Tiana's Pov
I sat at the dining table, the weight of my mother's pleading gaze pressing down on me. Her eyes were soft, almost apologetic, but I could see the quiet desperation beneath them. She was trying to convince me to understand, to agree. But how could I?
Peter cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence in the air. The sound was sharp in the otherwise quiet room.
"Not a lot will change," he said, his voice smooth but with a certain edge to it that made my skin prickle.
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. I didn't buy it.
Andrea, seated across from me, didn't seem convinced either. His eyes were fixed on me, skeptical and calculating, like he was already measuring how much of a hassle I'd be to them. His stare was unnerving, like there was something just below the surface he wasn't saying, and I didn't want to know what it was.
Peter smiled, that same overly patient expression he always wore when he was about to drop something heavy. But it didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes were cold, and intense ever since I walked into the room.
"You'll be expected to accompany Andrea , Athina, and Basil to social events," he continued, each word deliberate. "We need to show the family in a united front."
My chest tightened at the mention of "social events." I hated those things. The crowded rooms, the forced pleasantries, the suffocating small talk. I'd always preferred my solitude—books, my studies, time in my own space. The thought of being thrust into that kind world, with Andrea of all people, made my stomach churn.
Before I could say anything, Peter kept going. "And every Sunday, you'll be expected to attend lunch with us."
My heart sank. Sunday lunches? Really? What if I had exams, or papers to write? What if I had absolutely no time for this nonsense?
"And two guards," Peter added, his voice casual but firm. "With you at all times."
I blinked, my mouth falling open. What? It felt like a punch to the gut. I couldn't process it at first, just shaking my head in disbelief, trying to make sense of what was happening.
This is how it starts, I thought, panic crawling up my spine. I'd heard enough stories about "mafia princesses" to know where this could lead—no freedom, no control over my own life, forced into some loveless, arranged marriage with someone I barely knew. It was everything I'd worked so hard to avoid.
I finally found my voice, though it came out shaky. "What if I don't have time for social events? My studies take up all my free time, and with exams coming up, I'm going to be even busier." I paused, taking a breath to steady myself. "And I don't need two guards trailing me everywhere. I'm either at home or on campus."
Peter didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. His posture shifted, like he was deciding how best to handle my disapproval. Slowly, he stood up, his presence commanding the room. His voice was firm when he spoke next, sending a chill down my spine.
"It's not negotiable, Tatiana," he said, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that felt suffocating. "You'll do as you're told."
I felt the blood drain from my face. Tatiana. The way he said my name, like it was a warning, sent a ripple of cold through me.
Peter didn't wait for a response. He walked out of the room, Basil following close behind him. I sat there for a moment, frozen, staring at the empty doorway. I couldn't believe it. My pulse was pounding in my ears, and I could feel my breath quicken.
I glanced at my mother. Her face was a mix of apology and resolve, but mostly, there was an air of helplessness to it. She opened her mouth, trying to offer a smile, but it was forced, like it had been worn down from years of practice. It reminded me of the smile she used to give me when I was a child, back when Irene used to hurt me, and my mother would brush it off, thinking it was nothing. She never asked questions. She never saw the bruises for what they were.
"Mamá," I whispered, shaking my head. The tremor in my hands was subtle, but I could feel it. I clenched my fists, hoping she wouldn't notice.
"We're not asking a lot, agápi mou," she said softly, trying to soothe me. But her words were hollow.
I clenched my jaw, a lump forming in my throat. "I can do Sunday lunches every other weekend," I said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "But guards? Social events?" I looked at her, my eyes pleading for some sort of understanding.
Her face flushed, and I saw the frustration flicker in her eyes. She snapped, her voice rising. "Stop, Tatiana! You're making a scene."
I froze, her words cutting deep. It was like a slap to the face. Making a scene? She had no idea how much it hurt to be pushed into this world, into something I wasn't ready for.
I took a breath, my voice quieter now. "You know how busy I am with my studies. I'm not good at social events, and having two strangers shadowing me... it's too much."
Athina, who had been silent up until now, leaned in with a kind smile. I didn't trust that smile, but I was too tired to argue. "It won't be that bad," she said softly. "At most, we'll attend one social event a month."
That caught my attention. One a month? That wasn't too bad. Maybe I could manage that. I could stay close to Athina, avoid Andrea as much as possible.
"You won't have to socialize if you don't want to," she continued. "We just need to be seen as a family."
