Chapter 29 - Nicole
Nicole
All through the next day, a single thought plays on a loop in my mind: I survived the second trial. Everything’s fine.
But it doesn’t feel that way. No matter how often I tell myself it was just an illusion—my friends never said those things, and my father would never humiliate me like that—my mind refuses to accept it as simple fiction.
Every time the memory resurfaces, something dark awakens inside me. It spreads like decay, leaving me stained. That’s what the illusion left behind—not just shame, but dirt. And maybe some pride that I coped with it.
Restless, I head into my en-suite bathroom. When I pass by the mirror, my feet become rooted to the floor. For a long moment, I stare at my reflection, unable to believe my eyes.
Beneath the half-fallen silver crystals, there are no red lines. I wipe my forehead with my hand. The last of the gems drops into the sink. No letter underneath.
I splash my face with icy water while certain scenes replay in my mind.
What the hell happened?
The gathering was an illusion, but what happened with Gaetano afterward was all too real. Just the memory of him kneeling there sends a tremor through me. I could relive that moment endlessly, overthinking and overheating…
Instead, I focus on the current problem.
I don’t want to go to dinner with the Deliberovs.
The thought of facing my father—just like I did yesterday during the trial—chills me to the bone. You can tell him. He’s your father, he’ll understand. It won’t be like the illusion. I’ve been repeating that since this morning. Still, my heart is heavy.
I don’t leave my room until early afternoon. Maybe my father has changed his mind about tonight. Or maybe Daniel crashed his car and died. Okay, maybe he just found someone more suitable, I tell myself, and keep inventing scenarios to escape the dinner.
At some point, my growling stomach forces me to go to the living room. I tiptoe down the stairs, and find out I’m not alone. Damn it. She’s the last person I want to run into when I’m not feeling my best.
My mother is resting her chin on her hand. Perched at the center of the bar counter, legs crossed on a high stool, she’s wearing one of her branded tracksuits. Her bleached hair falls over her shoulders in youthful waves, bulked up with extensions. Her made-up face is lit by the glow of her phone.
A glass of white wine and an open bottle sit in front of her. I check the wall clock. Even for her, it’s early to be drinking.
She doesn’t say a word when I stroll past her. I take her indifference with greater indifference and peek into the fridge. My stomach growls at the sight of three slices of chocolate cake on the top shelf. I plate one and grab a fork.
On my way back to the stairs, something about her stillness rubs me the wrong way. The usual restless scrolling has stopped; the phone hangs motionless in her hand, her attention fixed somewhere distant.
My feet stop of their own accord. “Mom?”
A few seconds drag by before she shifts, sparing me a glance. Her stare, the same deep caramel shade as mine, seems to pass right through me, blank and unfocused.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. Again, I count the seconds.
Her gaze clears. She swirls her wine glass and sighs, attention back on her phone. “I didn’t call the technicians in time. The garden alarm system was off all night.”
“Someone broke into our home?”
My mother presses her lips together. “No, thank God. I just didn’t schedule the maintenance with enough advance, and last night, the alarm didn’t activate in the garden.”
“So nothing happened?”
My mother exhales in frustration. “The system was in ‘emergency mode,’ Nicole. The cameras didn’t record anything all night, and the motion sensors were down.”
I shrug. “At most, we missed the neighbor’s cat pissing on the roses.”
My mother runs her hand through her hair. “Nicole, this isn’t funny. We need to be responsible. What if someone had gotten in? Your father would’ve been furious.”
Of course. It’s about him. Who else?
Whatever shred of concern I had for her a moment ago vanishes, replaced by raw irritation.
My father. My father. My father. It’s always about how he feels.
What upsets him. My mother lives in his shadow, feeds on scraps of his attention, and bows to his expectations.
Her eyes light up at his approval. Her tail tucks at every criticism.
I tilt my head and study her. The wrinkles she smooths out with Botox are more pronounced today. Despite her polished hairstyle, her face looks tired.
Suddenly, the realization slams into me so hard, it makes me sick.
The very thing I despise in her… lives inside me, too.
The need to win his approval. She’s striving to be the perfect wife, while I’ve been striving to be the perfect daughter.
I would do anything to get rid of this image of myself, if only he would look at me with pride.
