale as my body trembles from the strain.
Then, I sink to the floor, surrendering to my emotions. For the first time since Zayden died, I unleash a wave of sobs that quickly turn hysterical. My world crumbles, and everything fades into a blur—my thoughts, my feelings, even my perception of reality. I can’t hear anything except my choked, desperate gasps as I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, hiding my face against the cold laminate.
It’s because I haven’t taken Xanax in a long time. I was beginning to feel okay without it, convinced I didn’t need it anymore. But my dad had other plans. I can’t imagine having a clear head now—not when I’ll be with West the entire time.
A hollow void where my heart should be tightens with each sob, squeezing and bleeding inside me in agonizing waves. It’s a void that can never be filled. Shame drapes over me—heavy, suffocating—in yet another layer of pain I can’t escape.
I can’t stand feeling this way. I have everything a person could want—money, power, status—yet I feel like the poorest person in the world. I don’t understand why I’ve never felt grateful for what I have. There’s always been something missing, though I still can’t quite grasp what it is.
Suddenly, a message pops up on my phone, its loud sound cutting through my haze. Summoning the last remnants of my strength, I lift my hand and reach for it on the bed.
It’s Harper. She’s sent a photo of a new dog they rescued, along with a message saying it arrived tonight and has already set a record as the fastest eater among them all. A smile breaks across my face, and for a moment, I just stare at the photo. The big, happy dog eyes look into the camera, its tail a blur from how fast it’s wagging.
I want to type a response or at least react with an emoji, but I can’t find the strength to do so. With my phone locked and set aside, I close my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling me into a deep sleep. So, I slip my hands under my cheek and fall asleep right here on the floor, not bothering to get up.
It won’t make me feel better anyway.