To be loved right

In a dimly lit room, Michelle sat motionless on the edge of her bed, her gaze distant and unfocused. Her breathing was so shallow she could have been mistaken for a lifeless person. Memories of her past relationship with Greyson flooded back like a recurring nightmare, the raw pain still lingering, a physical weight in her chest.

Michelle bit down hard on her pale lips, fighting a physical reaction as images of their time together rushed back. Her body began shaking violently as she tried to suppress the heartbreaking scream that threatened to tear itself from her throat.

Why would love be so cruel to her? Why would Greyson leave her just like that? And why couldn't he love her the way she had loved him? The relentless questions swirled in her mind, with no one to answer them. Michelle's fists clenched tightly at her sides, and she felt a surge of anger and frustration. She hated herself for being too soft, too kind-hearted. She hated herself for loving Greyson as deeply and foolishly as she did.

Pushing herself up from the bed to wipe away her tears, Michelle caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. The woman reflected there was a ghost of the stunning beauty she once was. Now she looked haggard, with dark, bruised circles under her eyes and a sallow, pale complexion. She let out a deep, shuddering sigh, the sound echoing through the empty room.

With a heavy heart, Michelle began to change out of her worn-out clothes. The soft fabric of her new outfit-a simple dress she barely registered buying-offered a gentle, fleeting comfort against her skin. She moved mechanically, her actions devoid of enthusiasm or purpose. As she finished dressing, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt a sharp pang of disappointment. She used to be a girl full of life and energy, but now she was merely a shadow of her former self.

Greyson's final words echoed in her ears, making her feel like her heart was being ripped out all over again: "You're obsessed with me. I want a girl like your sister; she has always been my crush."

Did he really have to say such hurtful words to her? She wondered, wrapping her arms around herself.

The sharp sound of her phone buzzing broke the heavy silence. Michelle hesitated for a moment before picking it up. She glanced at the screen, and her heart gave a painful jolt as she saw Greyson's name flashing on the display. For a split second, she was tempted to ignore the call, to pretend she wasn't available. But something inside her-a desperate, foolish hope-compelled her to answer, to see what he wanted.

"Hello?" Michelle's voice was cautious, guarded.

"Hey, Michelle. I was just checking in on you," Greyson's voice came through the speaker. It sounded friendly enough, but Michelle detected a faint, underlying hint of sarcasm.

"I'm fine," Michelle replied, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't know what else to say; she didn't know how to pretend like everything was okay when it wasn't.

"Michelle, can we talk?" Greyson's voice was full of a familiar, irritating authority, and for a fleeting moment, Michelle felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he had realized his feelings for her; maybe he wanted to make things work between them after all. But before she could respond, Greyson continued, "I think we need to talk about your sister. She's been really upset about us. What did you say to her? I don't want her to get hurt."

Michelle's heart sank like a stone, and she felt a wave of cold anger wash over her. So, it was about her sister again. It was always about her sister.

"There's nothing to talk about, Greyson," Michelle's voice was cold, detached, and final. "You made your choice, and I respect that. And I did not say anything to her, so don't call me again, okay?"

There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, Michelle wondered if Greyson would say something-anything-to make things right between them. But the line went dead, the silence returning, leaving Michelle standing there feeling more profoundly alone than ever before. She took a deep, steadying breath.

Maybe it was time to move on, to finally leave the heartbreak and the memories of Greyson behind. But as she looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time, Michelle couldn't shake off the feeling that she was still trapped in the past, stuck in the memories of what could have been.

As Michelle walked down the grand staircase, the sound of her lonely footsteps echoed through the silent hallway, a stark contrast to the warm laughter and cheerful chatter that already filled the dining room. Her family-consisting of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, her sister, Flora, and her brother, Ray-were all seated at the table, their faces glowing with joy, celebrating some recent success.

Michelle's eyes scanned the lively room, her gaze lingering on the familiar faces, but her heart felt hollow, stuck in a different, darker world.

"Why are you coming down now?" Mr. Anderson asked, his voice sharp and tinged with annoyance as he looked up from his plate. His pleasant mood evaporated instantly upon seeing her. "What were you doing upstairs?"

Michelle hesitated, her eyes darting around the table, before she finally found her voice. "I... I slept late," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Anderson's expression turned openly skeptical, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glared at her. "You slept late?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "There's nothing you can do with your life. All you do is read, read, and eat my food. Look at your sister-can't you be like her? Or can't you be like your brother? Why are you so useless?"

The harsh words cut deep, and Michelle felt a familiar, searing ache in her chest.

Flora, sensing the escalating tension, quickly intervened, her voice soft and soothing. "Dad, I think you should calm down. Michelle has her own life. She can't always be like me or Ray." Ray, Michelle's brother, offered a small, warm smile of encouragement and beckoned her to come and sit down.

Just as Michelle was about to take her designated seat, the doorbell chimed, and one of the maids got up to answer it. A moment later, Greyson strolled into the dining room, a large bouquet of vibrant roses in his hand and a bright, charming smile plastered across his face.

"Flora, I heard about the contract you signed," he said, his eyes shining with admiration as he presented the flowers to her sister.

