“Hey there!” My friend’s cheerful voice chirps through the phone. “How’re you doing? Ready for tonight’s fun? Have you picked out a dress to charm Denis with yet?”
I instantly feel my cheeks heat up. Charm… That’s a pretty bold word.
“Margo, you still there?” she presses. “Hello? You with me?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I manage to say. “You just kinda embarrassed me with that ‘dress to charm Denis’ thing. I’m more focused on showing him I’m into him, you know?”
Though, in my case, the real challenge is not turning beet red or forgetting how to speak altogether.
There’s a mysterious pause on her end, and then she chimes in:
“Wanna hear something nice, Margarita?”
“Sure,” I reply without a second thought.
“Well, listen up—Katie told me that Denis was asking her if you’re coming to the party,” Carolina’s words sweeten my heart. “So, it’s safe to say he’s got his eye on you. He wouldn’t just ask for no reason…”
“When did you find this out?”
“Yesterday.”
“And you’re only telling me now?!” I exclaim, indignant. “You know how much this means to me! I hang on to every little thing about Denis!” I’m practically squealing, and she just laughs. When she finally stops, she says:
“I held off so you wouldn’t get too comfy thinking you’ve got him in the bag. You’ve gotta look like a queen tonight. So, have you picked a dress yet?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “I’m gonna finish editing this chapter and then get ready.”
“Mind if I swing by in a couple of hours to help you get dolled up?” she offers, and I reply:
“I’d love that, actually.”
“Deal. Get to work, busy bee. I’m hopping in the shower to rinse this hair dye out.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting,” I say goodbye and turn back to my document on the screen.
This time, it’s easier to focus on work. My heart’s warmed by the thought that there’s a real shot at success tonight.
I grind through over an hour of solid editing, and just as I’m wrapping up the last paragraph of the chapter, a noise pulls my attention away. It’s not the phone this time—someone’s at the door. The doorbell chimes, forcing me to peel myself away from my desk. I get up and pad across the soft, light-colored carpet to the hallway.
I’m a hundred percent sure it’s Carolina. She’s got a habit of showing up earlier than she says she will.
But when I open the door, it’s not her standing there. It’s a completely unexpected visitor—my father.
Why am I so shocked? Probably because the last time I saw him was two years ago at a very sad occasion—my mother’s funeral. And before that, where had he even been?
To keep it short and simple, twenty-two years ago, my mom spent one night with a guy she loved.
Sadly, that love was one-sided. After their night together, he told her it was a huge mistake, turned around, and walked away. But, as it turned out, that night had consequences.
A few weeks later, my mom found out she was pregnant… and that’s how I came into this world.
He didn’t completely abandon us. He’d show up for my birthday sometimes, but mostly, he replaced his presence in my life with money. He’s got plenty of it, born into a wealthy family, and now he’s a pretty influential businessman.
So, it’s hard for me to pin down how I feel about my dad. In this whole mess, I mostly feel sorry for my mom. She truly loved him. It hurt her to read the news and find out he had another family. Still, she was glad he at least made an effort to see me occasionally, even if just for an hour, trying to play the role of a father.
She told me all of this when I turned sixteen. She couldn’t keep the truth hidden anymore, and I think she shared the story to warn me against making the same mistakes.
“Hey, Margarita,” he says calmly. “Can I come in?”
“Hey, Dad,” I reply, stunned. “Yeah, come on in.”
I step aside to let him through. I also notice he’s not alone. Two bodyguards stand by the door, so burly and muscular they’re downright intimidating. They’re not men—they’re mountains.
But only my father steps inside, and I quietly close the door behind him. Now it’s just the two of us in the hallway. I feel awkward. Our relationship has always been distant. He’s family, sure, but at the same time, he feels like a stranger.
“Tea or coffee?” I ask, and he just stares at me intently. His piercing blue eyes seem to cut right through me, making me uneasy.
“Water,” he says, then adds something unexpected. “You look a lot like your mother, but you’re even more beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling weird hearing a compliment like that from him as I head to the kitchen.
I do share a lot of traits with her: my height, my lips, my coppery, unruly hair that refuses to behave and seems to have a mind of its own, my small nose, and plenty more. But the color and shape of my eyes? Those I got from my dad, who follows me into the kitchen, sits on a stool, and stares thoughtfully at his watch.
I set a glass of filtered water in front of him, sit down nearby, and wait to see what’s next. He didn’t just show up for no reason. There’s gotta be something he wants from me.
“How’s life treating you?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“It’s fine,” I answer quickly, looking at him. “I’m working. And I’ve got plans to go to a birthday party tonight.”
“Whose?” he asks, finally looking up from his watch.
“A friend’s.”
“I see,” he nods, then drops a bombshell. “Unfortunately, Margarita, you’re not going anywhere.”
I’m stunned. My good mood evaporates in an instant. What does he mean I’m not going anywhere? I’m an adult. I can decide for myself where I go! What kind of bad joke is this?
“I’m giving you thirty minutes to pack your things. You’re coming with me,” he cuts through the wave of indignation flooding my mind. “So, get up and start packing. Don’t take much—just the essentials.”
He’s not joking. He’s dead serious, and his eyes confirm it.
“Margo, do you hear me?” he asks as I sit there, frozen like a statue carved from oak.
“Yeah,” I blink, trying to process what he’s saying.
“Then why are you still sitting there?” His dark eyebrows arch like waves. “Move it. Time’s ticking.”
“Dad, explain what’s going on,” I plead, desperate to make sense of this. “Why do I need to pack and go with you?”
“Because you’re getting married soon,” he says casually, knocking the wind out of me. “And today, you’re meeting your fiancé. So, hurry up and pack.”
“What marriage?” I stammer, shocked. “This is a terrible joke!”
“It’s not a joke. It’s the truth,” he replies flatly.
I can’t believe my ears. What the heck is he talking about—marriage and a fiancé? I’ve got my own life going on here!
“I’m not going anywhere, and I’m definitely not getting married,” I protest.
“Margo, I don’t care about your opinion,” he says, completely unmoved by my resistance. “This marriage will benefit everyone. I’ll merge my business with a reliable partner, and it’ll save you from making mistakes.”
“What mistakes?” I stand up, feeling my cheeks flush with anger. “What are you even talking about?”
“You’re heading to this birthday party tonight, and God forbid you end up like your reckless mother… Do you really want a surprise in the form of a kid?” His eyes narrow to slits, and in that moment, I want to slap him for saying something so vile.
“And what about—”
I want to point out that he’s just as responsible for what happened back then, but I stop myself. No matter what, the man in front of me is my father. As flawed as he is, I owe him at least a shred of respect.
Tears well up in my eyes and start rolling down my cheeks, burning as they go.
“What?” he asks apathetically. “You wanna blame me? I’m not even hiding the fact that I was drunk at that party and wasn’t exactly picky about who I spent the night with.”
Why would he say something like that to me? It’s cruel! I already knew I wasn’t wanted by him, but why stab me in the heart so directly?
“Someone could take advantage of you, or you might do something stupid yourself,” he snaps. “This marriage will guarantee you a good life. Margarita, it’s all for your own good.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat firmly. “Dad, I’d rather you just leave my apartment!”
But he doesn’t budge. He sits there, staring at me with unyielding eyes. After about ten seconds, he parts his thin lips and says:
“Then you’ll come by force. I’m not gonna play games with you.”