Page 1 of Game of Revenge

PART 1

Chapter 1

There are a few moments in one’s life where one decision could change the rest of their trajectory, change anything—from the people they meet, where they live, what they eat, what they learn, what job they do, who they fall in love with. I wondered what my life would have been like had I stuck to my decision to escape from this house when I was a teenager, instead of coming back after three days.

Would I have found happiness, peace in leaving this life behind, or just regret? Would I have gone to college or found another passion? Would I be married? Would I have found fulfillment? What if, tonight, I stopped playing the game of the obedient daughter? What if I broke the rules of decorum and did what I truly wanted?

I was toying with the idea of causing mayhem tonight, ruining my birthday party, taking them all down with me in a spiral of pent-up anger and resentment. But when it came down to it, I always lost my resolve and managed to reason with myself, for better or worse, and I’d put the rebel back in a box and focus on what was expected of me.

Instead of putting on my jeans and sneaking out of the house as my heart was begging me to do, I ordered myself to take a very deep breath. I walked toward the king-sized bed covered with a silky comforter and thousands of throw pillows. If anything, my bedroom always brought me peace.

Richard, my stepfather, had let me redecorate it to my heart's content years ago. I had chosen light-gray wood furniture with soft, gold-colored drapes and the most comfortable mattress money could buy. The room was elegant and airy, the light colors always calming and reassuring. It was my own little oasis in a house that had always felt too big, too empty for me.

For the evening, I opted for a long black dress. The color reflected my mood perfectly. As I approached the mirror, I noticed how the dress hugged my curvy features. It had a single sleeve on the right shoulder, tied up with a gold brooch. I picked up my makeup and started my routine, picking colors specifically to bring out my hazel eyes, straight nose, plump lips, and delicate oval face inherited from my mother. I undid my hair bun and let the dark-brown cascade of wavy hair fall down the middle of my back.

While I enjoyed parties and balls, this night was a bit different. Richard had organized the evening festivities in honor of my twenty-eighth summer. My stepfather had insisted that this year be a big celebration, but he really was just using my birthday as an excuse to invite the most affluent families in California. What he wanted was to show off his opulence. He wanted to use the opportunity to strengthen his professional relationships, show everyone how rich he was, and strut his beautiful daughter in front of eyes filled with desire, admiration, and jealousy.

When I finished my makeup, I walked to the bed and slid my heels on, fastened my gold bracelet around my left wrist—one of the few items I had of my mother—and attached a pair of golden earrings to my ears, hanging with emeralds, matching the stone in my brooch. This was as good as it was going to get. I was grabbing my golden bag to put my cell phone in when I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in, it’s open.” Richard entered the room, seemingly annoyed.

“Are you ready? You know I want us to go down the stairs together,” he announced.

“I’m ready,” I replied, pursing my lips.

Richard was a pale-skinned man in his sixties with intense blue eyes and wavy white hair. He was a bit short with a fairly full body. His eyes and smile charmed everyone who did not truly know him.

I knew better.

I hated this man with every fiber of my being. I cursed the day my mother married him. I was only two years old then, and two years later, my mother died in a car accident and left me with this man for a father.

I had very few memories of my mother, but I remembered her perfume, her smile, and the sound of her voice. I remembered the feeling of being loved, of being comforted, of being fed. My mother was warmth and safety, all of which got ripped from me in an instant, leaving me in the hands of a stranger as a poor excuse for a father.

I didn’t know anyone from my mother’s family. From a young age, Richard had explained to me that my mother’s parents had died, and he knew nothing about my father, who had abandoned my mother when he learned that she was pregnant with me. Richard never stopped reminding me that my mother was a starving artist who had left me with nothing and that, without him, I would be on the streets or in an orphanage.

The man was a bully and a nightmare who always treated me as a charity project instead of the daughter he claimed me to be. When I would disagree with him, he would threaten to kick me out “like the fucking orphan” that I was.

I had spent a good part of my childhood with Richard in Mexico, but after my eleventh birthday, he decided that we should relocate to LA, claiming it was where his business partners and dealings were. Richard always had a strong hatred for Mexico, but I never understood why. And even when he traveled back for business from time to time, he always refused to take me with him.

It always felt like, if he could, he would get rid of everything that connected him to his roots. He even took classes to remove his accent so people couldn't tell where he was from.

As I got older, he became more vicious in the mental games he played. He made it his mission to remind me that he had paid for the expensive bachelor’s degrees in hotel management and English that I had obtained in New York and that I “wasn’t worth shit” without him. It was his way of ensuring he would forever have his claws in me.

My attention was snapped back to reality as Richard grabbed my hand and brought me to the mirror.

“Well, very beautiful,” he declared. “My guests will be delighted to see you! I think George will be happy as well,” he said with a clever smile on his lips.

George and I had been dating since I returned to LA after my college graduation and had gotten engaged a few months ago. His ring was shining on my finger, the weight of it feeling uncomfortable. Richard had urged me to meet him, and eventually, I agreed. George was the son of one of the most powerful businessmen in LA, so for Richard, a relationship between the woman he introduced to the world as his daughter and George was a transaction he could not avoid making.

While I had been reticent at first, eventually I agreed to date him. The truth was, I didn’t really have high hopes when it came to men, but the long distance worked out. I went to Stanford for my graduate degree, and he gave me the distance I so craved in life.

Honestly, I considered George to be a decent man, but I hated the fact that he was Richard’s protégé.

“Let’s go,” ordered Richard, slightly pushing me toward the door. “It’s showtime.”

I took a deep breath, put a dazzling smile on my face, and proceeded to walk out of the room and down the hallway as instructed. I would not have to endure this situation for much longer, I reminded myself.

When we got to the top of the stairs, Richard put his arm around me. We trailed down the staircase together as the guests were cheering and shouting, “Happy birthday!” I forced myself to smile and accept the greetings, kisses, and hugs I received from all these strangers.