The Daughter In the Corner

Second Fiddle

“Mr. Sinclair is still pursuing Ms. Farley despite her blatant refusal. They had lunch together today when he dropped off samples at her workplace. It didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary other than a business lunch. Do you want us to continue to monitor Ms. Farley?” his capable secretary droned, summarizing the report on his tablet.

Nathan hummed in acknowledgment as he continued to paint. His long fingers gracefully welded the palette knife across the canvas.

“Keep her safe from a distance; powerful men tend to go to extremes when they are spurned. If push comes to shove, use force.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied instinctively but paused. “How much force are we allowed to use?”

Nathan turned and smirked at his secretary. “Cut a limb. It’s a good warning to the adulterers for touching what is not theirs.”

“Noted.” The secretary shuddered and bowed his head to hide his shaking eyes. Nathan is an alluring man until he shows his sinister side; then his face twists beyond recognition like a demon clawing through human skin.

“Anything else?” Nathan asked quietly, ignoring his secretary’s unease.

“No, sir.”

“Very well. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

Nathan continued to paint despite his emotional turmoil. His painting soon morphed into a dark mass of oil splatters like a tsunami smashing against the coast in the middle of the night. Finally unable to control himself, he stabbed the palette knife into the heart of his canvas and ripped it down through the frame. His solid form heaved up and down with each ragged breath and his red eyes shone with malice and loathing.

‘Since you dared to covet my beloved wife, let me show you why men tremble at my name.’

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling himself together. His emotionless eyes took in his creation, and he hummed in appreciation. The vivid chaos and destruction were eerily beautiful.

“Too bad, that was my favorite palette knife,” he sighed.

He was never one to cling to things, even if they were once his treasures.

***

Come Saturday, Amara was like a bulldozer trying to get everything done within the shortest span of time. She wanted to be home in case the Sinclairs arrived early.

“Would it be weird if I got Mrs. Sinclair a present? But I haven’t seen her in years, and I used to go to her house all the time,” she mumbled.

Raising her two cold hands to her cheeks she blew a raspberry in frustration. She looked down at her arms laden with shopping bags and pursed her lips.

‘Perhaps I’m going overboard.’

“Amara, is that you?”

Amara sighed and turned around to face the speaker. “Fancy running into you here, Dillon.”

Dillon practically radiated with joy as he walked up to Amara. Looking down at her bags curiously he asked, “Whatcha doing?”

“Shopping,” she replied and turned to walk to her car.

Dillon pursed his lip but didn’t falter at her cold response. Even though he had longer legs, he changed his pace to match hers and followed behind her quietly.

After a while, Amara grew frustrated and whirled on the lost puppy of a man. “Why are you following me?”

Dillon looked down at his feet. “I’m… not…”

Amara sighed. “Look, I know you feel bad for treating me the way you did in the past but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive you or be your friend now. Frankly, I don’t have the time so save yourself the trouble and just go away.”

Dillon frowned at her harsh rebuke; his facial expression was glacial. “Hey, that’s a little harsh don’t you think?”

Amara rolled her eyes. “Opposed to what? Sugar-coating it and then lulling you into a false sense of hope? Don’t you think the latter is crueler? I like to tell things straight. I don’t know why you keep following me, or trying to befriend me but I want you to stop. I already have someone I like, and I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.”

“Is it Hunter?” Dillon gritted.

Amara looked shocked. “What? NO!”

Dillon drew back his head, shocked by her abrupt refusal. “If it’s not Hunter… who is it?”

“Why do you care?” Amara looked down at her watch. “Damn it! I’m running late. I don’t have time to waste.” Without a word of goodbye, she hurried off.

Dillon stood like a statue, watching her retreating form. His lips drew to a thin line as he considered his next course of action.

***

Amara nearly jumped with joy when she noticed a red Ferrari parked out front and thought that maybe one of the guests had arrived early. The moment she opened the door, she was greeted with the sounds of talking and laughter.

Amara, still holding her shopping bags, trotted into the living room where she was greeted by the picturesque scene of a happy family. Her mother and father were talking to Jenny. Amara froze at the doorway.

“Amara? Welcome home, baby. Come, sit down and chat a little.” Amanda stood up and wrapped her arms around the shocked Amara pulling her into the room.

Jenny smiled softly at Amara. “Hello, Amara.”

The corner of Amara’s lip twitched as she replied softly, “Hello, Jenny.”

Dustin smiled at both of his beautiful and capable daughters. “Oh, Amara, I forgot to mention I had invited Jenny over for dinner. She wanted to hang out today, but I didn’t have the time to do something separately. I hope you don’t mind.”

Amara’s fists clenched involuntarily. Her mind was screaming: ‘You did what?!' But she knew better than to openly confront her father on a decision he had already made. There was nothing she could do but accept it at this point.

“It’s okay. I have to go upstairs to freshen up and change before our guests arrive. Why don’t you two talk and catch up.”

Dustin nodded. “Of course. See you in a bit.”

Amara turned and walked out of the room until she was out of sight. Shooting a look over her shoulder to confirm she was alone; she made a mad dash to her room. Her heart was pounding.

‘Why is Jenny here? Couldn’t she just reschedule for a different week?’

Jenny was dressed in a stunning black cocktail dress. If looks could kill, she would be a mass murderer.

“Why does she always have to one-up me on everything?” Amara grumbled.

Dropping her shopping bags on the floor of her room, she ran to take a shower. She needed every spare second to find a better dress than the one she chose last night or else she would always play second fiddle to her beautiful sister.