Biebie's POV
The week after my argument with my mother passed in a blur.
I barely noticed the days slipping away, until Friday arrived, heavy with inevitability.
The family gathering.
Attendance was not optional. Every relative, no matter how distant, was expected to show up. My mother made sure I understood that there would be no arguments this time.
The night before the event, I heard her pacing while on the phone, her voice low and purposeful as she passed her room. I didn't care enough to ask. I had learned long ago that curiosity only brought disappointment.
The next morning, disaster arrived at exactly 6:00 a.m.
I woke up to unfamiliar voices in my room,women moving with confidence, touching my things, opening drawers like the space belonged to them. Their tone was commanding, sharp, and irritating.
As if they owned the mansion.
Turns out, my mother had hired stylists.
Stylists.
That was how little trust she had in her own daughter.
"What colours do you like?" one of them asked briskly.
"Golden brown," I replied flatly.
I let them do the rest.
By 7:00 a.m., my makeup was done.
Soft but deliberate. Warm brown eyeshadow blended into gold, sharp liner that framed my eyes like a warning, lashes thick enough to demand attention. My lips were glossed in a muted nude,polished, controlled. Acceptable.
Of course, I had to wear makeup to a family event.
Typical.
My mother walked in, took one look at me, and frowned.
"Eww. Look at your hair," she said with disgust.
"Good morning to you too, Mother," I replied calmly.
She ignored me and turned to the hairstylist.
"Make sure her hair looks perfect."
"We'll try our best, ma'am," the woman replied with a practiced smile.
I was on edge, ready to snap,until my mother shot me a warning glare.
The hair took nearly two hours.
By 10:00 a.m., everything was done.
I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized myself.
The dress hugged my body perfectly,a golden-brown gown with structured shoulders and a fitted waist, flowing down in soft fabric that shimmered subtly under the light. Elegant. Controlled. Old money approved.
I looked... stunning.
My mother's lips curved into a proud smile.
She was satisfied.
I wasn't.
After a light breakfast, we left the mansion. I struggled slightly in my heels...beauty, after all, came with pain ...but I managed. We walked down the long driveway to the waiting cars, and I slid into my mother's BMW as the chauffeur drove us off.
The ride took an hour.
We barely spoke. The silence between us was stiff, awkward, loaded with everything unsaid.
When we finally arrived, the mansion stood like a monument to wealth, towering gates, glowing chandeliers visible through tall windows, lights sparkling against the night sky. Soft music floated through the air.
It looked like something out of a 90s aristocratic ball.
Men in tailored suits.
Women in extravagant ball gowns.
Everything screamed old money.
The moment my mother and I entered, heads turned. Whispers followed. Her eyes met mine briefly, a silent command. We separated.
I began the exhausting routine of greeting aunties, uncles, elders, bending, smiling, enduring. I was praying only one question wouldn't be asked.
When are you getting married?
Before anyone could start, I escaped to the bar and ordered a mocktail.
That's when I overheard it.
"The Omar family will be here soon," one aunty whispered, dressed in navy blue.
"And the eldest son is attending," another added in a green gown, giggling like a schoolgirl. "He rarely comes to these gatherings."
I leaned in slightly, curiosity tugging at me.
So he thinks he's better than everyone, I thought.
Halfway through the event, the elders began their speeches, thinly veiled lectures about marriage. About me.
I rolled my eyes.
Like I'm the only single lady here
Afterward, food was served, neatly arranged small chops, polished trays, servers moving like clockwork.
And then I saw him.
From across the room.
Even from a distance, his presence was undeniable. Commanding. Still. Dangerous in its calm.
He stood beside an uncle, posture straight, movements controlled, like a man who feared nothing except disorder.
Every girl in the room stared.
No one approached.
Until one did.
My cousin. Shameless.
"Hi," she said brightly. "I saw you from across the room and thought...."
He turned slowly.
One look. Cold. Disgusted.
"Don't you have respect for your elders," he said calmly, "or did they forget to teach you manners at home?"
Silence crashed over the room.
My cousin fled, humiliated.
I froze ...then smirked.
This is not just a man, I thought.
This is a system with a face.