My Fiance's Uncle's Property

Eveline. It's strange. Seeing everyone so happy at a party that is meant to be about you, BUT YOU. It's my engagement party. It should feel fulfilling. I should be happy. But I have never felt more lost. My name— written on the banner to my left saying, “Congratulations on your engagement, Julian & Eveline”, my not-so-simple silk dress, and the three-carat diamond crest in the ring finger on my left hand, are the only proof that this party is for Julian and me. Asides that, I'm pretty much invisible to these people. I'm used to it. I have been invisible since my Dad died ten years ago. I was twelve. And my mom? Well, I never met her, she died trying to give birth to me. My life? A literal mess. Harold Hart, my father's friend, took me in. He's been responsible for me ever since. He takes every opportunity to take credit for it. Julian’s family, the Vales, connected with him because they believe he is a “kind man”, which he is. I'm glad taking me in brings this much honor. This union was his idea, he believes it's his ultimate ticket to being fully involved with the Vales, one of the most powerful families in the City. He believes it'll help with his social status. That's the most important thing to him. For me, it's the least I can do, to say “thank you” for taking care of me all these years. Plus, I don't have anyone in the picture. Julian was my only male friend in high school. People online have already pushed the relationship narrative before now, so why not just go with it? Not like I have anything interesting going on. Julian never complained, so I assume he wants this relationship too. I know Harold's reasoning for wanting me to marry him, but I don't know why Julian's parents agreed. I'm the last person they'll ever want to marry their son. I'm just their business partner's “adopted” daughter. I pick up a glass of champagne that I don't intend to drink and move through the room, nodding at faces I've memorized but don't really know. A woman in red squeezes my arm, “You are a very lucky young lady,” she says, squinting her eyes into a smile. I smile right back. I keep up that smile as I move around the hall. Chatters and laughter fill the air. The faint smell of expensive colognes brushes through my nostrils as I walk by. I can hear Harold's laughter from across the room, he knows how to keep a good act when there's money involved. “Where the hell is Julian? It's time for the toast.” A voice interrupts me. Turning around, Argh! It's Linda Vale, Julian's mother. She walks up to me. “Don't just stand there! Go look for him!” she orders, in a whisper. Linda is nice when she wants to be. I care less about how she treats me honestly. I've never cared about how anyone treats me. My parents’ deaths have taught me to let go. I just don't know if I'm doing myself more harm than good. Walking through the room, I scan the entire room for Julian, but I can't see him anywhere. He's most likely upstairs. Julian does not like the crowd, just like me, we're alike like that. He's been traveling to Italy a lot these past few months. The family have a house there — he says it's his way of detoxing away from the noise, and the crowd. I relate with him on that. Dropping the glass of champagne, I head for the stairs. The music and chatter downstairs fade out as I climb. The corridor is long and marble-white, lined with portraits of Vale men who all share the same sharp jaw and cold eyes. Julian has that jaw. He never quite has the eyes. As I head for Julian's room. I hear something. No, it's not the music downstairs. I hear a lady's screams. I follow the sound of her voice, but. I hear masculine grunts alongside it. These are… “Moans”?! I walk to Julian's room, but the sound is not coming from there. It's coming from the room next to it. I walk to the next room. It's the visitors’ room meant for Aniya. A family friend to the Vales, she and Julian pretty much grew up together. She arrived from Italy last night with her redhead friend — i never asked for her name. She claims she came for the wedding, so she's staying with the Vales until after the wedding. The moans grow louder. The door is open halfway, the way you close a door when you're rushing to do something, but not trying to hide it. I see two girls, one a redhead, the other… Aniya. Their backs are turned towards the door, and they are both… on someone… a man. The red head is in a reverse cowgirl position, rocking back and forth on his c**k, moaning her heart out. Aniya has her p***y in his mouth, he's eating her out. That's a crazy girl. Having a threesome with your friend, while an event is going on downstairs? Girl! I wish I had that kind of freedom. I look closely, trying to recognize the man. The girls on him, make it hard. The slightly curled hair… He pushes Aniya up his mouth. “You like it?” he grunts. “Yeah” she moans. I can recognize that voice from anywhere. Is that… Julian?! “Ah… Julian Daddy, yes… I'm about to come,” the redhead shouts from across the room. She's out of breath. Everything in my body goes still. My psychology training has a name for what I'm experiencing— acute stress response. Tunnel vision. Time distortion. The brain's way of protecting itself from information it hasn't yet decided how to process. I move away from the door. My vision is blur. My heart beating fast, and stinging nettles through my chest. I feel betrayed. Not by Julian. But by myself. I have never given myself this much freedom. Never given myself grace. All my life, I played by the rules. Always trying to please everyone around me. Always obeying Uncle Harold. Never doing anything for myself. Never choose myself. I felt like I had a debt to pay, and I paid it with the freedom to choose myself. I'm about to marry into a family that cares less about me, and to someone who clearly has a life, and is openly having a THREESOME on our engagement night. Standing in the hallway, I stare at the botanical print across from me— a drawing of a lily, very precise, and I begin to count to ten. Not because I needed to calm down. I am perfectly calm. I'm counting to ten because I’m deciding what to do with what I now know, and ten seconds is enough time to sketch the architecture of a decision. I walk back to the dining room. I pick up my champagne glass from the table where I'd left it, like I'm just going out for some air. Without saying goodbye, I head for the exit. Walking out of the building, into the night. I drop the glass of champagne on the ground. The cold air hugging my bare skin. Without thinking, I swing my hand for a cab. A car pulls up, the driver looks at me in his rearview mirror — my dress, my up swept hair, and asks… “Where to miss?” I want somewhere expensive and dark “Meridian,” I say, “On Carver Street, do you know it?” He nods, and pulls away from the curb. I don't know what I think I'm doing, but I don't care. If the only time I get to choose myself is tonight, I'm enjoying it to the fullest.