Trapped in the Billionaire love nest

Prologue

17th July 2019

Georgetown Texas

“You vile, wicked child," After a binge of alcohol, my father raged at me.

I was holding my bag, which contained everything I considered to be mine, as well as my bichon frise, Wena, who was perched on my right hand, as I stood at the top of the staircase and briefly studied his face.

"This is how you repay me for everything I've done for you?"

“What else have you done for me but maltreat me emotionally?”

"You dumb girl,"

He moved forward and attempted to hurl a bottle of Garrison Cousins my way, but he missed and fell down, landing face down on the stairway.

"Let's go, Wena"

I moved slowly across the inebriated log of wood.

"I have suffered, put up with your relentless abuse for too long, dad, and I'm at my breaking point. If only mom could see this mess, but you were already a mess before she passed away.”

I inhaled deeply.

"I recognize that you are no longer the father figure I once looked up to or the epitome of a devoted husband, and at times the rage is beyond comprehension. I don't know why, when, or how it happened, but I don't care to ever find out.I won't let you ask me to understand why you did what you did.I now get to make my own decision after you've made yours.”

My mother passed away from ovarian cancer two months ago; it had progressed to her pelvis and stomach.She maintained hiding the fact that my father's infidelity was only the cherry on top of a cake that was slowly killing her.

She was a stunning lady with glossy ebony skin and pearly white teeth. Her velvety lashes and ebony brown hair with curls accentuated her beautiful black eyes and tiny nose.I could always hear her soothing speech coming from her pouting lips whenever I closed my eyes.

Two years ago, I left The University of Texas at Dallas to care for her while my father roamed Houston spending money on his side lady. I've often pondered how a man like that ended up with my mother. But at least I'm appreciative of her beauty, and the only thing that even resembles my father that I have are his grey eyes.

The hardest part is that he was a fantastic father when he was young. He raised me well and has always loved me, but what was he teaching me by being a horrible husband to my mother? Should I permit a man to defraud me? He taught me that it is acceptable to allow a guy treat me disrespectfully, just like he did to my mother as she lay dying, and that is exactly what he did.

I am unable to go back in time and begin over, but I am confident that I am able to create a new conclusion, which begins right now. I left the house and immediately went to the garage, where I hoped he would quietly drink himself to death in the presence of his stash of rum, vodka, and gin. bringing his beloved 1955 Ford Thunderbird, which he cherished more than his child, the keys and the car papers. I sped up and zipped off to a new start while my hands trembled on the steering wheel and my heart raced.