Terry's POV
I woke up that morning with a throbbing hangover. I could feel the dull ache behind my eyes and the heaviness in my limbs. For a brief moment, I lay there, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. What on earth had I done to deserve this punishing headache?
Then, like a floodgate opening, the memories came rushing back. I remembered stumbling out of the house in a haze, fueled by a cocktail of emotions and a desperate need to escape. The bar beckoned like a siren, promising temporary relief from the turmoil swirling inside me.
How many bottles had I consumed? The question lingered in my mind. The answer, I suspected, was too many to count.
As the pounding in my head intensified, so too did the clarity of my recollections. Tricia, babies, Betty. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks: I needed to talk to my parents. With a heavy heart and a pounding head, i jolted to my parents' room.
"Mom, hey. Good morning," I greeted, trying to muster up some semblance of normalcy despite the storm brewing within me. My mom approached and kissed my cheeks affectionately. "Good morning, handsome. How are you feeling?" My mom asked, genuine concern evident in her eyes.
"I'm good, thanks. Mom, I'm sorry about my behavior yesterday. It's just, I...I..." I began to apologize, but she cut me off with a gentle shush. "It's fine. You were caught unaware, I should have told you beforehand. I am sorry, my baby."
"Mom, I'm not marrying her," I asserted firmly, my voice laced with determination.
With a cunning smile, my mom added, "You really don't have a choice, Terry."
"What do you mean I don't have a choice! It's my life for crying out loud! I will choose who I want to be with and there's nothing you can do about it!" I protested, frustration bubbling up inside me.
"Hey, young man. Watch your tone and never speak to your mother like that," My dad's stern voice reprimanded me as he emerged from the bathroom.
"Look son, you know how it's done. The rich marry the rich. And to solidify our family lineage, the right union must be made," my dad explained, his words carrying the weight of tradition and societal expectations.
"Great, so basically we are a classist family," I retorted bitterly, unable to contain my frustration at the rigid expectations placed upon me.
"Don't say that!" my mom interjected, her tone tinged with hurt.
"Why can't John marry her?" I questioned, my mind still grappling with the complexities of the situation.
My dad approached me and laid his hand on my shoulder, his expression grave. "Son, you know John isn't exactly the administrative type. He could barely tie his own shoe lace, let alone run a company."
"This is your forte. This company will be left in your hands when we are no longer here. You're the best man to do this. You've always loved coming to the office when you were younger, you studied administration because you have a passion for it," my dad explained, his words resonating with a sense of responsibility and duty.
"But John is your first child, he's the heir," I countered, struggling to reconcile tradition with practicality.
"It's not about being the first child, it's about how well that child would handle the family's legacy and not run it to ruins," my dad responded, his tone firm and resolute.
"John doesn't want this. He's always, you know, drinking and partying and frolicking around with women. But running a company is not his forte," my dad continued, his words painting a stark picture of John's shortcomings.
"Mom, dad, I really don't know what to say. I mean, I've always had a keen interest for the business and thought of taking up a managerial position, not CEO," I confessed, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of their expectations.
"Son, you're best fit to head Aveeno groups, and I know you'd make us proud," my dad reassured me, his voice filled with confidence and pride.
"The right union is important. Aveeno group has not flourished as much as it has today, and it's all thanks to the enormous partnership Payne Corp. He is Tricia's father, and what's best to solidify this partnership than the union of our families through marriage. This is just perfect!" my father exclaimed, his excitement palpable.
"Terry, family is important. Your mother and I have worked so hard to build this company from the ground up, to give you this life, a life of regal and opulence," my dad continued, his words echoing with a sense of pride and accomplishment.
"But I never said I wanted this life. I just want to be happy and at peace with the people I love," I interjected, my voice tinged with frustration and longing for autonomy.
"Trust me, anyone would kill to have what you have. Fleets of cars, servants at every corner, wealth enough to sustain your generations to come. Tell me who wouldn't want this," my dad reasoned, his words emphasizing the privilege and luxury that came with our family's status.
"Son, I know you're a grown man and you can make your own decisions, but remember what I've always taught you: whatever you do, do it for the benefit of your family because they are the most important people in your life," my father advised, his words resonating with wisdom and experience.
"Family is everything, and marrying the right person is just as important. Think about this, son," my father added as he walked away, leaving me to ponder his words.
My father had always been a smooth talker, and I admired him so much. He always knew the right thing to say at the right time, and sometimes I wondered how a man of his character ended up with someone like my mother. That woman is vicious.
"Terry, your father and I love you very much, and we want what's best for you," my mom said, her voice filled with genuine concern and affection.
"But mom, I can't marry someone I don't love. Weren't you and dad in love before you got married?" I questioned.
My mom laughed heartily, her laughter echoing through the room like that of a hyena.
"Oh my dear Terry," my mother began, her tone softening as she spoke. "Your father and I got married out of convenience. But somehow, someway, we grew to love each other. It doesn't always start with love, but it just might end with love, alright? Besides, who wouldn't love such a charming young man as yourself!" She chuckled, her hand caressing my cheek gently.
"Mom, I am in love with someone else," I confessed, my voice filled with determination. "She's everything to me, and I can't imagine being with any other woman than her. Mom, I can't marry Tricia, I simply can't."
The warm smile on her face faded into a frown, and her expression grew stern. "Listen, child, don't test me," she warned, her voice taking on a serious edge.
"What do you mean by that mom? I could just elope with the woman I love and there's nothing you can do." I countered, my voice coated with determination.
"You wouldn't dare do such a thing," she retorted, her eyes flashing with warning. "Your father has a fragile heart. If he learns of this, it might lead to his death, and you'll be the one responsible. You selfishly killed your father," she accused, her words cutting through me like a knife.
"So, think twice, boy! Before you do something you'd regret forever," she concluded, her voice laced with a mixture of threat and concern.
"Don't think I am not aware of your shenanigans with that little maid," my mother began, her voice dripping with disdain. "I would have sent her away when I found out, but I knew this day would come, where you'd disobey me and your father."
"Listen and listen very good, if you don't marry Tricia, Terry... I promise you, you'll never see that dimwit little maid girlfriend of yours ever again," she threatened, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Young man, you won't dare cross me, would you now, boy?"