The Heir No One Must Know

Chapter 2: Makeover

Sam and I ended up crashing at her place after the corny, dramatic scene that had unfolded in my apartment.

The whole night had turned into a blur of arguments and laughter, but one thing was clear—I needed a change of scenery.

She lived in one of those sleek, upscale condominiums in the heart of NYC, the kind of building with floor-to-ceiling windows and views that made you feel like you were on top of the world.

Sam had always been wealthy, living a life most could only dream of. Her parents were both highly successful lawyers, well-known throughout the city for their razor-sharp legal minds and impeccable track records.

They had a reputation for winning every case they touched, which meant Sam had grown up with money, privilege, and a sense of confidence that matched her high-maintenance lifestyle.

Ever since we were kids, Sam never really bragged about her wealth. She wasn't the type to flaunt it—no flashy shows or "look at me" moments.

Instead, she'd quietly hand me some of her dolls or toys whenever she got bored with them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Steven, her older brother, would do the same with my brothers, Clyde and Phineas, offering them things he'd outgrown or lost interest in. (The urge to change Clyde's name to Ferb ;v;)

It was always the same—gifts that weren't really gifts, just stuff they didn't want anymore, casually handed over like it meant nothing. It wasn't about generosity; it was more about the excess, the endless stream of things that they barely noticed.

My childhood was a lot different from Sam's. I grew up in an average home with just my mom and older brothers—no father in the picture.

Well, he was there for a while, but only in fleeting moments, like some kind of ghost who drifted in and out of our lives.

My parents divorced when I was around eight, and it wasn't easy. Growing up in a broken family made me feel like an outsider, especially at school.

I'd watch my classmates with their whole families at school events, and a sharp pang of jealousy would hit me.

Sometimes, I couldn't help but wish things had turned out differently—wish we were like them, with two parents who cared and a family that felt complete.

After the divorce, my dad left with his mistress, abandoning us at the worst possible time. It was just me and my older brothers left to pick up the pieces, taking care of our sick mother while trying to figure out what life even looked like without him.

He never came back. Since then, I haven't heard from him or seen him. And to this day, I still carry a mix of grief and anger towards him. How could he just walk away from us like that, without a second thought?

That's why I'm so incredibly grateful for Sam and her parents. They gave us a kind of support that I didn't even know we needed.

Her dad became a father figure to us, someone who showed us what a real father looked like, and her mom became a second mother, always there with a kind word or a warm meal. They helped us more than I could ever truly express.

Because of them, life didn't feel quite so impossible. My mom got the treatment she needed, and my brothers and I all graduated. Now, here we are—still standing, stronger because of it.

I sat on Sam's beanbag in her room, watching her sift through the endless racks of clothes in her closet. It was like a walk-in boutique in there. (Well maybe because Sam owns a boutique, Brielle)

She had everything—designer outfits, trendy pieces, clothes I could never dream of affording.

"Oh! I think this will look great on you," Sam exclaimed, holding up a maroon dress with an enthusiastic grin.

The dress had thin straps, an open back, and stopped just above the mid-thigh, exposing just enough skin to make it obvious that it wasn't exactly my style.

I stared at it for a moment, turning it around in my hands. It looked nice, sure, but would it actually look good on me? More importantly, would it be comfortable? I couldn't help but cringe slightly at the thought.

"Yeah, the dress looks nice, but it's too—"

"—revealing, I know," Sam cut me off with a dramatic eye roll. "Ugh, Brielle, you're such a buzzkill. Just stop being picky for once! You need to live a little!"

I raised an eyebrow at her, feeling a little defensive. "I'm not being picky, Sam, I'm just—"

"—just overthinking everything. You've been like this forever." She threw up her hands in mock frustration before tossing the dress toward me. "Go try it on already! You've got plenty of time to complain, but I'm trying to find something for me now."

I caught the dress effortlessly, groaning with frustration.

"Fine, fine, I'll try it on, but don't expect me to suddenly love it." I grumble, saluting her dramatically before marching toward the bathroom.

Sam snorted, turning her attention back to her closet as she muttered, "You're such a handful, Bri. You'll look great, trust me."

"That's what you said last time," I grumbled under my breath, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

"Exactly! And look how that turned out." Her voice drifted from the other room. "You're just overthinking. You'll walk out of there, and every guy in that club will be eyeing you."

I rolled my eyes, pulling the dress over my head. "Yeah, sure. I'm not trying to get guys to eye me, Sam. I just don't like drawing attention to myself."

"Brielle, you're beautiful, and you need to stop hiding it," she called back, almost as if she were reading my mind.

I stood in front of the mirror, examining myself. The dress wasn't as bad as I thought, but it still felt like a stretch from my usual style.

"You've got a point," I muttered, more to myself than to Sam. "But I'm not about to turn into someone I'm not just because of a dress."

"I'm not asking you to change, just to have a little fun." Sam's voice came from the other side of the door. "You deserve a night to let loose. Just trust me, okay?"

I sighed, adjusting the straps on the dress. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But you're buying me pizza afterward for all this trouble."

There was a pause before Sam burst into laughter. "Deal! Now hurry up, I can't wait to see you in it!"

I let out a small chuckle before my gaze fell back to the mirror. The dress fit surprisingly well, and I couldn't help but admit it—

It looked good on me.

