14. Venetia
Flashback
Age 15
“ A re you excited?” Mom asks as she puts the finishing touches on my hair, her fingers moving through my locks before she adds the glitter spray.
Excitement barely scratches the surface of what I feel. I fidget in my seat, unable to contain my emotions. Smiles flash across my face, causing her to laugh. She sets the spray down, and I inhale the chemical scent that makes my stomach churn and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
This smell… I fear I’ll carry it with me into the afterlife.
Today is the day I’m meeting a friend. I don’t have any, either at school or outside of it, and when Mom told me about a boy who wants to be friends with me, I nearly passed out from anxiety. I can’t believe I’m finally going to have someone to talk to. Well, I have my parents, of course, but I can’t discuss the things people my age understand with them. It feels too intimate, so I keep those thoughts to myself.
To be honest, I’m weary of bottling everything up. At times, it feels like I’m on the verge of throwing up from the emotions I keep inside—a snowball of feelings that keeps growing and intensifying. Right now, it’s lodged in my throat.
From this day forward, it won’t be like this anymore. I will finally have someone I can trust and share my thoughts with.
The boy my parents want me to meet is the son of Dad’s friend. They organized this whole meeting for us, and I can hardly believe the lengths to which my father went to find me a friend. We’re not close—he works all the time, and when he’s home, he prefers watching TV or doing other things that don’t involve me.
I know he cares about me. He’s a busy man, but he loves me. A father who doesn’t love his child wouldn’t go through all this trouble to find her a friend.
Mom wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her cheek against mine as we look at each other in the mirror. She seems more tired than usual—her eyes are vacant, and dark bags linger beneath them. The foundation on her face is thick and creased in spots, a telltale sign of dehydration. I know my mom well; she wouldn’t leave the room until she looked perfect in every sense. If she looks like this now, it means she’s struggling.
While she always dodges the question, I can tell she’s sick. I’m not sure how yet, but I know she is.
That realization scares me. Mom is my only anchor, the one person I can fully trust without fear of betrayal. She’s been through everything with me.
I don’t want her to feel like this.
“You know, I kept it a secret for intrigue, but I think I can share a few things about him,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine. “He’s charming, rich, and powerful. At just eighteen, he’s already taking over his father’s company because his dad is sick. He’d make a great boyfriend for you.”
My eyes widen at that word, then narrow into thin slits. “Boyfriend?” I repeat in disbelief, as tendrils of fear begin to creep and wrap around me. “But I thought ? —”
“Come on, Venetia,” she cuts in, a ripple of tension running through her shoulders that tells me she’s starting to get mad. My heart skips a beat—not from fear of her anger, but from the thought of disappointing her. “Well, of course, friends at first, and then we’ll see, right?”
I nod hesitantly, a dozen new questions forming on the tip of my tongue, but not a single word escapes my lips. I feel confused, the remnants of my excitement fading, replaced by unease.
I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never kissed or even hugged a boy. It’s only now that I realize how inexperienced I truly am.
“Dad is struggling, sweetheart,” Mom speaks softly, her tone soothing and gentle. “I can’t guarantee he’ll provide for us in the way we need. This boy will be your chance for a perfect life.”
“But I thought—” I trail off, afraid of choosing the wrong words. “I thought I was going to that school I wanted. My teacher said I’m more than capable.” I turn to face her directly instead of just through the mirror, nearly forgetting to mention that I spoke with my teacher yesterday.
I almost overlooked the chance to make her proud.
“He said he’s never seen someone as smart as me—” An uneasy feeling crawls up my spine at her chuckle, yet I refuse to stop. “I’m serious. It’s been a couple of weeks, and I still hold the title of top student. I can ? —”
“The Brains of Evertart,” she taunts, each word woven with blatant mockery. “That title… And you really think it’ll do something for your life?”
My lips shake as I grapple with coherent thoughts, and the sharp sting of shame overwhelms me. I cross my arms tightly and lower my gaze. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for what my parents do for me, but I wish they could see that I have a chance for a better life through my own efforts.
“Please, Venetia. If you think you’re so smart, why do you believe this little title will bring you anything?” she snaps. “If that were true, I’d be the richest woman in the city by now. See, I had titles and good grades in school too.”
As my world plunges into the pit of my stomach, I realize that all my efforts have been for nothing. In just a second, I go from feeling like I have everything to realizing I have nothing at all.
“If you can make this boy fall in love with you—” She clicks her tongue, nodding as if to approve her theory. “Then, my Venetia, you’ll have a good life. No grades or titles needed.”
“But it’s not… fair,” I manage to choke out, the final word leaving my lips in a weak sob. I can’t even recall when my tears began to fall. “If I could just get a job ? —”
“If, if, and if,” she interrupts, annoyance evident in her tone, and I immediately feel remorse for pushing her buttons. I should shut up now. “Just between us.” With a gentle touch, her hand settles on my shoulder, moving in soothing circles across my skin. “Being a woman in this world is hard. Millions of us try to climb up the ladder, only to end up back on our asses, with broken ribs and shattered dreams. Lucky for you, you don’t have to feel it like I did. You can use a lift.”
