Six
1023 Words
Omarion
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
I knew it the moment it happened. Not because it felt good, but because it crossed a line I do not cross.
I brace my hands on the balcony railing and stay there until my pulse slows. The night air does nothing for it. Neither does pretending this was a lapse instead of a decision.
I hired Lisa for Zara. That was the purpose. Anything beyond that puts everything at risk. Knowing better and stopping are not the same thing, but the difference does not matter. The damage is done either way.
I do not want her because she is attractive. Attractive women have always existed around me. They have never required effort or loss of control. This is not that.
She made Zara smile. I saw my daughter respond in a way she has not in months.
Zara has been hollow since her mother died. That is the only word that fits. Therapy helped her function, not live. Lisa reached her without credentials or training, without strategy. She did it by being present.
That should be enough for me.
Instead, I kissed her.
My phone vibrates. My assistant reminds me of the Christmas party timeline, the investor dinner, the staff event after. I confirm everything automatically. Two events, two speeches, two performances. I will deliver all of it without missing a step.
I have done this for years. I say what people expect. I control rooms. I make decisions while appearing calm. It is what I was raised to do.
I leave the library and head downstairs.
The wall is wrong.
I stop when I see it. The space where Eliana’s portrait hung is empty, replaced by abstract art that means nothing.
I already know who did this.
“What the f**k is that?” I ask, moving toward the stairs.
My mother lifts a brow. “Language. And what are you referring to?”
“You know exactly what,” I say. “Where is my wife’s portrait?”
“Oh, that,” she replies. “It’s in storage. It was time for a change.”
She smooths her skirt. “Beatrice is arriving soon. Having Eliana’s face in the foyer would be uncomfortable. She is her cousin.”
“You had no right,” I snap. “This is my house.”
“This was my father’s house,” she corrects. “It was passed to you. That does not erase my voice.”
She meets my gaze. “Eliana has been gone for a year. You cannot keep her on the wall like a shrine when you are meant to move forward.”
“I never invited Beatrice,” I say. “I do not want her here.”
She shakes her head. “Your birthday is in four months. Married by thirty, or your control diminishes. The terms are very clear. You have to marry from the Sutton family.”
Here it is.
“I don’t know why you pretend Beatrice was not always the better choice,” she continues. “Eliana was a mistake. A detour.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say.
“I’m being factual,” she replies. “You were warned. You insisted. Now you have a dead wife and a damaged child.”
My hands close into fists. Violence would change nothing.
“Put the portrait back,” I say. “Before I return.”
“I will not,” she says. “You are being childish.”
“Don't test me, mother.”
My father shifts nearby. “Perhaps we should pause,” he offers.
“This does not involve you,” my mother snaps. “He is my son.”
My father withdraws, as he always does. I don't stop him.
“Put it back,” I say once more, then walk away.
Zara’s room is quiet. Patricia is clearing dishes when I enter. She smiles too quickly.
“Mr. Montgomery. Zara ate everything today. No resistance.”
“Where is she?”
“In the garden. I wanted to discuss her progress. I’m not sure the extra help is necessary.”
She moves toward the door as Zara appears in the hall.
Patricia reaches out. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Zara freezes.
“Come on,” Patricia says.
Zara jerks back hard enough to hit the wall. She knocks the juice cup off the table without looking at it.
“Zara,” Patricia says. “That wasn’t appropriate.”
“I don’t want you,” Zara says. “I want Lisa.”
Patricia stares at me, stunned. “I have never been rejected like this.”
“Did I dismiss you?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then compose yourself.”
Her voice sharpens. “I care about her. That’s why this is difficult. The new girl ignores protocol and Zara favors her anyway. It doesn’t add up.”
“I hired Lisa for a reason,” I say. “You still have your position.”
“For now,” she says.
I do not answer.
I turn to Zara. ““Do you want to go for a walk?”
She nods.
We move through the garden at her pace. She stops often. I do not rush her.
“Lisa seems nice,” I say.
Zara nods.
“Why do you like her?”
“She’s kind,” she says. “She doesn’t push.”
“Don’t make her leave, Papa,” she says softly.
I should not promise.
“I promise,” I say.
She looks up. “For Christmas too?”
“Yes.”
She takes a few steps, then stops. “She reminds me of Mama.”
I do not respond. Zara walks on.
Like Eliana, Lisa comes from a world far removed from ours, a world shaped by struggle. Eliana may have been Beatrice’s cousin and a Sutton by blood, but she was raised an orphan, brought into the family as charity.
Perhaps Zara and I are drawn to people like that. I don’t know if that’s a flaw or a pattern.
It cost Eliana her life.
- Writer
