A ONE NIGHT STAND

Chapter 2- Pretense. Emma

As I stood in my room, surrounded by the eerie silence of the mansion, I struggled to unpack my luggage, my hands trembling with the weight of my stepmother's impending wrath.

The memories of my recent trip, a desperate attempt to escape Amelia's cruelty, still lingered in my mind like a fading dream. But the sound of footsteps outside my door shattered the illusion, and I knew I was back to reality.

The door creaked open, and Mary, the timid maid, entered with a tray of food, her eyes cast down submissively, her movements hesitant, as if she was walking on eggshells. But before she could reach me, Amelia's voice boomed from the hallway, like a thunderclap on a stormy night.

"You, come over here!" she barked, her tone dripping with malice, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

Mary hesitated, her eyes flicking to me with a sympathetic glance, before she replied, "You mean me, ma'am?" Her voice was barely audible, a mere whisper in the face of Amelia's fury.

Amelia's face twisted in irritation, her eyes flashing with anger, her lips curling into a snarl.

"No, your poverty mindset, come over here now!" she spat, her words laced with venom.

Mary's eyes dropped, and she moved slowly towards Amelia, her shoulders slumped in defeat, her feet dragging across the floor like a prisoner marching to her execution.

"Whose food is this?" Amelia demanded, her voice rising, her hand extended, her fingers drumming impatiently on her thigh.

Mary's voice trembled as she replied, "It's for your daughter, ma'am." But the words seemed to stick in her throat, like a confession torn from her lips.

But instead of acknowledging me, Amelia's hand shot out, delivering a harsh slap to Mary's face, the sound echoing through the room like a crack of thunder.

The maid stumbled, almost dropping the tray, but managed to regain her balance, her eyes welling up with tears, her face etched with pain and humiliation.

"Don't you ever in your wretched life call that petty, ugly, and stupid girl my child," Amelia spat, her eyes blazing with contempt, her words dripping with venom. "She's not my child, but rather your caliber. Get out of my sight!"

Mary bowed her head, her face etched with pain and humiliation, and backed away slowly, her eyes fixed on the floor, before turning to flee, her footsteps echoing through the hallway like a death knell.

I felt a surge of anger and shame, my heart heavy with the weight of my stepmother's cruelty, the silence in the room suffocating me, like a shroud of despair.

Before Mary left, Amelia demanded the food from her, which Mary handed over before walking away. I heard approaching footsteps and wondered if it was Amelia or the maid returning. But then, Amelia burst into the room, her face twisted in a snarl.

"Unpacking your old-fashioned and dirty clothes, right?" she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. "You're so lazy, Emma. You'd rather sit around here than help out around the house."

I remained silent, not in the mood to engage with her.

"I brought your food," she said, her eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. "You'll need strength for the impending journey you're going to have in this house."

I remained quiet, my eyes fixed on her features, her expression a mask of cruelty.

She walked slowly towards me, her hands holding the tray, and I reached out to take it from her. But in a swift motion, she dropped the food on the floor, shattering the glass and spilling hot food all over my leg. I screamed in pain as the glass broke and my leg began bleeding.

"Ah!" I cried out, clutching my leg in agony.

The sound of shattering glass and my cry of pain echoed through the room, and suddenly, my dad and stepsister Brittany rushed in, concern etched on their faces.

"Emma!" my dad exclaimed, rushing to my side. "What happened here?" He looked at Amelia, his expression stern, demanding an explanation.

I saw the calculating look on Amelia's face, her eyes gleaming with a malevolent intensity.

"I slipped and...ouch," I whimpered, enduring the pain, my leg throbbing in agony.

"Say no more, come with me," my dad said, helping me up. "You need to be treated immediately, or it will leave a bruise." I protested, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but my dad insisted.

"Dad, it's not that severe. It's just a minor cut. There's no need going to the hospital for something like this," I said, enduring the pain.

"Honey, Emma is right," Amelia said, her voice sweet but insincere. "She should be fine. We don't have to bother so much about it, am I right, Emma?" She asked, her eyes gleaming with a false concern.

I looked at her, disgusted by her pretence, her words dripping with hypocrisy.

"Fine, but Emma, you are coming to my room. I would treat it. It's something I can do," my dad said, his voice firm.

Amelia objected, her face darkening with anger.

"What!!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. But then, she quickly changed her tone, her voice sugary sweet. "That came out wrong, I'm sorry."

Brittany, my stepsister, surprisingly suggested helping my dad treat my wound, and I wondered if she was genuine or just playing along with her mom's games.

"Dad, please let's take Emma to your room. She needs to be treated immediately. I would help you," she said, her voice soft and concerned.

I looked at her, surprised by her sudden show of concern. She's also going to pretend like her mom, I thought, and sneered in my mind.

Brittany approached me with a feigned concern, her eyes gleaming with a hint of insincerity. She supported me as we walked to my dad's room, her touch a little too tight.

I could feel the tension between her and Amelia, like an ignited fire burning beneath the surface, as Amelia stared at her with a mixture of anger and disbelief. But Brittany gave her a sly look, as if she was enjoying the subtle power play.

As we entered my dad's room, they helped me sit down on the bed, and Brittany asked, her voice laced with pretentious concern, "Do you need anything else, Emma? Maybe some water or a blanket?" Her words sounded hollow, and I wondered if she was genuinely concerned or just playing a role.

My dad thanked her for her help, and she nodded, her smile a little too wide. But before she left, she came over to me, holding my hands affectionately, her touch a little too tight.

"Emma, sorry about this. If you need anything from me, don't hesitate to tell me. We are sisters now, and I would really want to know a lot about you and your dead mom." Her words sent a chill down my spine, and I felt a lump form in my throat.

I was taken aback by her last sentence, and I wanted to retort, to tell her that she had no right to mention my mom, but I kept quiet. Tears almost welled up in my eyes, and I bit my lip to hold them back. My dad, oblivious to the tension, stood up to get the necessary things to treat my wound.

As he applied the ointment gently on my injured leg, he asked, "How are you feeling now, sweetie?"

I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, "I'm fine, Dad." He offered to get me another meal, but I protested, not wanting to be a burden. However, he insisted, his eyes filled with a genuine concern that made me feel a little better.

"I'll be back soon, okay?" he said, his voice soft and reassuring. I nodded, feeling a small sense of comfort in his presence. As he left the room, I couldn't help but wonder if Brittany's words were a genuine attempt at connection or just a ploy to manipulate me. Either way, I was trapped in this toxic household, and it seemed like no one was truly on my side.

My dad went into the kitchen and prepared a generous portion of food for me. As he carried the tray, Amelia approached him, her eyes fixed on the food.

"Who's this for?" she asked, her tone laced with pretentious concern.

"It's for Emma," my dad replied, his voice firm.

Amelia's face contorted in a mixture of shock and disgust, but she quickly masked it with a saccharine smile.

"She deserves to eat, she hasn't had anything since she arrived... and I know I came across as a bit rude when I first saw her, because she's your illegitimate child, honey," she said, her voice dripping with insincerity.

My dad's eyes narrowed, his anger simmering.

"My child, not illegitimate child, Amelia," he corrected her, his voice firm but controlled.

Amelia's smile faltered for a moment before she recovered.

"Sorry about that. I just want you to know that I'll always be there for her and treat her equally, just like Brittany. She's my child now too," she said, her voice sugary sweet.

My dad's gaze softened slightly, his anger dissipating.

"Thank you, Amelia," he said, his voice sincere, before turning to head back to his room, tray in hand, to bring me the food.