I know what she says is true. I really do. But it doesn’t matter that I agree with her—what if I want to try? What if I want to climb the ladder myself, even if it means constantly falling and breaking bones? “I have ? —”
“You have nothing.” That sharp tone signifies that I have no chance of winning this argument. She’s made her decision, and I can only accept it. “Let’s face it, Venetia. The Brains of Evertart is a laughingstock. It’s just a face for a brand that lasts only a few months at best. But being the wife to Zayden Ross, a powerful heir to a REIT company? Now that’s a different story. A woman with power who can make a real difference—culturally, politically, in business. That’s the person you should aspire to be. An independent, powerful woman.”
It doesn’t make sense to me. If I’m going to be independent, then why would I need somebody? I don’t even understand anything about REITs, or whatever they’re called.
And I don’t like his name.
“His father doesn’t have much time left,” she adds. “And he doesn’t have any other family. This is your chance, Venetia. He’s going to have control of the entire REIT firm very soon. If you can make him want you by his side, if you can forge connections with businessmen and politicians ? —”
Her face breaks into a dreamy smile, and I fall silent, the sting in my eyes intensifying as my surroundings blur, but she’s oblivious to it all. Closing her eyes, she finishes her sentence while I hold back a sob.
“Then, you’ll have everything.”
The moment I catch sight of Zayden’s silhouette, I freeze, a wave of anxiety swelling in my throat. Mom’s hands are firmly planted on my shoulders, squeezing as a reminder of the expression I need to maintain. Her grip feels unnatural, as if she’s presenting me to him like a toy rather than a person. When I try to move, she tightens her hold, and I realize I have no choice but to stay where she wants me to.
His father enters first, and my dad shakes his hand—a routine he follows at every business meeting. That’s what this is: a deal, a trade of a product. I fit the description perfectly—my face is so heavily made up that I can barely feel my natural skin beneath, and my hair is styled so tightly that it doesn’t even move with me. A wide smile is plastered across my face, a practiced, welcoming gesture.
Mom has been teaching me how to conduct myself since childhood, instilling the fundamental rules of etiquette, the proper attire for each occasion, and guiding me on the perfect tone of voice to use—especially around men.
Only now do I realize that these lessons were meant for a moment like this.
“Venetia Torres,” Zayden’s dad says, grabbing my hand without permission and placing a kiss on it. A wave of revulsion rises inside me from the wet, slick sensation, causing a shudder to run through my body as I fight to suppress my disgust. His dark eyes snap to mine, waiting for something to come out of my mouth.
“Venetia, what do you need to say?” Mom asks, her tone cutting, and I can feel the pressure rising. I’m already ruining this, and we haven’t even begun.
“No need for that,” Zayden interjects with a gentle smile, rescuing me from his dad and providing me an opportunity to retract my hand. “This is all so stressful. A moment alone would be nice for us.” His voice drops, exuding authority. I can tell he’s the type of businessman Mom mentioned—the kind who secures the best deals and makes a lot of money.
“Of course,” my dad agrees, waving a hand toward the living room. “Let’s leave them be.”
A blast of frigid air washes over me when Mom’s hands slip away from my shoulders. I watch her leave, my nerves rising as I realize she doesn’t even look my way.
It feels like she’s leaving me for good.
“Venetia.”
Zayden closes the gap between us, pulling my attention from my mother to his face. His dark brown eyes resemble his father’s, and his short, almost black hair is stylishly messy. His lips are perfectly shaped and soft, prompting thoughts of what it might be like to kiss him. One thing is certain—I’m bound to mess it all up since I’ve never kissed anyone before.
“It’s,” I swallow a thick lump, “nice to meet you, Zayden. I’m happy you’re here.” My brain seems to stall around him, causing me to forget every single word in the English language, not to mention the basic rules of polite conversation.
He has the kind of look that makes girls drool, all of them begging for a chance. He’s not much taller than I am and not overly muscular, but he radiates confidence and authority. Charming, as my mother said, with that smug smirk and captivating eyes.
“Look, I can tell you’re uncomfortable,” he begins, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I get that this probably isn’t what you wanted, but—” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I know this all feels forced—and it definitely is—but all I want is to get to know you. Like, truly know you, Venetia. Without the memorized speeches and trained emotions. What do you say?”
The last remnants of my consciousness fade away, and I blink a few times, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over me. He seems… nice. Nothing like what I expected. And he says he wants to know me, and that’s something nobody has ever said to me before.
This doesn’t feel real.
“I’m… yes. Yeah, sure,” I blurt out, awkwardly stumbling over my words. “I want to know you too.”
“I don’t know what your parents said to you.” His face breaks into a warm smile, as if he’s trying to make me feel more relaxed. I appreciate that. “But I don’t expect anything from you. I won’t force you to be… intimate with me, you know? Until you want to, of course.”
The mere thought of doing something like this with a guy like him sends an electric jolt through my body. God, he must have had dozens of girls, and here I am—ashamed to even look at the genitals in my biology book.
“I understand,” I say, my eyes flitting up and down, unsure where to focus or how to act. I probably look very uncivilized. “Thank you for this.”
He nods, his smile unwavering. “Of course. It’s the least I can do for you. So, how about we watch a movie or something while they’re busy?”
My stomach tingles pleasantly, and a goofy grin forms on my face as I move from one foot to the other. He didn’t say anything special, yet it feels significant. “Yeah, sure,” I answer, letting out a nervous laugh.
He stretches his hand toward mine, and warmth floods through me when it makes contact. I shut my eyes and let him lead me to the living room, bathing in the pleasant sensation he evokes.
It doesn’t feel so bad.
Maybe I’ll thank my parents for this, because right now, it truly feels like a chance for a better life.