Chapter 14 - The Price of Pride
Paulina flinched as if I had struck her across the face. She crawled forward on her hands and knees across the rug, reaching out a trembling hand toward my desk.
“We were wrong, Mara! We were arrogant, blind fools!” Paulina sobbed hysterically. “Mom is broken. She sits in that tiny kitchen all day staring at the wall, talking to herself. She realizes what she threw away. She realizes that you were the only one who truly loved her, and we treated you like an animal.”
“Love?” I repeated, standing up so sharply my chair rolled back against the wood paneling. “Don't talk to me about love, Paulina. You never knew what the word meant. To you and Mother, love was just a ledger entry. It was about who had the right politicians at their dinner party, who wore the right pearls, and who could step on everyone else to climb higher up the social ladder.”
I walked around the desk and stopped a few feet away from her, looking down with absolute detachment.
“You want my help?” I asked quietly.
Paulina nodded frantically, her face streaming with tears. “Yes! Anything, Mara! Money, lawyers, a place to stay—anything!”
“Here is my answer,” I said, my voice cutting through the silent room like a razor. “No.”
Paulina’s jaw dropped. A strangled gasp escaped her throat. “Mara... no? You can’t mean that! We’re your family!”
“Family?” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Where was your family spirit when you watched our mother grab my little girl by the hair? Where was your family loyalty when you demanded two million pesos while laughing in our faces? You made your bed, Paulina. Now go lie in it.”
Andrés stepped forward, opening the heavy double doors of the salon. Two private security guards appeared in the hallway, their faces expressionless.
“Escort her off the property,” Andrés commanded quietly.
May you like
Paulina shrieked, kicking and thrashing as the guards lifted her up by her arms, dragging her backward across the polished floor while she screamed my name in a frenzy of absolute despair.
The heavy oak doors closed with a dull, final thud.
