CHAPTER FOUR
1117 Words
Mila’s POV
I knew something was wrong the moment my mother asked me to sit.
Not asked, really, only told.
The dining room was too quiet, too polished, too intentional.
The chandelier glowed softly above us, casting light on the long table that had never felt like home no matter how expensive the wood was.
My father sat at the head, shoulders squared, fingers interlocked like he was about to negotiate a business deal instead of dismantling my life.
Emily sat to my right, scrolling through her phone, pretending not to care. She always pretended. That was her specialty.
“Mila,” my mother began, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “We’ve been discussing your future.”
My stomach tightened.
“My future?” I repeated carefully.
“Yes,” my father said, his voice calm and measured.
“You’re at an age where stability matters. Reputation matters. And now that our family has risen, we must be intentional.”
There it was, the word “family”. The word they always used when they wanted obedience disguised as concern.
“I’m stable,” I said. “I have my own plans.”
My mother smiled. It was thin and controlled. “Plans change.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Not mine.”
Emily finally looked up. Her lips twitched, like she was holding back a smile.
My father cleared his throat. “We’ve met someone. A very respectable man, wealthy and Influential. He comes from a strong family.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised even me. It came out sharp, almost hysterical, slicing through the room like broken glass.
“You’re joking,” I said.
No one laughed with me.
My mother’s eyes hardened. “This is not a joke, Mila.”
“You’re talking about marriage,” I said slowly. “You’re talking about my marriage.”
“Yes,” my father said. “And before you start being emotional”
“Emotional?” I shot to my feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You’re planning my life like a business merger and I’m the emotional one?”
Really???
“Mila,” my mother warned.
“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get to say my name like that, not now.”
My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing my lungs. I had been poor, I had been desperate, I had been humiliated and yet, nothing made me feel as powerless as this moment.
“This man,” my father continued, unfazed, “is interested in you. He admires your beauty, your background, your resilience
”
“My background?” I laughed again but bitter this time. “Which version did you tell him? The one where I starved? Or the one where I survived?”
Silence.
That was enough to answer.
“I am not marrying a rich man just because you like him,” I said, my voice shaking now. “I am not dating one either. I don’t care how much money he has or what doors he opens.”
My mother stood abruptly. “You’re being ungrateful.”
“No,” I said, turning to her. “I’m being honest.”
“After everything we’ve done for you?” she continued. “After the sacrifices”
“Stop,” I whispered. “Just stop.”
Emily rose slowly, folding her arms. “You’re being dramatic. This is how things work. You benefit, the family benefits. Everyone wins.”
I stared at her. “Everyone except me.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “You’ll live comfortably. You’ll be protected.”
Protected?
The word made my skin crawl and my brain furious.
“I don’t need protection,” I said. “I’ve survived worse than any marriage you can throw at me.”
My father stood now too. His voice dropped, dangerous in its calm. “You’re forgetting where you came from.”
“No,” I said, tears burning behind my eyes.
“I remember exactly where I came from. That’s why I won’t let you turn me into currency!”
My mother’s voice softened, which somehow hurt more. “This isn’t about control, Mila, It’s about security, about ensuring you never fall back into… that life.”
That life.
The one they never named, the one that haunted me in silence.
“You think money saved me?” I asked quietly. “You think wealth healed me?”
No one answered, the room echoed in silence.
“I won’t marry him,” I said firmly. “I won’t even meet him.”
My father slammed his hand on the table. The sound echoed, sharp and final.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Something inside me broke.
I stepped back, shaking, my vision blurring.
“Then what am I to you? A daughter? Or an investment?”
Emily scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I am not ridiculous,” I cried. “I am tired. I am tired of being owned. First by poverty, then by men.
And now by my own family.”
My mother’s face twisted with something like fear or maybe anger. It was hard to tell.
“You will do this,” my father said. “Or you will lose everything.”
The words hit me like a slap.
“Everything?” I whispered.
“The house, the money and the life you enjoy,” he said. “We didn’t raise you to throw it away.”
I straightened slowly, wiping my tears. My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts.
“You didn’t raise me,” I said. “I raised myself.”
Silence fell again, heavy, suffocating.
“I won’t marry him,” I repeated. “And if that means losing your money, your approval, your version of love then so be it.”
My mother gasped softly.
Emily’s eyes widened.
My father stared at me like he didn’t recognize me at all.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But at least it will be mine.”
I turned and walked out of the dining room before they could say another word. My legs felt weak, but I didn’t stop. Not when my mother called my name, not when my father shouted after me.
I locked myself in my room and slid down the door, sobbing into my hands.
I have wealth now, Comfort, Opportunity
and yet, I have never felt more alone.
But one thing was clear as my tears soaked into the carpet
I would not trade my freedom for gold,
Not again.
- Writer
