Where the Waves Taught me Love

Chapter Two: Caught in the Wreckage

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my head. A dull, relentless throb that made me want to bury myself under a thousand pillows. My mouth was dry, my throat burning, and every muscle in my body felt like it had been wrung out.

I groaned, shifting against the hard floor beneath me. Wait—floor?

I cracked one eye open, blinking against the unforgiving sunlight spilling through the glass doors. My vision was blurry at first, but as the haze cleared, the surrounding scene came into focus.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

There were dresses tossed across the couches like forgotten laundry, empty bottles rolling lazily across the marble tiles, and half-eaten food plates stacked precariously on the dining table. The once-sparkling pool was littered with floating cups and napkins, and the patio looked like it had hosted a war instead of a party.

And there I was—lying on the floor in my ruined dress, makeup smudged, hair tangled, clutching a half-empty cup like it was my lifeline.

It would’ve been funny, maybe even worth bragging about, if not for the voice that sliced through the silence.

“Sabrina Isabelle Monteverde.”

My entire body froze.

I didn’t need to lift my head to know that voice. That deep, cold tone that could command an entire boardroom—or in this case, reduce me to a guilty child.

Dad.

I forced myself to look up, dread settling heavy in my chest. There he was, standing in the doorway, still in yesterday’s suit, his tie loosened, his eyes dark with anger. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be halfway across the world by now.

“D-Dad,” I croaked, my voice raw and slurred from last night’s drinks. “I thought… I thought you—”

“Flight was delayed,” he said flatly, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage. His jaw clenched tighter with every detail his eyes landed on—the bottles, the trash, the strangers passed out on the couch. Finally, his glare landed squarely on me. “So I came home.”

My stomach twisted painfully, but not from the hangover.

He stepped further into the room, his polished shoes crunching on broken glass. “This is what you do the second I’m gone? This is how you choose to spend your freedom?”

I pushed myself up on shaky arms, trying to defend myself, but the words tangled on my tongue. “It’s just… a party. Nothing serious.”

His laugh was short and bitter. “Nothing serious? Look around you, Sabrina.”

I followed his gaze, seeing everything again through his eyes—his expensive furniture ruined, the house he built turned into a trash heap, his daughter sprawled out on the floor like some reckless stranger.

Shame crept up my neck, but stubbornness made me lift my chin. “You’re always gone anyway. What does it matter?”

The silence that followed was worse than any shouting. His disappointment was louder than any anger.

“For f**k’s sake,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do with you. The heir of this family shouldn’t behave like this.”

That word—heir—made my stomach twist. I hated it. I wasn’t some trophy he could polish and show off at his business dinners. I was his daughter, not his legacy.

“I didn’t ask to be your heir,” I snapped, my voice trembling but firm. “I didn’t ask for any of this. Maybe if you were around more, you’d actually know who I am instead of who you want me to be.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes hardening like stone. For a second, I thought he might yell, but instead, his voice came out cold. “Who you are, Sabrina, is reckless. Ungrateful. Irresponsible. I can’t trust you with this house, let alone with my name.”

I swallowed hard, my pride stinging. “So what now? Another lecture? Another punishment? You’ll just take away my credit cards and call it a lesson?”

His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it grew sharper. “No. This time, you’ll learn the hard way. If luxury has made you blind, then maybe simplicity will open your eyes.”

I frowned, confusion twisting with dread. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll know once I get back. You better fix yourself.” He shook his head once, the finality in his tone chilling, and walked out of the house.

I groaned, dragging a hand over my face, then let myself collapse back onto the floor. My head still throbbed, and the room spun faintly, but I didn’t care. “Whatever,” I muttered. He was always dramatic. He’d cool down. He always did.

***

By afternoon, I was back on my feet, showered, and dressed in a brand-new outfit. I slipped on my sunglasses, grabbed my designer bag, and texted my friends. Retail therapy always fixed everything.

The mall was alive with chatter and music, the perfect distraction from my dad’s lecture. My friends squealed the moment they saw me, dragging me into stores, arms already piling high with clothes.

“Last night was insane,” one of them laughed, slipping on a pair of heels. “Seriously, Sabrina, that was the best party ever. People are still talking about it.”

“Yeah,” another added, smirking. “You’re officially a legend.”

I laughed, flipping my hair. “Well, what can I say? I throw the best parties.”

Still, their smiles faltered when one of them asked, “But… your dad. He was there, right? Isn’t that, like… bad?”

I waved a hand dismissively, brushing it off. “Don’t worry about it. He was pissed, sure, but it’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it.”

“But Sabrina—”

“I said it’s fine,” I cut in, flashing a confident grin. “Besides, look—” I held up my sleek black credit card. “If he were really furious, this wouldn’t still work. Trust me, we’re good.”

That seemed to settle them, and the tension broke. Soon, we were laughing again, parading from one boutique to the next, arms full of bags. The weight of my father’s words still lingered in the back of my mind, but I shoved it down. He always threatened, always scolded, but in the end, I always got what I wanted. That was just how it worked.

As we sat down at a café, iced lattes in hand, one of my friends leaned in with a mischievous smile. “So… round two tonight? There’s a new bar opening downtown. Everyone’s going. We should totally show up.”

My lips curled into a smirk. Another night out? The thought sent a thrill through me. “Absolutely. Why not?”

They cheered, clinking their glasses against mine.

Another party. Another night of freedom. Another chance to prove that nothing—and no one—could cage me.

And as much as a tiny part of me worried about my dad’s warning, I buried it under the rush of excitement.

Because right then, nothing mattered more than the promise of another wild night.

***