Chapter 3
As soon as Homer and I stepped out, we saw Isana curled up in Yamila’s arms, sobbing.
When Dad saw Homer, he jumped to his feet. “You bastard! How dare you hurt my daughter?”
“She said that to you?” Homer fixed his gaze on Isana, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.
Isana froze for a moment before shouting, “You’re the one who hurt me! The marks on my body are from you!”
“You hurt my daughter, you’ll take
responsibility,” Dad interjected, stepping forward.
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“How much?” Homer sneered, his eyes filled with disdain. “With her kind of looks? I wouldn’t take her even if she were free. But since she’s Wynette’s sister, I’ll offer you one hundred thousand.”
“You… you’re going too far.”
“Do you have any proof that Homer hurt you?” I cut through their bickering, my voice. calm but firm. “There’s a condom in the room he used. Just check for any traces of Isana on it, and the truth will be clear”
“Are you trying to kill your sister?” Dad raised his hand, as if about to strike my face.
Homer shoved Dad aside with a grunt. “Old man, I warned you. Touch her again, and I’ll kill you. Keep making a scene, and I’ll call the cops–let’s see who ends up humiliated.”
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Ignoring the fury of the Weber family, Homer took my hand and led me out.
“No wonder you don’t want to go home. They’re all trash. From now on, we’ll have our own place,” Homer said, pulling me into an apartment. “This will be our home now.”
“I can stay at a hotel,” I said, pulling my hand away from his, only to have him slam me against the wall.
“Baby, I told you not to make me angry. How could you forget that?”
I dared not speak, my body trembling uncontrollably.
Homer gently ran his fingers through my hair, nodding in satisfaction. “If your sister hurt you, I’ll help you get revenge. Just stay at home and wait for me.”
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Then, Homer locked me inside the
apartment.
He’s always been like this–locking me up whenever we disagree.
Homer and I were high school classmates. Because his family was wealthy, he was the undisputed school bully, always ready to pick a fight.
We met when I gave a bullied classmate my jacket, and as a result, I became the target of bullying. The one who bullied me? It was Homer.
He did terrible things to me–things too horrifying for anyone to imagine.
After high school, I managed to escape by attending a university more than a thousand
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kilometers away. But it was only a three–year reprieve.
Last month, we crossed paths again. This time, he found me.
I was walking towards Homer in a wedding dress recommended by the shop assistant. His face was unmistakably stunned.
“Sir, you have a great eye,” the assistant quickly added, “This is our store’s prized possession, just airlifted from Paris last week. Ten designers spent five hundred hours creating it.”
Homer wrapped his arm around my waist and spun me around twice, then threw his jacket over my shoulders. “It’s passable. Are there any others?”
“Yes, please follow me.” The assistant
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led Homer to browse more dresses while continuing to adjust the hem of my gown.
That’s when Isana barged in.
“Must be nice,” she spat, her eyes full of jealousy, glaring at me.
The assistant stepped in to block her. “Madam, this is the VIP room.”
“I’m her sister.” Isana shoved the assistant aside and marched up to me, her voice seething. “Don’t think you’ll get to enjoy this for long. Soon, none of this will belong to you.”
She shot me one last glare before storming
out.
I was left confused until a month later when she came knocking again.
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“I’m pregnant.” Isana stood at the door, holding up a pregnancy test with a smug look on her face.
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