Moira stood in front of the full-length mirror, her brows furrowed as she scrutinized the dress laid out for her. It was a minidress, far too sexual for the party she was attending. The fabric clung to her curves, the neckline plunging dangerously low. With a shake of her head, she couldn't help but wonder if her stepmother was intentionally trying to embarrass her.
"This dress," Moira muttered to herself, "is completely inappropriate."
She knew the consequences of wearing it: the whispers, the judgmental glances, and the disdainful remarks behind her back. But there was stubbornness in Moira; she had been through a lot. At the end of the day, she was still in the family.
"I'll wear it," she declared. "And if anyone is embarrassed, it'll be them, not me."
Moira slipped into the minidress, feeling a surge of rebellion as she fastened the zipper.
Meanwhile, at the party, which was buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses, Moira came down from the stairs, all eyes turning to her in astonishment. Murmurs form through the room, questioning the choice of attire she had made.
"What on earth is she wearing?"
Moira caught snippets of conversation as she made her way through the crowd; her stepmother's disapproving gaze followed her every move.
"I told her not to wear it," her stepmother remarked. "But she never listens to me. After all, I am not her mother."
"What is your husband saying about her?" The woman wondered, her voice filled with curiosity as she leaned in, her eyes searching for clues in the stepmother's expression. "Did he agree with her behavior?"
The stepmother furrowed her brow and sighed heavily before responding. "What can my husband do?" she asked. "He can't even control her, and if people don't know, they'll think I made her wear the dress on purpose to mock her."
"You've been through a lot," she said softly. She gently swayed her body as she reached out to touch the stepmother's arm. "At least you have your kids. Imagine you do not have kids; she will take your husband's entire property and leave you none."
With a weary sigh, the stepmother set the wine down on the table, the glass clinking softly against the surface as she reached for a napkin to wipe the corners of her eyes.
Meanwhile, Moira moved to an adjacent table, her steps deliberate. "Could I have a glass of wine, please?" she requested from the server, her voice calm.
As Moira's father approached, he was very angry at her.
"What kind of dress are you wearing?" he inquired.
Moira's response was pointed. "You should ask your wife," she suggested as she cast a pointed glance in the stepmother's direction.
The server returned with Moira's wine, setting the glass down before her with a polite nod. "Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lingering on the server for a moment before returning to her father.
Frowning in confusion, Moira's father couldn't help but wonder why his daughter said what she said. "What did she do?" he asked. He then thought about why his daughter might say that and that he wouldn't be deceived by her.
He continued, "I understand you dislike her, but don't lie about her; she knows how important this party is to me."
Moira's response was measured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the rim of her wine glass as she spoke. "Did she?" she said as she lifted the glass to her lips, taking a slow sip.
Moira's father issued a stern command, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Go back inside and change," he instructed, his tone form as he met his daughter's gaze. "Don't let me meet you here."
Moira rose from her seat, and cast a lingering glance at her father. With a quiet hiss of frustration, she turned on her heel and left the table.
As Moira navigated the crowded room, her thoughts swirled as she thought about how she had a good relationship with her father, but it got strained over the years due to him getting married to her mom's best friend after her mom was murdered.
Lost in thought, Moira collided with a man; the force of the impact sent her stumbling backward with a gasp of surprise, and wine spilled on him. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she met the man's gaze.
The man was filled with irritation as he surveyed the wine stain spreading across his suit jacket. "Why don't you look where you're going?" He snapped, his eyes narrowing with frustration.
Moira raised her head and met his gaze. He was tall, with black, curly hair gently falling over a tense face and wide blue eyes. This is the face of Cedric, who is good with his business. Many people are afraid of him, and girls adore him.
Moira's heart sank at the sight of the wine staining the man's expensive suit, her cheeks burning with shame at her carelessness. "I am sorry; give me your suit, and I will clean it," she offered.
"Do you know how expensive this suit is?" he demanded. "Even if you sell your home, you can't afford it," he said as he removed Moira's outstretched hand.
Moira has had enough of his attitude. She had heard a lot about him but had never met him.
She never could have thought that someone like him could be like this, but what did she expect when he is a ladies' man?
"What's the matter with you?" she retorted. "I apologize, and I even want to clean it up for you."
His gaze was fixed on Moira. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice low.
Moira raised her chin as she met Cedric's gaze. "Who doesn't know about you?" she countered.
Her father quickly approached her so that Moira wouldn't make a mistake and cause him to lose his contract.
"I saw what happened," he said, "and I apologize for what she did."
Moira eyerolled, and she crossed her arms. "Why on earth is this man following me?" she wondered.
Cedric smirked. "I will forgive her if she cleans it for me," he declared.
"Wasn't I going to do that before?" she thought.
Moira couldn't believe how her father came running the moment she did something wrong but wouldn't run if she did something right.
Her father's gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable as he urged her to comply. "Clean it," he said solemnly.
With a sigh, Moira reached out her hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she prepared to take the stained suit jacket from Cedric's. "Give it to me; let me take it to the dry cleaner," she said.
But Cedric had other plans. "Come with me, and I will give it to you," he instructed.
Moira was already done with this; she was regretting why she came to the party in the first place. "Why do you want me to follow you?" she questioned. "Just give it to me."
"Do you expect me to remove my suit here?" he said with a smirk.
"It is only your suit jacket that is stained," Moira retorted.
Her father urged her to accompany Cedric.
With a knowing smirk, Cedric led her towards the front of the women's restroom; his expression was unreadable.
"Give me your suit jacket." Moira asked as she stretched her hand.
Cedric took her hand and pressed her against the wall.
A group of girls approached, their whispers growing louder as they caught sight of Moira and Cedric. With only the look of Cedric, they all left without using the restroom.
"What exactly do you want?" She inquired, her gaze probing.
"You look different from any other girl I have seen," he remarked, his eyes tracing the contours of her face.
"Isn't that what all the boys say?" She retorted.
He pressed his lips against hers. Despite her attempts to push him away, he did not budge.
As he finally released her, Moira gasped for breath, her heart pounding with indignation. She slapped him across the face and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Be my wife," he declared.
"Are you on drugs?" Moira blurted out.
"I don't do drugs," he shot back with a grin. "But I can do it for you if you like it," he added.
Moira was wondering what kind of man he was. How could he propose marriage to a girl he barely knew?
"Marry me," he repeated. He was insistent.
"Why?" Moira demanded, pushing him away.
"You don't have a good relationship with your father," he asserted. His eyes bore into hers.
"How do you know?" Moira asked.
"There is nothing I don't know," he continued, his gaze fixed on her. "Nobody wants you or loves you."
Moira was a little hurt by what he said, but she knew he was telling the truth. Her best friend and her late mother are the only people who care about her.
"And so?" She challenged. She was not going to allow someone like him to get to her.
"I will love you," he proclaimed. "You'll be first in my heart, and I'll look after your needs. I will treat you as the queen that you are."
"Stop lying through your teeth," Moira said.
"You can either believe me or not," he countered. "So, what do you say?"
Moira stared at him. She could use him to get to her goal, she thought, but before that, she shoved him against the wall.
"There are some things you should know," she continued. "I take the lead here, and you will be the wife while I am the husband."