TERESA'S POV
After Lucian Blackwood dropped me off Monday night and sped away without a backward glance, I stumbled into my tiny, cramped apartment like a zombie. My eyes were swollen and puffy from hours of crying. I'd barely shut the door when I heard my neighbor's two-year-old crying, followed by the familiar giggle of her husband through the paper-thin walls. The noise only deepened my feeling of hopelessness.
A few minutes later, my brother Luke burst through the door, his face a picture of worry combined with frustration. It was typical Luke—always ready to swoop in with a lecture, especially when I messed up.
"Teresa, what happened?" He froze when he saw my tear-streaked face, my makeup smeared like a melting painting. His expression softened, and without another word, he rushed over to wrap me in a tight hug. His usual scent of cheap aftershave and instant noodles hit me, oddly comforting in that moment. I broke down again, sobbing into his shirt.
"He—he fired me," I sobbed, clutching his shirt like my life depended on it. "And everyone laughed, Luke! They all laughed as I did the walk of shame out of the company. I swear I saw someone recording it on their phone."
Luke's face flushed with anger, but his voice stayed calm as he rubbed my back. "That's awful, Tess. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."
"And that's not even the weirdest part," I sniffled. "Afterward, this strange man practically kidnapped me, dragging me to some fancy party in his car. I was a mess, Luke, drinking champagne and embarrassing myself. He's so weird—sarcastic one second, intense the next. It's like he could buy and sell the whole city if he wanted to."
Luke pulled back, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, what? You got in a stranger's car and went to a party? Teresa, what were you thinking? You're lucky he wasn't some psycho."
I let out a small laugh despite myself. "I know, I know. It was stupid. But there was something about him... Anyway, it's over now."
Luke shook his head in disbelief. "Just promise me you won't do something like that again."
"I promise," I said quietly, wiping away the last of my tears. We sat in silence for a moment, Luke's presence calming me more than I wanted to admit.
Just as we were about to change the topic, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I grabbed it, frowning at the unknown number on the screen.
"Who's calling you this late?" Luke asked, glancing at the phone.
"I don't know," I replied, and hesitated for a second before answering. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end, then a voice I hadn't heard in years—smooth, cold, and painfully familiar.
"Teresa," the voice of my stepmother drawled. "It's been a while."
I froze, my stomach churning at the sound of her voice. "What do you want?"
"It's not what I want, dear," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Your father wants to see you. He's been asking for you. He's waiting at the estate."
I blinked in shock. My father? The same man who hadn't spoken to me or Luke in three years? The man who left us to fend for ourselves after marrying his new wife? I could feel the bitterness rising in my throat, but I managed to keep my voice steady.
"Why now? After all these years, why does he suddenly want to see me?" I asked, trying to keep my anger in check.
"That's not for me to say," she replied. "But he expects you to come. And, Teresa… don't involve your brother in this. Your father made it clear he only wants to see you. If you refuse, well… let's just say you'll regret it."
Her thinly veiled threat hung in the air, and I could feel my heart racing. I knew my father well enough to understand what she meant. He was capable of anything if he felt disrespected.
Luke watched me, concern etched across his face. I covered the phone with my hand and whispered, "It's her—our stepmother."
He tensed but didn't say anything, his eyes locked on mine, waiting for me to explain.
I took a deep breath and spoke into the phone again. "Fine. I'll come. But if you think you can just bully me into this—"
"I don't need to bully you, Teresa," she cut me off. "Your father's request is enough. Don't keep him waiting."
The line went dead before I could respond. I lowered the phone, feeling a strange mix of dread and anger swirling inside me.
"What was that about?" Luke asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
I looked at him, unsure how to explain. "It was her. Stepmother. She says… Father wants to see me."
Luke's expression darkened. "Now? After all this time? What does he want?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But she said not to involve you. And if I don't go… she threatened me, Luke."
Luke's face twisted in disgust. "Typical. He's always pulling something. I don't trust either of them, Tess. You shouldn't go."
"I know, but if I don't…" I hesitated, thinking of the power my father still wielded. The wealth, the influence. He could make our lives even worse if he wanted to. "I don't think I have a choice."
Luke clenched his fists, looking like he wanted to punch something. "You're not going alone."
"I don't think I have a choice in that either," I whispered. "But I'll be careful."
He sighed, pulling me into another hug. "Just… call me if anything happens, okay? I don't trust them. And I don't want you getting hurt."
I nodded, though my mind was already racing with what might await me at the estate. After three years of silence, I had no idea what my father wanted, but one thing was certain—it wasn't going to be anything good.
*******
The next day, I woke up with the same feeling you get when you step on a Lego barefoot—sharp, painful, and oddly specific. Thanks to that phone call from her last night, I knew I was about to walk right into the lion's den, and I wasn't sure I'd come out in one piece. The thing is, I'd already done the whole lion's den act—survived it for years—but it didn't make going back to my dad's estate any less miserable.
I slipped into my clothes, staring at myself in the mirror. "You've got this," I told my reflection. It didn't believe me, and frankly, neither did I.
