Her Hidden wish
1045 Words
Arthur hit the hallway after work; the mansion’s silence—heavy. He ditched his tie and stopped at Lucy’s door. He knocked. No response.
He nudged the door open. Lucy was buried in blankets, looking tiny—the same kid who used to shadow his every move. She’d gone to bed hours before the house had even settled, desperate to shut out the day. He stood in the doorway for a moment, then moved closer.
"Twenty years," he whispered to the dark. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, brushed her shoulder, then turned and retreated to his own room. Tomorrow was the big day. No routines.
July 16th.
The morning came too quickly, the sun hitting the curtains like a spotlight. Lucy jolted awake. Birthday.
A grin hit her face. At twenty, she wasn't thinking about diamonds or the soul-crushing gala her father would drag her to. She was thinking about Brian.
A sharp knock. Arthur strode in, clutching two chilled sodas. His face broke into a rare, unguarded grin.
"There she is," he said.
"Morning, Dad."
"That's all I get?" He faked offense. "On a day like today?"
She laughed, meeting his hug. It grounded her. He held her at arm’s length, scanning her with pride.
"You’re my sunshine, Lucy," he said, voice dropping, getting real. "The only light I had left after my wife."
Lucy’s smile flickered. The mention of her mom always cut deep.
"I promised her," Arthur said, eyes shifting to the window. "No remarriage. People thought I’d cave. But I didn't want my focus split. Every ounce of my life was for you."
The sincerity landed hard.
"You’re exactly the woman she would have worshipped," he said, pride radiating off him. "I built the empire, but you? You’re the real success."
Tears welled up. She buried her face in his shoulder. "Thank you, Dad. I love you."
"I love you too, Princess."
She clung to him, then whispered, "I still wish Mom were here."
Arthur wiped her cheek, his thumb rough but steady. "I know. Me too. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."
He snapped out of the mood, cracking open the tabs of the cans. Crackle-hiss. He handed one to her, and they clinked the aluminum together. The cold, sweet bubbles burned slightly as they took a slow, refreshing sip.
Arthur checked his watch, his business mode kicking back in. "To the day," he declared. "Time to grind. You with me, or are you lounging?"
"I’m coming," she promised.
He turned to the knob, then froze. "By the way... what happened yesterday? You were supposed to be on the flight with Julian."
Lucy’s heart raced. She gave a casual shrug. "I had a bad migraine. It was terrible, so I just slept it off."
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his protective guard up. "A migraine? Why didn't you call? I would’ve cleared your calendar—"
"I’m fine, Dad. Honestly." She gave him her best 'don't-worry' smile.
He searched her face, skeptical, but exhaled. "Fine. But promise me—next time you feel off, you tell me. No hiding."
"I promise."
"Good." He clapped his hands. "Get moving. We’re celebrating with the staff today, and tomorrow’s the gala at the New Haven. VIPs, associates, the works. Dress and act like the elite person I have groomed you to be, because the world is watching."
"Thanks, Dad!"
The door clicked shut. The smile died. Lucy sat on the edge of the bed, breath hitching. The office.
If she tagged along, she was under his microscope. No freedom. And worse, it would keep her from even catching a glimpse of Brian.
The name hit her like a shot of adrenaline. He was grounded, real, and totally oblivious to the fact that she even existed in his orbit. If Arthur ever saw how she looked at a man who wasn't a CEO-in-waiting, it would be a bloodbath. She imagined the interrogation—her father’s cold, analytical stare. The thought tightened her chest.
"No," she muttered, gripping the desk. "I can't go along with him. I will go later."
She needed time to center herself. At 8, Arthur returned, suited up, ready to dominate. He stopped cold, seeing her in PJs.
"Lucy?"
"I'm coming, Dad," she lied, grabbing a book and flipping it open. "But I need to finish this chapter. I'll meet you at the office by 10. Just need a minute to clear my head."
Arthur hovered, looking between her and the book. He valued her intellect. Finally, a sharp nod. "10 o'clock. Don't be late."
"I won't."
He left. The moment his car crunched over the gravel, she slammed the book shut.
What if he asks for a wish?
She stood at the mirror, reflection tense. If he asks what I really want—will I have the guts to say it? To say I want none of this gala, the power, or the high-society rot? She stared at the polish and the perfection Arthur demanded. It felt like a costume.
She fantasized about the moment: if he asked for her birthday wish, she would finally tell him she wanted the freedom to be with Brian—a man who had no idea he was the center of her obsessive world. But she immediately kicked against the idea, her stomach churning. He wouldn’t accept that rubbish. To him, Brian was nobody, a waste of her potential. She whispered the name to the empty room. "Brian."
It felt like a match in the dark. She had no clue if this path led to joy or fire, but as she stood there, caught between Arthur’s legacy and the man who’d stolen her heart, one thing was certain: she was done living a lie.
She moved with sharp, deliberate intent. She pulled her hair into a sleek, controlled knot that made her feel untouchable. She chose a simple, elegant dress—her armor. She checked the clock. 8:15 AM.
She had time. Every second until 10 was a tactical advantage. She walked to the window, watching the gates. She wasn't just Arthur's daughter anymore; she was a woman with a secret, and for the first time, that secret was her power. The countdown had begun. 10 o'clock couldn't come fast enough.
- Writer
