The party began to wind down, the last of the guests starting to trickle toward the door, each of them exchanging handshakes and goodbyes with my father. The chatter grew quieter as the space emptied out, and I found myself slipping further into the background, retreating to the edges of the room where I felt safer, more invisible.
Riri was still caught up in the after-party buzz, thanking people for coming, her radiant smile never fading, but I could see her glancing at me every so often, as if checking to see if I was okay. I'd put on my mask for the night, but I could already feel the weight of the facade threatening to crack.
As the last few guests were ushered out by the staff, I was about to slip away when I heard my father's voice.
"Keiyi, wait."
I stopped mid-step, heart sinking. I'd been hoping to just leave without drawing attention, but I should've known better. I turned around, finding him standing just behind the heavy velvet curtains that separated the dining room from the foyer. His suit was impeccably neat, his face now locked in that same stern, controlled expression I had grown all too familiar with.
"Come here," he said, a command wrapped in politeness.
Against my better judgment, I walked over. The door clicked shut behind me, leaving the quiet of the house pressing in on all sides.
"I want to talk to you for a moment," he said. There was a slight edge to his voice, one that made my stomach tighten.
I nodded, unsure of where this was going.
"I noticed you were… a little uncomfortable tonight." His eyes scanned me, reading my every move, as if trying to decipher the cracks in my mask. "I understand this whole 'family' dynamic might feel a bit strange for you."
Strange? It was suffocating. But I didn't say it. I kept the words locked away, knowing better than to voice them.
"I've always been clear about the need for discretion," he continued. "For your sake as much as mine. The last thing either of us needs is unnecessary attention drawn to… certain aspects of our family."
My throat went dry, the tension in the room thickening. He didn't need to spell it out. The unspoken truth hung between us like a noose, reminding me of the invisible line he had drawn in the sand. I wasn't part of the family in the way that mattered to him—at least not the way that fit the perfect, polished image he was trying so desperately to maintain.
"You did well tonight," he said, his voice almost cold. "But you must understand, the rules are different now. There's no room for mistakes."
I forced myself to nod, the words hanging in the air.
"I need you to be mindful," he added, his tone hardening. "Your presence here tonight—it can't be questioned, Kei. People will talk. We can't afford that."
He was reminding me once again: my life here, this performance, was not mine to control. Every step, every glance, every interaction was meticulously crafted for appearances, not truth.
"I'm not asking for your help with the campaign," he said, his voice a little sharper now. "But I do need you to understand your place. Stay out of the spotlight. Let Riri shine. And keep a low profile—especially around the investors."
My chest tightened as he spoke. The words, so carefully chosen, were meant to place me in my line—his line. As long as I stayed in my place, in the shadows, everything would stay "clean."
"You're my daughter, Kei," he added, his voice lowering, "but for now, that doesn't mean much beyond this." He gestured to the house, the wealth, the façade of normality he'd built. "The rest? That's for later. When the time is right."
The knot in my stomach twisted. What he meant was clear: my existence—the truth of who I was—had no place in his world right now. I had to pretend that I wasn't his daughter. Pretend that the blood running through my veins didn't matter.
"I understand," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
But as I turned to leave, something in me snapped.
The door swung open, and I caught sight of Riri still laughing with the last of the staff, her eyes lighting up as she waved me over.
But my father's hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly enough to stop me.
"Not yet," he said, his voice sharp with finality. "I need you to stay."
The cold chill in his tone was unmistakable. The command was clear.
"I… I don't want to stay," I said, more forcefully than I intended.
But he wasn't having it. "You'll stay. I need to ensure everything is in order before you leave. The night isn't over for you yet."
I stiffened, my jaw clenching. The sense of suffocation grew, and my heart hammered in my chest.
"Don't make this difficult, Kei," he added, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping into it. "This is for your own good."
I looked at him then, really looked at him. The man who had turned my life into a series of quiet compromises and unspoken rules. The man who expected me to stay hidden, to blend into the background, to be a silent ghost in the shadows of his perfect world.