Pulling up to the gates of the estate that used to feel like home made my stomach churn. It was massive, elegant, and cold as ever. Funny how once upon a time, this place had been filled with laughter, warmth, and my mom's cooking. Now? It was a glorified dungeon, run by my stepmother, Queen Evil herself. I hadn't set foot here in years, but just seeing the place brought back all the memories—mom's sudden illness, dad's quick remarriage, and the two kids that followed, like clockwork.
I was 12 when everything changed. Luke was 14. Dad got remarried just six months after mom died, like he'd been waiting for the opportunity. Enter Cruella De Vil. My new stepmother could've given the devil himself a run for his money. And I'm pretty sure dad loved every minute of it. Then came the two little princesses, Sarah and Jennifer—Dad's pride and joy. Of course, the original kids—Luke and me—were relegated to side characters in our own lives.
Luke got out at 18, and good for him. I still remember the day he packed his stuff and left without looking back. It was as if Dad didn't even care that his only son was walking out of his life. Me? I was stuck there, playing nanny to the little angels until I could scrape together enough courage—and bus fare—to run after Luke.
And I found him. It wasn't easy, but I did, and we've been inseparable ever since. Luke became everything Dad wasn't—my protector, my provider, my real family. He gave up so much for me, working jobs to make sure I got an education. I promised myself I'd repay him one day.
But right now? I was about to face the circus.
The second I stepped into the house, the familiar air of hostility hit me in the face like a brick. The walls felt like they were glaring at me, reminding me I didn't belong. My sister Jennifer saw me first, of course. She's 16 now and has perfected the art of looking down her nose at people.
"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter," she sneered, flipping her perfect hair. "Did you finally crawl back to beg for scraps?"
"Nice to see you too, Jen," I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. Internally, I was imagining several creative ways to trip her into the fountain out front.
Sarah, the older of the two brats, was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone like I didn't exist. Classic Sarah. Too busy pretending she was too important to notice the real world around her.
Then came the real pièce de résistance—my stepmother, Vanessa, gliding into the room like she was auditioning for a soap opera. Her fake smile was plastered on as always, and her voice dripped with false kindness.
"Girls, leave your sister alone," she said, all sugary sweet, as if she didn't despise me more than expired milk. Then she turned to me, eyes gleaming with some twisted satisfaction. "Your father's expecting you, dear. You can go up to his office now."
Of course, I could.
Walking up the stairs to Dad's office was like walking the plank. I knew what was waiting for me at the end—nothing good. When I opened the door, there he was. Gregory Williams. My father.
He didn't even look up from the papers on his desk.
"Sit," he said, like I was some obedient little puppy.
I didn't sit.
"Let's get straight to the point," he continued, finally lifting his cold eyes to mine. "By next week Saturday, you'll be moving in with one of my business partners. You'll be working as a maid for five months. Oh, and you'll be pretending to be Jennifer."
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me. It's a simple job, Teresa. All you have to do is pretend to be your sister. She's too busy with... more important things, and this is part of a deal I made. You'll do it."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to be a maid? For your business partner? And pretend to be Jennifer? You've lost your mind."
"I didn't ask for your opinion, Teresa," he snapped. "You'll do as you're told."
"Not in a million years," I said, crossing my arms. "I'm not doing this for you or for your precious little girls. Find someone else to play dress-up."
His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "If you don't, I'll make sure Luke pays for your defiance. His wife's family, their business, it'll all crumble. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
My heart raced. Of course, he'd go there. The one person I cared about more than anything, and he was using him against me. But I wasn't backing down. Not this time.
"You don't scare me anymore, Dad," I said, my voice steady even though I was trembling inside. "I won't do it."
I turned and walked out of his office before he could say anything else. As I reached the door, I heard him laugh, that horrible, condescending laugh.
"You'll come crawling back by Friday, Teresa!" he called after me.
I slammed the door behind me, the tears already burning in my eyes. I was angry, humiliated, and scared all at once. I needed to escape. Fast. I got into my car and backed out of the place like my ass was on fire.
As if my life couldn't spiral further down the drain, the universe decided to give me a swift kick on the way out of my father's estate. Right when I thought things couldn't get worse, my phone chimed with an email notification, and what do I see? A lovely little note from the court—my former company was accusing me of leaking their precious contract to a journalist. I pulled over to the side of the road, slumping in my seat. If there were an Olympic sport for self-pity, I'd have won gold, silver, and bronze.
Just as I was getting cozy in my pity party, my phone buzzed again—Luke, ever the optimistic (or clueless, depending on the day).
"So, how did it go with the sperm donor?" he asked.
I paused, and because I didn't feel like explaining the chaotic mess my life had become, I blurted, "Oh, him? Yeah, he found out about the leak and warned me to keep his name out of any press drama.'"
To my relief, Luke totally bought it. "Well, he's an idiot and you should really use this downtime to job hunt, sis. It'll stop you from marinating in your usual stupid thinking time."