Michelle's heart plummeted to her stomach as she watched the sickeningly sweet scene unfold. She felt like she was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. Greyson, her ex-boyfriend , was now openly fawning over her sister, and her family seemed to be lapping it all up like hungry, oblivious dogs.

She couldn't take it anymore. The atmosphere was suffocating. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and mumbled something about not being hungry.

As she turned to leave, Greyson's eyes met hers across the room. For a brief moment, Michelle thought she saw a flicker of something there-perhaps guilt or regret-but it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a look of cold indifference. Michelle didn't care what he felt; she just wanted to get out of there, away from the pain and the blatant humiliation.

She rushed upstairs, hot tears streaming down her face as she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn't she just be good enough for anyone? The questions swirled in her head, taunting her, mocking her insecurity.

As she lay there, the tears eventually subsided, replaced by a cold resolve. Michelle realized that she needed to take control of her life. She needed to find a way to earn money, to prove to herself-and everyone else-that she was worth something.

She sat up, wiping away the last of her tears with determined force, and opened her laptop. She began to browse through online job listings, her heart filled with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

The Anderson Residence

Downstairs, Mr. Anderson and Ray had already left for the company, leaving Mrs. Anderson, Flora, and Greyson in the dining room.

"Mom, I'm going out with Greyson," Flora said, wiping her lips delicately with her napkin.

"Okay. Why don't you go check on your sister to see if she would like to go with you?" Mrs. Anderson suggested.

Flora frowned internally at the suggestion but forced herself to go upstairs to Michelle's room, with Greyson following closely behind her. She knocked on Michelle's door but pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Michelle, who was focused intently on her laptop, turned around to see the intruders. It was none other than Flora and Greyson. Her brow furrowed in a brief frown, and she immediately turned back to her work, ignoring them both.

Flora was furious; if her mother hadn't asked her to come, she wouldn't have bothered seeking out her sister. She quickly adjusted her expression and spoke with an air of practiced superiority: "I'm going out with Grey. Are you coming?"

"No, thank you. I'm okay here," Michelle answered without sparing them another glance.

Flora snorted in disdain and walked out of the room. Greyson, however, remained in the doorway, watching Michelle. He felt a sting of irritation, realizing she didn't even bother looking at him. Was she playing hard to get? He scoffed internally and walked out, slamming the door shut with unnecessary force.

Michelle's fingers on the laptop paused for a moment. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and continued with what she was doing. Why should she care about them? Why should she go out with them? To watch them display how much they adored each other, or to be a third wheel? She let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.

The Jace Family Mansion

In a luxurious living room, a girl named Freeda sat on a plush couch, her eyes glued to her phone. Her short black hair framed her shoulders, making her look like a lively nineteen-year-old girl.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!" she suddenly screamed, jumping off the couch and dashing upstairs. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" she called, bursting into her mother's room.

"Freeda, what is it?" Mrs. Jace asked, looking up with a puzzled expression.

"Mom, guess what?" Freeda asked, her gaze bright with expectation.

Mrs. Jace looked at her and shook her head with a weary smile. "Can you just say whatever you want to say? You are disturbing my rest."

"Mom, Konvensky is coming back tomorrow!" she screamed.

Mrs. Jace was stunned for a moment. When the news finally registered, she jumped out of bed and shook Freeda's shoulders, tears welling up in her eyes. "Are you serious?"

Freeda nodded wildly, hugging her mother tightly. It had been twelve long years since they had last seen Konvensky. Though he had lived with them for ten years initially, he was a hard nut to crack. Mr. and Mrs. Jace found it incredibly hard to control him, which eventually led them to send him to Singapore to live with his grandparents. His grandparents soon grew tired of his stubborn nature and decided to place him in a military school at a very young age.

Konvensky, being the rebel he was, refused to join the military because he wanted to be an artist. His grandfather, equally stubborn, made a deal with Konvensky: he had to serve in the military for three years. If he completed all the training and came out successful, then he could start his music career. Konvensky served for two years, but in a misguided attempt to escape from the military zone, he was caught. As punishment, he was given another three-year trial period, extending his service to six years.

After successfully completing his mission, he finally began his music career and quickly became one of the most famous and popular artists in the world, alongside his friends.

"Mom, I can't believe Konvensky is finally coming back," Freeda said, wiping away Mrs. Jace's tears of joy.

"Where are all the servants? Clean up the house immediately! My son is coming back!" Mrs. Jace exclaimed, fresh tears streaming down her face. Only a mother knew how hard it was sending her ten-year-old son away. She had tried many ways to reach out to him over the years, but Konvensky, with his cold personality, had blocked every avenue for her to contact him.

After staying away from his family for a very long time, he finally decided to contact his sister to tell her he was returning home.

Veejay Enterprise

In a spacious, high-floor office, two men sat across from each other. One appeared to be in his fifties, the other in his thirties.

They both wore serious expressions, seemingly deep in discussion about something important, when the office door suddenly burst open. They snapped their heads toward the intrusion, wondering who dared to come in without knocking.

A young boy with a perpetual "happy resting face" sauntered in, but his footsteps paused when he realized the deadly glare his father was giving him. He shrugged off the tension and sat down close to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pointing his chin toward their father before finally announcing the reason for his visit:

"Konvensky is coming back."