The fabric hugged my body like a glove—tight, yet somehow breathable, with just enough stretch to let me move comfortably.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, a hint of amusement crossing my face. How was it that clothes like this, which I usually avoided, actually suited me?

The dress stopped just above my thighs, leaving my legs bare for the first time in months. I'd been living in jeans and sweatpants for so long, it felt almost freeing to have a little more skin exposed.

Turning around to get a better look at the back, my gaze drifted downward. The back of the dress was wide open, revealing more skin than I was used to.

The faint brown birthmark on my lower back, one I'd always kept hidden, was now clearly visible in the mirror.

For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel uncomfortable about it. Instead, I found myself liking the look of it more than I'd expected. It wasn't perfect, but it was mine—and somehow, that made me feel a little more confident than I'd anticipated.

I let out a small sigh before making my way back to Sam's room, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. I wasn't used to wearing something like this, but it was kind of fun.

"Oh, good, you're back. Now let me see—" Sam's voice trailed off when her eyes landed on me. She froze for a moment, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

I struck a playful pose, wiggling my brows at her. "Hey, baby," I teased, throwing a wink her way.

Sam's jaw dropped as her eyes roamed up and down. "Madre Mía, you look delicious." She said it with such awe that I had to bite back a grin.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up. "Oh please, you're making it sound like I'm about to start a whole new career."

"No, seriously," Sam said, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she stepped closer to examine the fit. "You look amazing. I knew you'd rock it. I told you, just let go a little, and boom, this is you."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling both flattered and uncomfortable at the same time. "I still don't get why I'm doing this, but if I look this good, maybe it's not the worst idea," I admitted with a sheepish grin.

Sam gave me a playful shove. "You're not backing out now, girl. Look at yourself—you're about to turn heads tonight."

I sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, let's just get this over with before I change my mind."

"Okay okay, now, let's do your makeup!"

I cringed at the thought of wearing makeup. It's not that I dislike it, but Sam has a habit of going all out with heavy makeup, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I prefer a more natural look—just some powder, concealer, gloss, and I'm done.

"Okay, but promise me you won't go heavy on my makeup this time. I don't want to feel like a clown, like last time you did my face."

"Harhar, whatever. I promise I won't go heavy on your makeup. Now sit down, babe, I'm about to turn you into Angelina Jolie."

I playfully rolled my eyes at her as I sat in the chair by her dresser. Sam grabbed her makeup brushes, opening her drawers to pull out eyeshadow palettes, foundation, blush, and a few other things. (Pray for Brielle, y'all.)

She started by dabbing a small amount of foundation onto my face, then moved on to concealer, carefully covering up some of my blemishes.

Sam graduated from fashion school a few years ago, and during her time there, I was her go-to model to practice her makeup skills on. Over the years, she's gotten really good at it, thanks to her dedication and constant practice.

Now, she owns her own boutique called "Samantha's Paradise." It's a one-stop shop for everything—makeup, fashionable clothes, hair accessories, and even customized sunglasses.

As for me, I'm an English Literature graduate. I've been working at a middle school for about two years now, teaching kids how to write, craft essays, improve their English, and avoid common grammar mistakes.

Being a teacher is tough, but I like kids, so it's not a big deal. I genuinely enjoy my work, and that's what matters to me.

Once Sam was finished, she clapped her hands and turned the chair so I could face the mirror.

"So? What do you think?" Sam asked, her hands resting proudly on my shoulders as she beamed at her work, her smile practically glowing with satisfaction.

It wasn't so bad—actually, it was better than I expected. The eyeshadow she applied was a warm, earthy brown, perfectly complementing my skin tone.

The darker pigment hugged my eyelids, creating a soft, smoky effect that gradually lightened as it blended seamlessly into my crease. The gradient was subtle but elegant, giving my eyes a natural depth and allure.

She had also lined my eyes with a fine sweep of eyeliner, elongating them just enough to create a delicate, winged effect that felt understated yet striking.

A few strokes of mascara added length and volume to my lashes, making my eyes appear larger and more expressive.

My cheeks carried a gentle flush of peachy blush, adding a hint of warmth to my complexion, while a soft, luminous highlighter dusted across my cheekbones caught the light every time I moved.

My lips were painted with a nude shade, enhanced with a subtle gloss that gave them a plump, dewy finish.

She had given me one of those glamorous Latina-inspired looks I'd seen online—bold yet refined. It wasn't heavy or overdone, but perfectly balanced, fitting my comfort and personal style.

"Wow. Sammy, you finally did it. I like it," I said, grinning at her reflection in the mirror. My fingers lightly traced the edge of my jaw as I admired her work, feeling more confident than I had in a long time.

"I'm glad you like it. Honestly, I'm relieved," she replied with a playful grin, her tone teasing but genuine. "You never really like the makeup styles I try on you." She let out a dramatic sigh of satisfaction, her eyes sparkling with triumph.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Well, this one's different. It's perfect."

Sammy gave me a quick wink before turning away and strolling to her bed. She picked up the silver dress she'd chosen for herself, the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the room's light. Draping it over her arm, she glanced back at me with a smug smile. "Told you I'd nail it this time."

And she really had.

I let out a small chuckle, my lips curling into a soft smile, before turning my gaze back to the mirror. Well, I've been boring for the past few months, now it's time to stand up and party.