I hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever and I was running on nothing but grit and sheer will.
Every step I took felt heavier, every glance thrown my way like a slap to the face.
Mockery filled the air, thick and suffocating. I could barely hold my head up from the shame.
I tried to rise, but my legs buckled beneath me. My vision blurred and everything turned black.
“Are you okay? Low blood sugar?”
A voice cut through the haze, gentle yet unfamiliar. A hand reached out, offering a slice of cake.
It was Laurence Astor, Amara’s childhood sweetheart, the first man she ever loved.
Eight years ago, when the Lancaster family hit rock bottom, he broke up with her and left for abroad.
Amara, devastated, agreed to marry me.
Later, when her father fell gravely ill, all their savings were drained and the company had to be sold off.
I thought we had built something real through those years of hardship.
But now I realized my son and I were the only ones who had truly suffered.
“No need. Thank you.”
I avoided his hand, forcing myself to stand through the dizziness.
And just as I regained my footing, someone kicked me from behind. My face fell right into the cake Laurence had been holding.