And in that moment, it became clear: I wasn't just playing a part anymore. I was being erased.
"I'll wait here," I said finally, my voice steady but hollow, as I pulled my wrist away from his grip.
I turned and walked to the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall, my heart aching with a mix of anger and resignation.
I was stuck. And the line I was being forced to walk—his line—felt tighter than ever.
But as I stood there, the thought crossed my mind, and I couldn't ignore it any longer.
If I was going to be hidden, kept out of the spotlight, then at least I'd make it worth something. This world of manipulation and control had its limits, and I was learning to push back.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, I spoke again, my voice cutting through the quiet.
"Dad," I said, keeping my tone casual, but firm, "If I'm going to keep playing along—stay out of sight, keep my distance from the investors and the campaign—then I need something more in return."
His eyes flickered, a slight narrowing of his gaze. "What are you asking for?"
I met his eyes, unflinching. "I want a new car. Something reliable, but something that gives me space—freedom. I can't keep doing this, pretending like I'm invisible and not have anything to show for it."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "You already have everything you need, Kei. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
I didn't back down. "You want me to stay out of the way, stay hidden while everything else runs smoothly. Fine. But I won't be just a pawn, tucked away and forgotten. A new car would give me the autonomy I need to play my part."
The tension hung thick in the air as I waited for him to respond. He didn't want to give an inch, but I knew how to push his buttons.
"If I'm going to be your 'shadow,'" I continued, my voice steady, "then at least let me move in this world without asking for permission at every turn."
He didn't answer immediately, his mind clearly working behind that mask of control. I could almost see the calculation playing out in his eyes. Finally, with a sigh, he nodded reluctantly.
"Fine. You'll get your car," he said, his tone clipped. "But remember this, Kei: You're doing this for the family. Don't forget where your place is."
I nodded, keeping my emotions in check. "Of course, Dad. I'll remember."
And as I walked away, I couldn't shake the thought: maybe fathers have daughters to bear the weight of their sins.
__________________________________________
The atmosphere in class felt... off. The usual chatter, the hum of students talking and laughing, had faded into a strange silence. A quiet buzz seemed to hang in the air, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something. I stepped into the business accountancy classroom, my footsteps slow and deliberate, trying to keep my head down, hoping to avoid the whispers. But the moment I entered, I could feel it—the tension. The eyes were already on me.
The headline had been impossible to miss.
"Future Senator? Business Tycoon Enrique Delgado's Family Under Scrutiny: Alleged 'Illegitimate Daughter' Caught at High-Profile Event. Speculation Mounts."
The article didn't explicitly name me, but that didn't matter. The vague reference to a "mysterious illegitimate daughter" was enough to set the rumor mill into overdrive. I didn't think the story would spread so quickly, but here I was, already caught in the web of speculation. As I moved to take my usual seat at the back, I could feel the stares. I couldn't escape it.
"Did you see the news about Enrique Delgado's family?" a voice whispered from across the room.
"Yeah, crazy, right?" another voice replied, almost in disbelief. "Apparently, he has an illegitimate daughter. I bet it's someone we know."
The conversation drifted, but I couldn't escape the sinking feeling in my stomach. It wasn't about me—was it?
"Could be someone from this class, right?" another girl chimed in. "I mean, we've all heard those rumors about him. His life's a mess."
I could almost feel the heat of their eyes scanning the room, and I knew I was being weighed in the mix of speculation. My stomach twisted.
"Isn't there a girl named Keiyi here?" one of the girls asked, her voice quieter but sharp enough to catch my attention.
"Yeah, Keiyi Huang," another girl added, sounding too curious for comfort. "I've seen her hanging around with Riri Delgado a lot. You know, the famous theatre actress and Enrique's well-known daughter. They go to all those parties together."
The mention of Riri made my heart race. My throat felt dry, and I wanted nothing more than to shrink into my seat. But I couldn't ignore them. They were putting two and two together. Riri, Enrique's daughter, was a known figure—a celebrity in her own right. If people saw us together, the connection was obvious.
