The Prodigal Daughter Got Her Lick Back

Chapter One Amelia's POV The club's speakers hammered on, playing house music endlessly while I tried so hard not to cry. I was in the VIP presidential suite with a few girls who were swinging their waists to the sound of the beat and sipping their champagne softly from their tumblers. Among the girls was my best friend, Clara, who had invited her cousins to join the Friday fun. But there was nothing fun about this evening. It was one of the worst evenings of my life. Having received a one-time text from my fiancé of four years that he was no longer interested in our relationship, he blocked me immediately across all social media without waiting for my response. As if that wasn't enough, the internet exploded with the news of his proposal to Zara Lots, the president's niece, and his childhood sweetheart, whom he had sworn he hated because of a fallout. Four years of my life had gone to betrayal. Had I known Pascal wouldn't marry me, I would have ended the relationship long before he even thought of doing so. He was nothing but a man interested only in s*x, partying, and reckless spending, and he avoided long-term commitment discussions like the plague. “What did I do?” I asked heartbrokenly and buried my face in my hands. “What did I do? I did nothing but love you, Pascal. I did nothing but love you.” The music grew louder at that moment, and the speakers were deafening, making me feel even worse. “I gave you my heart. I gave you my affection without restraint. I adored you, Pascal. I respected you, only for you to turn around and stab me in the back.” The tears finally dropped, and I broke into uncontrollable sobs. I remembered the first day I met Pascal. He was in a café in New York. The Manhattan sun shone brightly against his pale skin, and he looked lost in thought. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was handsome, fit, and looked like an Arab prince. I had just graduated from the university and was in New York to attend the summer fashion week on an invitation from my fashion designer aunt, Macbeth. For some reason, we locked eyes as soon as I got into the café. The stare he gave me wasn't a regular stare. He seemed mesmerized at our first meeting and kept stealing glances at me while I awaited my order. I stole glances at him too, and each time I did, he looked back, making every encounter more awkward than the last. A couple of minutes later, my order arrived in a large, wrapped brown envelope, and it was time for me to pay. To my surprise, I was told that it had already been cleared by him. Adding to my surprise was discovering that he owned the café after I walked up to him to thank him. We exchanged contacts that same day. That night, we met at an exclusive hotel bar in the heart of Manhattan. The conversation was beautiful. I got drunk, one thing led to another, and we left for his hotel room. The next morning, I woke up tired and violated. I didn't ask what happened because that was exactly what I wanted: to sleep with him and perhaps, after that first encounter, part ways. But that was far from what happened. The relationship strengthened after a few more dates, and each of those dates came with a one-night stand. I didn't do anything. I thought it was meaningless to speak my mind and set boundaries. I thought it was love. For four years, we carried on like that. He never once showed any signs of infidelity or anything related to being uninterested in our relationship. The only mistake I made was ignoring his bittersweet talks about Zara Lots, his ex-girlfriend and childhood sweetheart, which left me feeling uncertain about where we stood. Unknown to me, he had been in a serious secret relationship with her all along and had been in an open relationship with me only for the fun of it. I felt a tap on my shoulder, sending me back into reality. “Girl, you are in the club crying out loud. Stand up and swing those hips of yours,” Clara said, wearing a frown upon her perfectly made-up face. I ignored her and kept sobbing. She grunted and sat beside me, watching as I sobbed. She warned me about him, but I was adamant. I would pick fights with her anytime she asked me to end the relationship, and sometimes we would even stop speaking for days, sometimes close to a week. Now he's gone, and I'm here with no one else but her. “You can keep on crying for eternity, Amelia,” she said finally. “What's gone is gone. Pascal is gone. Forget him and move on.” I looked up. “But I loved him. I truly did.” She sighed weakly. “So what are you going to do now that he's engaged to the president's niece and put a ring on her finger?” My face tightened with bitterness, and she noticed. “What do you suggest I do?” “Girl, be for real.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You are the most influential heiress in the whole of America, and you are still asking me what to do after that ‘cheat’ called Pascal abused your love for him.” I hadn't felt this useless in my life. She continued calmly. “He's probably having the best time of his life with the heavyweights of the country and doesn't even think of you. So, it's either you get up, grab your glass, and join the dancing ladies, or you wallow in pity that's not going to yield any results.” Her words knocked some sense into my brain, and I slowly began to wipe my tears. “Yes,” she commended proudly. “Wipe them off entirely. That stupid f**k, Pascal, doesn't deserve your tears.” “Thank you, Clara. I didn't know what I would have done without you,” I muttered, forcing a smile after drying my tears. She simply nodded and helped me up. I thought we were about to head to the dance floor, but she stopped. “Now that we've tackled the smaller issue, I think you have to face the bigger one alone.” My eyes widened. “What bigger issue?” She pointed to the crowd. My eyes followed. Then she said, “Did you see that guy in a blue jean jacket and red inner polo?” I squinted my eyes carefully. The guy looked striking. Even from quite a distance, I could see his ripped chest and edgy facial structure. He looked intimidating, and the aura surrounding him was mysterious. “Yes, I do. What about him?” I was confused. “He's been dying to speak to you, and I think now is the perfect opportunity for that,” she replied in a soft tone. “Clara!” I exclaimed. “I'm serious,” she persisted. “Look at him again.” I did, and we locked eyes. Before I could look away, he smiled at me and waved. I tried to return the wave, but my hands were shaky. Slowly, he began to walk towards me. My chest heaved as I breathed deeply, and I turned to Clara for help, but she was gone alongside her cousins. Was this her plan all along? To hook me up with a stranger and disappear? I grabbed my bag immediately and sipped a bit from my glass. Hurry, Amelia. Hurry, he's drawing close. Then I remembered I wasn't with my phone. I looked inside my handbag, but it wasn't there. I searched on the chair, but it wasn't there. I looked at the table, but it still wasn't there. It was then that I realized what Clara was up to. Barely turning a step, I bumped into something. I looked up. No. This can't be happening.