Nice. The supportive sibling energy I needed. But for once, he wasn't completely wrong. Job hunting wasn't a bad idea. And since I was now spectacularly jobless, I figured why not? I had nothing to lose except my last shred of dignity, which was hanging by a thread.
With that brilliant plan in mind, I drove straight to a company I'd been stalking—er, I mean, eyeing—for a while but never had the guts to apply to. You know, because I had that thing called a job before.
I stepped into the company's lobby, trying to channel some 'I've got this' energy, only to be greeted by the last person I wanted to see: Mark. Yep. That Mark. The smug, perfectly groomed jerk who had the charm of a wet mop and the ego of a world champion boxer. My stomach did an Olympic-level somersault.
He saw me immediately, of course, because that's how the universe works. And with a smirk that could curdle milk, he swaggered over.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Teresa. The infamous traitor. How's the job hunt going, traitor? I'm guessing not so great since your reputation is kinda, you know, trash."
Oh, fantastic. Exactly what I needed to boost my self-esteem. I felt my teeth grinding as I forced a smile. "Mark, I'm really not in the mood for this."
He, naturally, didn't care. His laugh was obnoxiously loud, echoing through the lobby like a car alarm. "Oh, lighten up! I'm just making conversation. I mean, look at you—short, ugly, a total mess. You think any man would ever want that? You should probably just... I don't know, crawl into a hole and disappear. Save us all the embarrassment."
It was one of those moments where I half-expected a hidden camera to pop out and tell me this was all just a bad prank. But no, it was real. His words were like getting smacked in the face with a dead fish. I could feel people around us—some were snickering, and others pretended to be deeply invested in their emails but were probably relishing the drama.
Before I knew it, I felt a single, traitorous tear trickle down my cheek. Great, now I was crying in public. Perfect.
Without thinking, I spun around and bolted out of the building, my vision so blurry with tears that I nearly collided with a potted plant. My grand escape led me straight to—where else?—a bar. If there was ever a time to drown my sorrows in something stronger than self-pity, it was now.
"One whiskey, neat," I muttered to the bartender, trying to ignore the growing lump in my throat. He slid the glass over, and I stared at it for a moment before downing it in one gulp.
"You look like you've had a day," some guy next to me commented, smirking.
I glanced at him. "Buddy, you have no idea."
I downed the next drink the bartender slid my way, my eyes welled up, and I made no effort to stop the tears from falling. When the bartender sent another drink my way, I grabbed it, but something caught my eye. I glanced to the side and spotted someone familiar sitting at the corner table. Lucian. What on earth was he doing here?
He looked up as if sensing my gaze, his expression one of mild annoyance mixed with boredom. "Do you make it a habit to cry everywhere, or is it just when you see me?" he asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.
I felt my cheeks burn with shame. "I—uh, no, I just—today's been a bad day."
Lucian didn't look convinced. He leaned back in his chair, his expensive suit catching the dim light. "Bad days are no excuse for bad habits. Order whatever you want. Just don't cry into your drink; it ruins the taste."
I managed a small smile at his sassy tone. "Thanks. What are you doing here, anyway? You don't exactly strike me as the type to hang out in a place like this."
He shrugged but there was something unreadable in his eyes. "I have business here. Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of spending all my time feeling sorry for myself."
I wanted to be offended, but there was something oddly comforting about his bluntness. After all, he could have ignored me. Lucian stood up. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back soon."
Half an hour and several drinks later, Lucian returned. His eyes swept over me, assessing my now tipsy state, and he sighed. "You really can't be left alone, can you? Let's go."
Before I could argue, he was already heading for the door. I stumbled after him, his command leaving no room for disobedience. Outside, he opened the passenger door of his sleek, black car and practically shoved me inside.
"Where are we going?" I slurred, the alcohol making my tongue loose.
He didn't answer, just started the car and drove. I took the silence as an opportunity to bombard him with questions, asking about his life, his job, anything. But he deflected each one with a sarcastic comment or a bored sigh until I gave up. Then the events of the past weeks and today hit me again, and I felt tears welling up.
"Why are you crying now?" Lucian asked, his tone exasperated. "Did you run out of things to say, so now you're crying for attention?"
I sniffled, wiping my eyes. "It's not that. I just—everything's gone wrong, Lucian. My job, my life, everything. Even my father...I don't know what to do anymore."
To my surprise, Lucian's expression softened, if only for a moment. "Life has a way of kicking you when you're down. The trick is not to stay there." His voice was quiet, almost kind, and it caught me off guard.
We pulled up in front of my run-down apartment building. Lucian looked at me, then at the building, with his usual air of disapproval. "Get out," he said, his tone back to its bored, detached self.
"Thanks for the ride," I mumbled, fumbling with the door handle. "And for… listening."
He didn't respond, just watched as I climbed out. The moment my feet hit the pavement, he drove off without another word, leaving me standing in the dim streetlight. Despite his abruptness, I couldn't shake the feeling that Lucian Blackwood was more than just a sarcastic rich guy. He had layers, and maybe, just maybe, I'd get to see him again and if lucky, see what was underneath those layers.