Page 40 of Tangled Desires

I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, where Brenda stood, her eyes narrowing as she glanced up from her own phone.

“Making headlines now, are we?” Brenda’s voice dripped with disdain. “You think throwing yourself at a billionaire is going to solve all our problems?”

I clenched my jaw. “It’s not like that.”

She scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Right. You expect me to believe it was all for the community center?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, my hands shaking slightly. “But Cass and I—”

Brenda cut me off with a harsh laugh. “Save it for someone who cares.”

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. I had no allies in this house; it was just another burden to bear alone.

Throughout the day, whispers followed me like shadows. At the hotel, guests who once overlooked me now scrutinized every move I made, their gazes laden with questions and assumptions. Even at the community center, where I had poured so much of myself into every brick and mural, people looked at me differently.

In the safe haven of Melody’s art studio, I finally found a moment’s peace from prying eyes and pointed fingers.

“You can’t let them get to you,” Melody said as she swirled her paintbrush in vibrant colors.

“But they’re turning this into something it’s not.”

Melody paused, considering her canvas before meeting my gaze. “You know who you are and what happened between you and Cass. That’s all that matters.”

“I wish it were that simple.” The frustration bubbled up inside me. “I never wanted any of this attention.”

“You’ve got to take control of your story,” Melody insisted. “Don’t let them write it for you.”

Her words echoed in my mind long after I left her studio. She was right; I couldn’t let others dictate my narrative. But how could I reclaim my story when it felt like it was being torn from my grasp?

***

I crept into Dad’s room, the silence wrapping around me like a shroud. He was finally back home, but the doctor said he had to stay in bed. He lay there, so still, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. As I drew closer, his eyes fluttered open, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

“Dad,” I whispered, taking his hand in mine. The coolness of his skin sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mila,” he breathed out, his voice a mere wisp. “How’s my girl?”

I bit back the sob that threatened to escape. “I’m okay,” I lied, plastering on a smile as brittle as thin ice.

His gaze pierced through my façade. “Talk to me.”

I pulled up a chair and poured out everything—the kiss and the consequences.

“They’re saying things about Cass and me,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. “That he… he bought me with that grant.”

Dad’s hand tightened around mine. “And what do you say?”

“I haven’t said anything,” I admitted. “I’m scared it’ll just make things worse.”

He let out a long sigh. “Mila, you can’t control what others think or say.”

“But it’s not true!” I protested.

“Then let your actions speak for you.” His voice was firm but gentle. “Be courageous.”

I leaned in closer, drawn by his strength despite his frailty. “But how can I be brave when everything feels like it’s falling apart?”

He lifted our entwined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly. “By being true to yourself and those you love.”

---