Sidney bid farewell to Alondra and left the clubhouse. She got into the private car that had brought her and headed straight for the building located in the busiest area of B City. The driver pulled up to the building entrance and stopped, letting her get out. The night air was cool, and Sidney quickly made her way into the lobby, pressing the button for the elevator to take her upstairs.
Sidney entered the house and saw her father sitting in the main seat on the living room sofa, waiting for her. She greeted him respectfully, about to head to her room, but was called back by a voice.
"Stop."
Sidney stopped in her tracks, turned around, and obediently sat back down on the sofa.
"What did Mr. Nixon say to you?" Esteban Calderon, Sidney's father, asked as he sat, his white shirt straining over his round, protruding stomach, which looked like it might burst open at any moment.
"Didn't you already know? Mr. Nixon has agreed. The wedding is set for the end of next month. The wedding company will contact us, and we'll handle everything as you wish, Dad! I have no objections."
"For this month, take good care of yourself—go for beauty treatments and skincare. I'll take care of the wedding with your sister. Also, you should avoid meeting with anyone from the outside, especially men. If Mr. Nixon gets upset and calls off the marriage, you won't even be able to repay me."
"Heh, got it. I'll head upstairs first." Sidney couldn't help but laugh sarcastically. Repay? She never imagined that when her father forced her to marry Jayson, he would pull out an account book and start tallying up the $400,000 she had spent over the past 23 years, demanding repayment. He even dragged up her mother's and aunt's past mistakes to guilt-trip her into submission. He kept talking about how marrying into a wealthy family would be a blessing, but Jayson was nothing more than a regular in tabloid gossip and entertainment news. For the sake of her father's business and the mess her sister had made, she was expected to sacrifice her own happiness. He never treated her like a daughter—she was nothing but a tool to be used when convenient. It felt like she would always be the backup in the Calderon family: forgotten when she wasn't needed, only remembered when they had a use for her.
Sidney went upstairs and returned to her room. She quickly stripped off the tight dress that had been suffocating her, tossed her purse to the floor, and rushed into the bathroom to remove her makeup and take a shower. Standing under the showerhead, she let the powerful stream of water soak her from head to toe. Facing the showerhead, she liked this breathless, suffocating sensation because only then did she feel closer to her mother.
At the age of eleven, she witnessed the unspeakable—her mother's life slipping away in the most harrowing way. She saw her mother, trembling but resolute, slashing her wrist, the blood spilling out in torrents, staining the once-spotless white of the bathtub. The room was thick with the acrid scent of blood, an odor that clung to her memories. Her mother's face, contorted in a final, desperate grimace, seemed frozen in time—eyes wide open, refusing to close, as if even in death she could not escape her pain. The image haunted her, burned into her mind forever. From that day on, she was trapped in a nightmare that never ended. Every night, the same horrifying images would invade her mind—her mother's bloodied face, the suffocating smell of death, the cold stillness of the bathtub. It was as though the scene had etched itself so deeply into her soul that she could never escape it. Every time she closed her eyes, she couldn't stop herself from reliving it, over and over again. The more she tried to push it away, the tighter it gripped her, like an invisible weight pressing down on her chest, stealing away her peace. The incident that happened when she was eleven was something she would never forget. She had witnessed her mother slit her wrists and drown herself in the hot water of the bathtub. The blood stained the entire white bathtub, and the smell of blood filled the bathroom. Her mother's face, frozen in death with eyes wide open, haunted her. From that day on, she had nightmares every night. The shocking image was deeply engraved in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Hatred clouded her judgment, and she did something she would regret for the rest of her life. She was frustrated with her immaturity at the time, but time couldn't go back, and all she could do was carry the guilt forward, step by step.
Sidney's face turned red from holding her breath, and the fear of death rose within her. She immediately turned off the shower, stopped holding her breath, and pressed herself against the cold tiles, breathing heavily. Only through such near-death experiences could she truly feel the value of being alive.
She grabbed a bath towel to dry herself off, then put on a plain, oversized cotton nightgown. She returned to her room and began packing the things she was taking with her. In truth, she didn't have much to take with her—just a few books she couldn't bear to part with, some expensive clothes her father had bought to make sure she was seen, and… the things she had hidden away, her mother's belongings, the only part of her mother that still felt real.
Sidney carefully packed them into boxes. She couldn't wait to leave this place.
The door didn't even bother to announce its arrival—before a knock could come, it was shoved open with force. Sidney had long since grown used to it, knowing without a second thought who it was. Sanaa barged into the room with all the entitlement in the world, slamming the door against the wall. She sauntered in as if she owned the place, perched herself on Sidney's bed with a casual arrogance, one leg cocked up, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her gaze—half disdainful, half smug—settled on her younger sister, as if she were the queen and Sidney merely a subject to be looked down upon.
"Your role in this family pretty much boils down to this," Sanaa sighed. "He's been investing in a resort lately. Make sure he hands us the project, got it?"
"Mr. Nixon wouldn't be Mr. Nixon if he listened to me so easily. Also, are you not worried that I might whisper in Jayson's ear and make sure you get nothing?" Sidney looked at her with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The only way to avoid getting hurt was to build a wall around herself.
"What's wrong with your sister? Look at you now, married into the Nixon family thanks to our connections! If it weren't for you being part of our family, if it weren't for how much Dad invested in you, do you really think you'd have a chance at marrying into a wealthy family? If you get along with him, your future is set—no more worrying about money or food. It's a pretty sweet deal. Think about it from that angle—you should be grateful to us!"
"...Yeah, I'm tired, can I just get some rest?" She was too tired to argue any longer. There was no point in saying more—nothing she said would make a difference.
"Fine then, I'll go check on Mom. Don't worry about the wedding, I'll make sure it's done up right!" Sanaa planted her feet firmly on the floor, kicking Sidney's bag, which had been carelessly tossed on the ground. She bent down to pick it up and examined it closely. "Hey! This pink designer bag—I've tried to get my hands on it before but always missed out. How do you have one?"
"Yesterday, Dad took me to buy clothes, and he said it had just come in."
"Tsk! How come there's water stain on it?" Sanaa looked at it regretfully, then tossed the bag back to the floor and walked toward her mother's room.