"She's always with Riri, right?" a guy said, sounding like he was trying to connect the dots. "Maybe she's the one. The whole family's full of secrets."
I could hear them, their voices a mixture of curiosity and judgment. It didn't take much for the rumors to catch fire, especially when people had something to gossip about. And here I was, caught in the middle of it.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to tune them out, but it was impossible. I wanted to look at Lincoln or Kiel, to find some anchor, but both of them were absorbed in their own conversation, oblivious to the waves of whispers crashing around me.
But then, I heard Lincoln's voice—clear and steady, cutting through the tension.
"Keiyi."
I looked up, startled. Lincoln was standing a few feet away, his eyes filled with concern. Beside him, Kiel looked just as uneasy, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious.
"Are you okay?" Lincoln asked quietly. His concern was evident, but there was a trace of hesitation in his voice, as if he wasn't sure how to help.
I swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I'm fine. Just—just the usual."
Kiel crossed his arms, watching me with narrowed eyes. "You don't look fine," he said, his tone blunt as always. "You've been in the middle of rumors since this morning, haven't you?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just nodded again. Kiel was right. The whispers, the glances, the looks of suspicion—they were suffocating.
"I don't get it," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "People can't just let you breathe, huh?"
Kiel let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes. "People are idiots," he muttered under his breath. "They're always looking for something to gossip about."
"But—" Lincoln started, then cut himself off. He glanced back at the other students, his expression darkening. "They don't know anything for sure, Keiyi. They're just guessing."
I couldn't stop myself from looking at them both. "You don't get it," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "They don't need to know anything for sure. They don't need facts. They just need the hint of a story to spread like wildfire. And it's already happening."
Kiel shifted uncomfortably, his usual arrogance replaced by something that seemed almost like guilt. "It's messed up. You didn't ask for any of this."
Lincoln nodded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "It's unfair. You don't deserve to be dragged into their gossip."
But I couldn't shake the feeling that the moment I stepped into the public eye, I became part of the story, part of the speculation. And now, it was only a matter of time before they connected me to him—Enrique Delgado. They had already started to link the dots between me and Riri, his real daughter. The press was running wild with it, and I could already feel the grip of that uncertainty tightening around me.
"People are going to talk," I said quietly, feeling the weight of it all. "And we all know where this goes from here."
"Stop overthinking," Kiel said with a half-hearted smile. "They'll forget about it in a couple of days. It's just some stupid rumor."
But I could see it in their eyes—both Lincoln and Kiel knew the truth. The speculation wouldn't die down that easily. And whether I liked it or not, the chaos was just beginning.
"So," a voice broke through from across the room, loud and eager, "anyone know if the girl hanging out with Riri is really her sister or what?"
Everyone turned towards the speaker, a classmate who had been eavesdropping on our conversation. "You know, I've seen them together a lot. If she's not related, she's gotta be one of Riri's close friends, right?"
Another voice joined in. "I mean, they look pretty chummy. But could it be? What if she's Enrique Delgado's other daughter?"
"Why would she hide that?" a third voice chimed in. "She's probably just a friend."
The uncertainty in their voices only added to the tension that was already building up in my chest.
I felt a pang of discomfort at the insinuation. "We're just friends," I said quickly, my voice forced as I tried to brush off the connection. But even I could hear the uncertainty in my own words.
"Yeah, right," one of the girls replied with a half-smile. "A friend who's always at the Delgado's parties? Must be more than that."
I wanted to disappear. To melt into the floor. I could feel the judgment, the eyes that were now turning in my direction. I wasn't just an outsider in this room anymore—I was a subject of their fascination, their speculation. And there was no way out.
When I returned home later that day, the atmosphere was suffocating. The usual calm of the house felt eerily absent, replaced with an almost tangible tension. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I could hear raised voices coming from the living room. My father, his voice sharp with anger, was pacing back and forth, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His movements were frantic, like a man trying to outrun a storm.
