Monica's heart pounded in her chest, a relentless drumbeat echoing in the silence of her room. The walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with their weight. Every breath she took felt laboured, as if the air itself had turned heavy with the burden of her emotions.
She saw everything at the party that day and she couldn't think straight since then. She saw how he cared for Arabella. She also got to know that Damien and Arabella spent the night together in his mansion. Things were getting out of her hands.
Tears streamed down her face, tracing a path of mascara stains down her cheeks. They were the outward manifestation of the storm that raged within her, a tempest of anger and heartbreak intertwined. Her voice, when she dared to let it escape her trembling lips, was choked with desperation and sorrow.
"Why? Why doesn't he love me?" she cried out, her voice a pained plea to the uncaring universe. "What's wrong with my face? Am I not beautiful enough?"
