The weight of my father's presence pressed down on me like a heavy, unrelenting fog. Richard Lawrence—my father, my tormentor, the man who had turned my life into a constant battlefield—stood just inches away, hand raised, his expression dark with fury. The sting of his previous slap still burned across my cheek, but for the first time in years, I refused to let it define me.
"What did you do while I was away?" His voice, low but sharp, reverberated through the room. "I work hard so you can live in comfort, yet my precious daughter is… mistreated?"
I met his gaze, feeling the anger I had bottled for years rise in my chest. My voice, steady but tinged with the venom I had long suppressed, finally broke through: "I can't keep taking this! Do you think you can always treat me as you like? Not anymore. I won't stay here, enduring this any longer."
Shock froze him for a moment, his hand hovering mid-air. He called Mum "Celine," mocking her name as if it were some kind of insult. His voice grew louder, a mixture of fury and disbelief. "Do you think you can step outside and defy me? Don't ever think of coming back into this house if you do!"
I didn't wait for his next move. My legs carried me toward the door before fear could catch me. Mum's voice called out, soft and trembling, "Lena…"
But tonight, I would not be caged. I stepped into the cool evening air, letting it wash over my heated skin. The breeze carried a sense of freedom I had not felt in years. My phone buzzed incessantly in my bag, probably Linda calling again and again. Tonight, she was celebrating her promotion at Ashford Global Holdings—the largest corporation in Escalda. I couldn't let my father's shadow spoil her joy, nor my own.
Driving away from the house, I replayed the confrontation in my mind. Every raised hand, every harsh word, every humiliating glance—tonight, I told myself, I had drawn the line. I reached for my rearview mirror to adjust my makeup, smoothing the tension from my face. I didn't want traces of fear to show when I walked into a night of celebration. Linda deserved happiness, and I deserved to be free, if only for a few hours.
The streets of Escalda blurred past my eyes as I drove. Neon lights reflected off the car windows, casting fleeting shadows across my hair. The city seemed alive tonight, vibrant, indifferent to my domestic battles, and it thrilled me. I allowed myself a small smile, recalling a memory from last year—Dad had scolded me for staying out late with friends, yet here I was, alive, determined, and unafraid.
I remembered Mum's soft voice when I was little, telling me, "Selena, one day you'll find your own path. Don't ever let anyone make you feel small." I had clung to those words for years, and now, for the first time, they felt real.
The club came into view, a neon beacon against the dark sky. Music thumped from inside, deep bass and flashing lights promising escape. I parked my car and inhaled deeply, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. This was my night to breathe.
As I stepped inside, the warmth of the crowd enveloped me. People moved with careless energy, laughter and music blending into a dizzying symphony. I barely noticed the stares, too focused on finding Linda. My fingers brushed my phone; I had to check if she was already here.
A familiar ping reminded me that I needed to retouch my makeup. I adjusted my lipstick and straightened my dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. I didn't want to be the one to dull the sparkle of the evening. Linda's happiness deserved my full attention, and for now, I would let myself step out of the shadows.
Suddenly, I collided with someone, shoulders crashing together. I looked up, ready to scold the person, but my words froze. Light blue eyes met mine, piercing and unreadable. The man before me exuded confidence, a quiet power that made the air around him seem heavier. Raven-black hair fell perfectly into place, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass.
He studied me with an intensity that made me shiver despite myself. "Are you blind?" His voice, deep and measured, was both challenging and magnetic.
I raised an eyebrow, refusing to show the flutter his gaze caused. "You bumped into me, idiot. Shouldn't you watch where you're going?" I said, trying to hide the small rush of adrenaline that coursed through me.
He remained silent, his eyes holding mine for a moment too long, and then he turned and walked away. I knew I had annoyed him, and I had no doubt our paths would cross again.
I shook my head, forcing my attention back to the evening. "Focus, Selena," I muttered under my breath. Linda was somewhere in this crowd, and I needed to find her before she worried.
"Lena!" A familiar voice called, slicing through the music. I turned and spotted her—Linda, my childhood friend, radiant and unstoppable. Her light black hair shimmered under the lights, her red mini gown hugging her curves perfectly. Black heeled boots completed her confident stance.
She hooked her arm through mine, smiling mischievously. "Finally! You're late. What took you so long?"
I shrugged, letting a playful smile form. "Traffic," I said lightly, though it was a lie. Linda knew better, but she let it slide.
"You know," she teased, "you could annoy him for dinner if you wanted."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Never," I said, though a small thrill at the earlier encounter with the mysterious man lingered.
We danced, we laughed, and for the first time in a long time, I felt unburdened. Linda's friends tried to engage me in conversation, asking why I had taken so long to arrive. I gave the casual answer, but Linda's knowing glance told me she understood my silence. She always did.
Hours passed in a blur of music and laughter. I watched Linda handle the persistent admirers with ease, her confidence radiating and her sense of justice swift. Watching her, I felt a surge of gratitude and determination. If she could stand her ground, so could I.
Midnight approached, and my head grew heavy. I knew I couldn't return home yet. I lied to Linda, saying Mum had asked me to keep her company, and she accepted it, though her eyes betrayed the faintest suspicion. I needed the night for myself—a chance to breathe, to exist beyond the reach of my father's shadow.
When I stepped outside, the cool night air enveloped me again. My mind buzzed with the events of the day: confrontation, escape, and the thrill of freedom. For the first time in years, I felt alive.
Tonight, I was free. And nothing—not even Richard Lawrence—could take that from me.