Franz, Riri's older sister, was sitting on the couch, her face pale and drawn. She was clutching her chest with one hand, her breath shallow, as though every inhalation took more effort than it should. I could see she wasn't doing well, the stress having already taken its toll on her fragile state. Her eyes darted to me when I entered, but she didn't speak. She only looked away quickly, a mixture of exhaustion and worry in her expression.
As I stood frozen in the doorway, my father's gaze snapped to me, his face turning even more furious.
"Keiyi," he snapped, his tone biting with frustration, "where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you! Do you have any idea what's happening right now? The news—it's everywhere."
I swallowed hard, the tension in the room choking me. "I didn't do anything," I said quickly, my voice shaking. "I can't control what the media says."
"Don't lie to me," he hissed, his jaw clenched. His voice dropped into a low growl, sharp with contempt. "You've brought this on all of us. Your very existence is a liability right now!"
His words hit me like a slap. The sting was real, but it was the underlying fear in his voice that struck deeper. The fear of what might happen next. What this could cost him.
"I didn't ask for this," I muttered, trying to hold my ground, but even I knew how weak it sounded. I hadn't asked for any of this. But there was no one to blame but myself. I had played the part of the dutiful daughter for far too long, and now, my family—my entire life—was on the verge of unraveling.
"You don't have to ask for it," he spat. "It's reality now. You're part of this family—whether you like it or not. Every move you make is under scrutiny. And you've just handed the media a goddamn bombshell."
My chest tightened as his words settled in. I could see the weight of his words—the guilt he was placing on me. The pressure. It was all my fault, in his eyes. It always had been.
Before I could respond, the door to the living room swung open, and Franz stumbled in, her face more colorless than I'd ever seen it. She was gasping for breath, her hands clutching her chest as if she could somehow control the pain with just her grip. She swayed on her feet, and I could see she wasn't going to last much longer.
"Call an ambulance," she wheezed, her voice trembling with panic.
My father's expression shifted instantly. The anger drained from his face, replaced by an almost frantic desperation. "Franz, no…" His voice softened, panic creeping into his words as he rushed to her side, his hands shaking as he steadied her. "Please, calm down. Just breathe. I'll handle this. We'll get through this."
But it was clear that Franz wasn't listening. Her breaths were growing more erratic by the second, her body trembling in a way that made my stomach drop. The stress, the strain, the fear—it was too much for her. She crumpled against him, her strength failing her as she slumped into his arms.
"Please," she gasped, barely able to keep her eyes open. "I can't—"
"Franz! Stay with me, please!" My father's voice cracked, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and helplessness. He moved quickly, gently lowering her into a nearby chair, his hands hovering over her, unsure what to do.
The room felt suffocating. The noise in my ears was a dull roar, drowning out everything but the panic in my chest. Everything that had been building up—the rumors, the media storm, the whispers about me—it was all crashing down, and now, it was taking Franz with it.
"Call the ambulance!" My father's voice broke through the fog, and he fumbled for his phone with trembling hands, his voice raw as he spoke to the operator. I couldn't make out the words, but I could hear the terror and urgency. And as I stood there, frozen, I felt the weight of everything pressing down on me. The guilt, the blame. The overwhelming sense that I was the one responsible for all of it.
By the time the ambulance arrived, everything was a blur. Franz was taken away, and I watched as my father stood by the door, his face haunted, as if the last of his strength had been drained from him. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes fixed on the distance, seeing nothing.
The sirens screamed into the night as the ambulance pulled away, and I felt the suffocating silence that followed. My father's cold gaze finally shifted toward me, his face twisted with rage and despair.
"Keiyi," he muttered, barely able to look at me. His voice was thick with frustration, his tone harsh, but there was something else—something darker, something accusing. "This is your fault. All of it."
My heart twisted in my chest as the words hit me like a punch. The blame. The anger. The accusation in his voice. It was too much, and I wanted to fight back, to defend myself, but I couldn't. I couldn't even find my voice.
I stood there, useless, helpless, as the reality of what I had done sank in. There was no escaping it now. The rumors, the whispers—they had become too loud, too real to ignore. And Franz—Franz had paid the price.