Page 1 of Beautiful Deception
Chapter One
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Maya
“Doctor, I want you to be mine.”
The man standing over his desk, fingers pausing mid-turn on my files, looks up to smile with a hint of exasperation at the corners of his lips. His gold-rimmed glasses glimmer when I lean back heavily on the plush armchair and fidget with the hem of my dress.
Dr. Kian’s office has an unsettling ambiance, with heavy curtains parted to allow strong daylight through the windows, casting a wispy white veil across the room.
“Money doesn’t buy everything, Maya.”
Another day, another long session with this man. I don’t care about spending an hour talking to someone with the qualification to speak to criminals claiming insanity. My parents are more than willing to pay extra to keep Dr. Kian from taking on other clients, just in case I have a sudden need to talk to him.
“Why does everyone say that?” I sigh, running my nails down the leather armchair as I watch the white lines fade.
“Who does?”
“Junnie.”
“Ah,” Dr. Kian’s deep voice rumbles, breaking the silence that cycles between us. “Your friend, the one you told me about last month.”
It took three months for me to say anything about myself and those around me. There’s no reason; I just don’t feel comfortable letting a stranger into my life, even if he’s there to help me.
“She’s an intern at her dad’s law firm and claims a client called her a nepo baby before insulting everyone she knew,” I say as a bird glides around the corner of the window.
Dr. Kian walks over to the empty chair in front of me, his towering figure both comforting and intimidating as he stands for a second too long, and that second opens a dam of restlessness in the pit of my stomach.
His gentle demeanor masks a hidden intensity that leaves me feeling strangely vulnerable.
“I don’t know why she’s working when her parents pay for everything,” I begin hesitantly, my eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath my feet. “Why would anyone take on the stress of dealing with people?”
“Is that why you don’t work?” He bounces the question at me, and I expected it almost immediately.
My shoulders shrug and slump back down. “My parents are fine with it, and I’m okay with it. So, why are people offended?”
Dr. Kian leans on the armchair cushion, his large hands resting on the sharp slant of his jaw and the clipboard on his lap. His eyes, soft and understanding, study me with a kind of determination that sends shivers down my spine.
“Do you flaunt it?” he asks and adds quietly, “Have you offended someone?”
I take a deep breath, recounting last week’s family gathering with prodding distant cousins and boisterous relatives, breathing down my neck about the pride of being successful. The backhanded comments about me using my trauma to bring shame to the family business and how their children are making them proud.
If they couldn’t read the nonchalance on my face, then they surely couldn’t have read the disinterest in my parents’ critical scrutiny.
He jots down his last thoughts when I glance up before settling the same piercing gaze onto my body. His jaw tightens just a bit, but it’s there to confirm that he picked up the key point in my recounting rant of that awfully boring family gathering.
But he doesn’t press. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He’s the only therapist who hasn’t pressured me into revealing what happened four years ago.
“What if I’m never ready?”
The trauma has turned into nightmares now, playing out in my sleep—darkness, eerie whispers, and a choking stench of chemicals. As I sit in silence, I feel Dr. Kian’s gaze on me, a warmth that oddly contrasts with the hollowness of my dreams.
“I don’t remember anything,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. “At all. Everything is blank, like a badly cut movie.”
Dr. Kian remains calm, but his eyes betray a hint of something I can’t quite place. His lips move, and his words flock to the low timbre buzzing in my ears.