Page 5 of Sweet Madness
The tears have dried, and the heaviness in my chest is forgotten, at least for now.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
My phone.
I almost don’t answer it until I see it’s a video call from Mom. I accept the call, and her stunning face quickly appears on the screen.
I smile when I see one of my favorite people in this world—my best friend.
My mother, Arianna Kenton, doesn’t look a day over thirty, yet she entered her forties last winter. How does she do it? I don’t know, but that’s my mother. She looks beautiful at her age without a single surgery or age-rewind treatment. She’s aged like fine wine.
In my eyes, there’s no one regale and more beautiful than my mother. She’s otherworldly. Mom’s blond hair falls in soft waves right above her shoulders in a sophisticated yet chic hairstyle. Her ears have delicate diamond snowflake earrings, just like her neck, where she wears a necklace with a diamond snowflake pendant.
Mom once told me that Dad won it for her in a poker game against Uncle Thiago.
Even today, when he plays poker with my uncles, Dad comes home with either a car, jewelry, or an island that he names after Mom.
Nothing has changed.
Their love is eternal. I truly believe that.
Dad worships the ground she walks on.
The media does too.
She’s a goddess, and the world knows it.
That’s why she graces the cover of every fashion and business magazine without being a model.
My mother is the CEO of her newspaper and magazine and has acquired many business ventures over the years. Some she shares with Dad, and some are just hers.
She’s a force to be reckoned with and even has a huge fan base. Over the years, her popularity has skyrocketed, making her one of the most well-known people on social media with millions of followers.
Her fans are loyal and obsessed, so much so that they follow us, her children, too.
Some are kind, but others are… well, ruthless and vile.
“Hey, Mom. I’ve been—” My mother’s frantic voice cuts me off in the middle of my sentence.
“I need you to do something for me, baby.” That’s when I notice the look in her eyes—a look I’ve never seen before on her.
Fear.
She’s… afraid.
Mom is never afraid.
“Mom. You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Dread creeps in, wrapping around my stomach like a serpent and keeping me from breathing. “Is it Dad?” I rasp. “The kids—” Mom cuts me off again.
“Put Uncle Benjamin on, baby.”
“Mom.”
“Ellaiza, now!” Mom has never yelled at me or my siblings. Never, not once.
That’s when I realize that whatever is happening has to be something truly awful.
Uncle Benji gently takes the phone from me and starts speaking in hushed tones so the man behind us can’t hear the conversation, but I can.