Try to make me cry

Chapter 6: The Cold Show Must Go On

My hand remained lightly pressed against the stinging cheek, not in pain, but in control. The silence in the parlor was so dense you could almost hear the thoughts racing through the minds of the family members—scandal, leverage, disgrace.

Oh, so nobody videoed the part where her husband later showed up, I thought, a surge of calculated insight replacing the shock. They only saw me with Julian.

I watched her face, searching for the love that was never there, knowing the backstory better than anyone else. My mother hated me from the moment I was born, I thought I was even adopted. I had checked the records myself: my father and mother were both my real, biological parents. As the last of four daughters, I was the one who caused her to no longer bear a child or a son. She often claimed I took everything from her. Because she was giving birth to me I took her womb too.

I slowly lowered my hand. I met her eyes. My expression didn't waver. It was utterly blank, conveying neither apology nor anger, just profound indifference.

“A simple text message would have sufficed, Mother,” I said, my voice low and steady, entirely devoid of emotion. “The marble floor is quite hard. I’d hate for you to hurt your hand on my account.”

The utter banality of the statement, delivered with the poise of discussing weather, deflated her fury instantly. She hadn't hit a daughter; she had hit a statue.

The truth was, my mother was too foolish to understand that it was the copious amounts of alcohol she consumed that caused her reproductive issues, but she needed to put the blame on someone, and that was me, her last child. She even named me after her most hated artist just so she wouldn't forget her hate for me.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls, huh?” she shouted, her voice shaking. “you arrogant little brat! Why are you like this after everything we’ve done for you?”

Done for me? What was this woman talking about? All they’ve done is cause me anything but pain. But I reminded myself that I don't feel pain anymore. That girl is gone.

If I kept quiet, her rage would only fester and get louder. So what could I say that wouldn't make things worse?

“You made me this way,” I said calmly, the words slipping out with a quiet honesty that felt instantly regrettable. Oops. It came out worse.

She raised her hand again.

Before the slap could land, my sister Bethany intercepted her arm. “Mom, not here. In front of the Ho family and your in-laws,” Bethany hissed, but her protective gesture was only a reflex of social preservation. She looked at me with cold eyes—the second child, always judging.

The eldest sister was just standing close to her husband, arms crossed, maintaining her perfect social distance. The third was glued to her phone, her child on her lap, behaving as if my humiliation was just background noise. They all got whatever they wanted in their sleep without working and even got to marry who they wanted.

But when I refused to marry Eddie, my father removed my name from his inheritance. That wasn't enough, though. He swore if he had to remind me again to marry Eddie, he would make my friends disappear.

That’s why I no longer have any friends; so they could never blackmail me again.

Anyway, it doesn't bother me anymore. That’s why, even without inheritance or any help, I created my own global company at such a young age. Maybe if I had created my company earlier, my father wouldn't have been able to force me into marrying that man Eddie to gain more corporate weight. But I was too young then.

At least the current arrangement is peaceful: my father doesn't speak to me, but the issue is that only my husband has the right to divorce this marriage.

My mother's mouth opened, ready to unleash another tirade, but my gaze flickered past her to Eddie.

He was still standing by my father, his posture rigid. His eyes were locked on me, his expression unreadable, but I saw a muscle ticking beneath his jaw—the only sign that this public humiliation was registering. My father, meanwhile, offered a half-hearted, performative sigh, already calculating how to smooth the social damage.

Not one of them moved. The familiar abandonment was a dull ache.

The Interrogation

“Don't you dare look at me like that!” my mother hissed, regaining some steam. “You were seen on a date! With a strange man! And you left your husband alone!”

“I was waiting for my husband,” I corrected, meeting her gaze, "for over an hour, due to a communication lapse. The gentleman, Julian Thomas, was merely keeping me company until my husband arrived.”

“And then you ran off with him!”

“I left with him to ensure Mr. Grayson's reputation remained unsullied,” I stated calmly, stepping slightly past my mother, moving into the center of the room. “As you know, Mother, it is much better for society to believe that my husband is cheating than to believe that my husband is so publicly disrespectful that he would stand up for his wife for hours at a high-profile restaurant. I acted to protect the Grayson name.”

The room subtly shifted. The Ho family members, initially smug, now looked confused. I had reframed the narrative. It wasn't about my infidelity; it was about Eddie's public disrespect and my sacrifice to save his corporate image.

Eddie's Move

The moment the weight of the lie settled—the lie that I had acted for him—Eddie finally moved.

He walked away from my father, his expensive shoes clicking softly on the polished floor. The journey across the room felt like an eternity. He stopped beside me, towering over my slight figure, his hand finding my shoulder. His touch was cold and firm.

“My wife is correct,” Eddie announced to the room, his voice deep and authoritative, addressing the silent audience, not me. “I apologize for keeping her waiting. My lack of attention to my schedule was poor, and she acted with her typical loyalty and sharp thinking to protect our partnership.”

He squeezed my shoulder lightly, but the gesture felt more like a warning.

“I promise you,” he continued, his green eyes sweeping over the Ho family, “Maggie will never have cause to feel abandoned or act independently to protect my interests again. I will ensure she is always attended to.”

He pulled me slightly against his side—a public display of marital unity and possessive correction. The tyrant was now the dutiful, wronged wife whose husband had publicly apologized.

I looked up at him. His face was a perfect mask of the penitent husband, but the heat of his anger—the real anger—was vibrating through the hand on my shoulder. I remove my shoulder from his hold.

“Oh, you’re such a great man, Eddie. Sorry you have to deal with her nonsense,” my mother gushed, finally smiling at only the people she respects in the room.

“It’s not an issue. Please, let’s all have our dinner,” Eddie replied with a professional, calming smile. My sister's husbands exchanged knowing, pitying looks with each other.

What kind of live drama is this? Such a pain in the ass.

I sighed. All this was making me want to take back my thought of letting them have the day for themselves.

Then I felt a hand settle gently on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up. It was Dennis, the third daughter’s husband. She was still on her phone, oblivious.

“Don’t bother yourself with her, she's fine,” Bethany immediately interjected, her cold eyes fixed on Dennis.

I looked pointedly at the hand on my shoulder.

He immediately removed it. “My mistake, I apologize,” Dennis said quickly, retreating.

“Aww, my son-in-laws are so gentle and kind! You all are like my real sons,” my mother proclaimed, soaking up the validation.

Of course you always wanted sons anyway, I thought, the familiar bitterness settling in.

“Don’t bother yourselves with her, enjoy yourselves,” my mother commanded.

After what felt like forever, my husband received a call and walked out of the room.

My mother took the opportunity. “You should be grateful for being born into the family, and you even get a bonus… your husband is indeed wonderful, but you refuse to see it.”

What did I do to the people?

Right now, I was at my limit. It was not a bad day to be disowned, I mused, allowing a small, cold smile to cross my face. But wait, they won’t disown me because of Eddie.

“If you all dislike me that much, how about you don’t invite me to your useless family gatherings anymore and just invite only your son-in-law, who you only see the fake part of him? All this is just worsening my day. Why don’t you use your brain for once in your sad lives?” That was what I was about to scream at these people.

Just as the venom was rising in my throat, Eddie returned.

“I’m very sorry to disappoint you all, but I have issues to deal with, so we will take our leave,” Eddie announced to the room, his expression now clipped and serious.

What does he mean by we? Anyway, my prayers were answered. I was getting to leave.

“Oh, no problem, dear, have a safe trip home,” my mother said, her words dripping with affection—but only for him. They wouldn’t even care if I someday died.

My father nodded a dismissal, and we left.