Anger bubbles up in my chest. No more. Not just in illusions.
“Nicole.” My father’s deep voice slices through the air behind me.
Every part of me bristles, bracing for battle.
For a moment, my world stops and all I see is his face, twisted with disdain, as I kneeled naked before him while he stood by and allowed me to be humiliated.
Yes, it was an illusion, but I feel it runs deeper than the truth.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a clock starts ticking.
The countdown of my time as the obedient daughter.
Because I am not going to the dinner with Daniel Deliberov.
Heart pounding, I pivot—and gasp.
Dad’s wearing a broad smile. His hair is slicked back, his tie is straight, and even the dark circles beneath his eyes seem to have faded today.
He glances at me, then at my mother. “I’m glad you’re both here, because I have wonderful news.
One of the major equity groups in Zurich called.
They’ve shown unusual interest… once word got out that we’re aligning with the Deliberovs. ”
A beat of silence.
Then applause erupts behind me. My mother squeals in delight. “Truly splendid news!”
I freeze, still holding my plate. “But… we’re not aligned with the Deliberovs yet.”
My father shrugs, not losing an ounce of that smile. “Well, I may have dropped a… discreet suggestion to the right person. Nothing official, of course. I simply implied that tonight’s dinner is more than a social gesture. And voilà—instant reaction.” He chuckles, charming as ever.
The plate in my hands feels twice as heavy. “But we don’t even know if Daniel will like me…”
His eyes narrow. “Relax, sweetheart. No pressure. It’s just dinner. If things with Daniel don’t work out, I’ll figure something else out. People already believe we’re aligned with the Deliberovs, and that buys us time. Whatever happens… We’ll manage. Somehow.”
I stand there, unable to respond. Rage simmers in my chest, but it can’t seem to find a way out.
I glance at my mother. The tension in her expression has eased, as if the storm has already passed.
It’s just dinner.
Every breath scratches at my throat, sharp and dry.
It’s just dinner. No pressure.
I haven’t seen my father this lively in years.
It’s easy to challenge him when he’s smug and condescending.
Now… there’s a softness in his face that catches me off guard.
It’s the same look he used to wear before he gained wealth, before the suits and power deals.
Back when he’d close a tiny contract and treat it like we’d won a war.
Back when victory meant survival, not control.
And he did it all for us. For me.
Despite all his flaws, my father has always had good intentions. He’s not the man Gaetano painted in that illusion. Maybe that was Gaetano’s real goal—to drive a rift between me and everyone I care about. To isolate me. To weaken me.
Yes, he touched me like I mattered. Still, he is the Black Joker, and his endgame is the same: my soul.
And now that I’ve survived two trials, I’m more determined than ever to keep it. I have to win the last one. Which means I have to think ahead, if I’m to outmaneuver Gaetano.
I take in my dad’s expression again. It’s just dinner.
Would it really be so terrible to be seen alongside the Deliberovs? Let the rumors spread, let the whispers of alliance grow. By the time anyone uncovers the truth, my father will have the investments he needs. Our family will be safe.
“We leave at 6:30 PM,” Father says.
* * *
I choose a dress that my mother would approve of.
Navy satin, off the shoulders, the style I can’t stand.
Black stiletto pumps—conservative, but they elongate my legs.
I open the makeup drawer and apply my foundation with steady strokes.
Eyeshadow. Eyeliner. Lipstick. I spray my hair into place. My hand doesn’t tremble.
The Little Baroness, in all her glory.
My fingers hover at my collarbone.
At last, I allow my mind to drift through every detail of what happened between me and Gaetano; I have to sit down because the memory alone is overwhelming. My whole body fills with an ache that even the looming dinner can’t suppress.
It was foolish to lower my guard in front of the Black Joker. What’s more foolish? I’ve never felt so desired. So revered.
Yet, he’s the Black Joker. I can’t lose sight of my goal to win the last trial. Whatever games he plays in between, I have to keep my cool.
“We’re leaving!” My father’s voice booms through the closed door.
Minutes later, I sink into the backseat of his S-Class. My mother’s overpowering perfume fills the cabin. Dad backs out of the garage, phone glued to his ear, talking to some investor.