My mother's hand was on my shoulder now, guiding me to my feet. She gave me a soft, reassuring squeeze, like everything was going to be okay. "You'll get used to it," she said gently. "We'll be part of the Stathoulis family. It's just the way things are done."
Her words re–echoed inside me. I had fought so hard for independence, for control over my own life. But now, it felt like that freedom was slipping through my fingers. Once I give in, they'll just keep asking for more, I thought, my heart sinking with the realization.
She pulled me into a brief hug, her voice soft as she whispered, "It won't be as bad as you think. Just try to be accommodating... for me."
For me. The words burned in my chest. I thought of all the times I'd been "accommodating" before—when we stayed with Uncle Kostas and Irene, and I suffered in silence because my mother thought every bruise was just a result of a "clumsy fall." I wasn't going to be that person again. I couldn't at least not anymore.
I forced a smile, pushing the bitterness down. "I need to work on my screenplay," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner. Are we still on for our spa date next week?"
Her face brightened at the mention of the spa. "Of course! I need to get my nails done for the wedding." She beamed at me, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me.
I turned to Athina, forcing another smile. "It was nice meeting you."
Without another word, I walked out of the dining room, my chin lifted as I tried to form a sought of confidence I could feel sliping. As I passed the living room, I heard Peter and Basil talking in low tones, but I didn't bother to say goodbye. I wasn't going to be part of their world, not if I could help it.
I climbed into the back of the waiting SUV, the leather seats cool against my skin, but it couldn't numb the tightness in my chest.
As the car pulled away from the Stathoulis mansion, I stared down at my hands. My knuckles were white from how tightly I was gripping my phone. I didn't like Mom marrying Peter before, I thought bitterly, but now I absolutely hate it.
I thought about the friends I'd known, the ones raised in this world. The ones who became "princesses" in name, draped on the arms of men they barely knew, their lives controlled by contracts and promises. Every one of them was miserable. They had no freedom, no say in their futures. It wasn't going to be me.
Not a chance in hell.
The SUV pulled up to my apartment, and I didn't waste a second. I jumped out, rushing up the stairs to my door. The familiar silent atmosphere of my apartment wrapped around me like a security blanket.
I closed the door behind me, letting out a long breath, finally able to relax. This was my space. The soft whites and blues, the shelves lined with my books, the safe sanctuary I had built with my own hands.
But even as I tried to find peace in my apartment, one thought gnawed at me. What if, once Mom marries Peter, he controls her finances? What if he tries to control mine, too?
The thought was terrifying. The idea of Andrea —or anyone else—dictating my life was suffocating.
I squared my shoulders, pushing the fear aside. I wouldn't wait around to find out.
Changing into leggings and a t-shirt, I felt the weight of the evening's conversation still pressing heavily down on me. My muscles were tight, like I couldn't fully escape the tension that had clung to me at the dinner table. I pushed the thought of Peter, my mother, and the Stathoulis family to the back of my mind for the moment. This was my space, my apartment, and right now, it was the only place where I could breathe without feeling like I was being strangled.
I brushed my hair into a messy ponytail and sank down onto the couch, the soft fabric of the cushions cradling me in familiar comfort. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for just a moment. I stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking as if it was waiting for me to figure out what came next.
I cracked my knuckles, forcing my mind away from the worry gnawing at my insides. Don't think about it, I told myself. I had a plan.
I opened a new document and typed in the first line: Resume.
For the first time that night, I felt a spark of purpose. I began listing my skills, my education, everything I had worked for. Writing this felt like I was carving a new path for myself, one where I wasn't bound by anyone else's expectations or demands.
The more I typed, the more my resolve solidified. The Stathoulis family might think they could control me, might believe they could pull me into their world of social events and guards. But I wasn't some fragile little girl. I was a woman who had worked hard to build her own future, and no one and I mean no one—was going to take that from me.
I paused for a second, thinking about what my mom had said 'Try to be accommodating... for me'. The words stung. I'd spent years accommodating her, trying to smooth over the cracks in her decisions, trying to ignore the ways she turned a blind eye to the world around us. The thought of her smiling as Peter's grip on our family tightened made my stomach churn.
I shoved that thought away, focusing on the screen again. I could already picture my future. A future where I didn't need anyone to hand me what I deserved. A future where I had control over my own choices.
I clicked save. One step at a time, I thought. I wasn't ready to throw myself into something that would strip me of everything I had worked for.
With a deep breath, I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes for just a brief moment. The cold edge of the Stathoulis mansion still loomed in my mind, and Peter's commanding voice telling me what I would do, as if my life was a decision he could make for me.
But it wasn't. It never would be.