"You can give it a try," June said, wiping away the fake bruise Bella had inflicted on herself to get Dave's attention.
Bella's gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around her dress.
'You left years ago. Your time died long back.' June's voice echoed in her ears, each word sharpening like a dagger. Even this trick of yours won't help you gain his recognition.
She turned for the door, her posture calm, unbothered, as if Bella were nothing but a speck in her world.
Bella clenched her fists. I'll show you. Since June wanted to test her will, she would gladly show her just how far she was willing to go. One setback meant nothing compared to what she had already endured.
They could call her shameless, cruel, desperate, but what did they know?.
Had anyone ever asked for her side of the story? Had anyone ever wondered why she left? No. They all assumed she had been selfish, leaving to chase success, but only she knew the real reason. And that truth would no longer stay buried.
The door creaked open, and Dave walked in, his presence filling the room with an air of calm authority.
"A test is being run. The results will be out by tomorrow," he informed, settling into the chair.
Bella quickly dropped her phone on her lap, her focus snapping to him. He saw the tension in her body, the silent hesitation in her movements, but he chose to ignore it.
"Dave, can we talk?"
He barely lifted his gaze from the papers in his hands, but when he did, his eyes swept over her face. The glow she once carried was dimmed, replaced by something fragile. His sharp mind noted the way her fingers anxiously rubbed against each other, a nervous habit he remembered well. It meant she was struggling to say something.
A strange, fleeting relief settled in his chest. She hadn't changed much after all.
"What do you want to talk about?" His voice was neutral, careful.
Bella inhaled, steeling herself. "About us."
His expression shifted instantly. The warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something guarded, cold, even.
"You don't want to open old wounds, Bella," he said flatly. "I understand that. But there's nothing left to discuss."
"But I haven't let go," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't forgotten what we had, what we shared. I still carry you in my heart."
She reached out, attempting to touch his arm, but he pulled away before she could. A silent rejection.
She let her hand drop to her lap, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"You know me," she said softly, searching his face. "Do you really think I left on my own back then?"
His expression didn't change.
"I left because your father forced me to."
Her words hung between them like a ghost from the past. Dave's eyes flickered, but his face remained unreadable.
Bella lowered her gaze, her voice trembling with memories. "He got us separated, not me."
A bitter scoff escaped his lips.
She could still remember that night, clear as day.
She had clung to Dave's hand, her heart pounding as they walked through the grand estate. He had reassured her countless times that his parents would love her, that they were excited to meet her. But she wasn't so sure.
She had protested against attending the party, she had never been comfortable around people of high status, and this wasn't just a simple family dinner. It was an extravagant gathering of the city's wealthiest elites, and she knew she didn't belong.
The moment his father laid eyes on her, she felt it. That silent judgment.
After Dave introduced her, his father had barely spared her a glance before moving on to another guest. She should have known then.
"Son, let's talk after the party," his father had said, his voice deep and unreadable.
Later that evening, when Dave had stepped away, she had been left alone, nervously balancing a plate of cake and a glass of champagne.
Then, she heard the voice.
"Bella, right?"
Her hand trembled, and the cake slipped off her plate, landing with a soft splat on her shoe.
She turned to see him, Dave's father.
"Careful, dear," he said, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "That's expensive."
She quickly knelt down, wiping the mess off her shoe with the tissue he offered. Her stomach twisted in knots. There was something unnerving about his gaze, the way it lingered on her like she was an inconvenience.
"I've seen you before," he said, his voice deceptively smooth. "Aren't you the girl with the woman selling bread the other day?"
Her blood turned cold.
He remembered.
She had prayed that he wouldn't, that his memory would blur the details. But of course, a man like him never forgot.
A day before the party, she had helped her mother sell bread on the street, right in front of his company's gates. The security guards had tried to chase them away, claiming they were ruining the company's image. Her mother had protested, and Dave's father had stepped in, reluctantly allowing them to trade for the day.
And now, he was looking at her like she was filth.
"Yes," she admitted, forcing the words out. "That was my mother."
His lips curled in distaste. "And the dress?"
She felt his eyes scan her from head to toe, assessing the value of her clothes, the jewelry. He knew. He had already figured it out.
"Dave got it for me," she answered, her voice steady despite the humiliation creeping up her spine.
His chuckle was low, condescending. "And I'm guessing you're only able to study in the same university as him thanks to a scholarship?"
She stiffened.
"I see." His voice turned cold, dismissive. "I'll be honest with you, Bella. I don't want you anywhere near my son."
Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress.
"You are far below what he should be associating with. And if you insist on staying with him, you will regret it."
Her chest tightened, her vision blurring.
"The Deen family will never accept a pauper as a mistress."
His words struck her like a slap.
It was then, in that moment, that she realized, no matter how much she loved Dave, no matter how much he loved her, she would never truly belong in his world.
….
To think that a forced vacation would help her focus on her upcoming wedding. Two weeks. Just two weeks until the big day, yet all June could think about was the world beyond this beach house, the world on her phone.
Her relentless attention to the screen was driving her friends insane.
Dora had had enough. With a swift motion, she snatched the phone right from June's hand.
"Hey!" June gasped, reaching for it, but Dora easily dodged her attempts.
"That's it. Hand it over," Jane ordered, appearing from behind with outstretched palms.
Dora grinned wickedly. "Oh, not just this one. I want all of them."
June pressed her lips together, feigning confusion. "All of what?"
Jane smirked. "Oh, please. We know you."
And just like that, the raid began.
Within minutes, Dora had fished out June's spare phones from under the cushions, while Jane retrieved her laptop from beneath the pile of bridal magazines.
"Unbelievable," Jane muttered, holding up the hidden devices. "Three backup phones? Three?"
"You guys are ridiculous," June huffed, folding her arms. "I need those."
"No, you need to focus on your wedding," Dora shot back. "And if you so much as think of making a phone call, I swear—"
She took a dramatic pause, stepping forward with narrowed eyes.
"I will personally write you into my next novel as the weakest, most pathetic, overly sweet and hopelessly dependent heroine ever created."
June's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, try me," Dora taunted, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.
"And to make it worse," Jane chimed in, giggling, "she'll be a poor, helpless damsel in distress waiting for her Prince Charming to come and rescue her. A pauper with no backbone."
Dora nodded in fake sympathy. "Oh, it'll be a beautiful disaster of a book. With your name on it. And don't worry, we'll be sure to include an author's note suggesting people contact you directly for advice on how to be a perfectly weak heroine."
June clamped her hands over her ears.
Dora grinned in victory. She knew exactly how to push June's buttons.
Nothing irritated June more than the idea of a typical romance heroine, weak, dependent, waiting for her Prince Charming to rescue her. It was everything she despised in a female lead. To her, a heroine should be independent, strong-willed, and capable of standing on her own. If a prince entered the picture, it wouldn't be for a rescue mission.
"You guys are the worst," June groaned, collapsing onto the couch.
"Just be a good girl and participate," Dora said, plopping down beside her. "This is your wedding too, you know. Not just mine."
She squeezed June's hand, her excitement shimmering in her eyes. The dream they had always talked about, getting married on the same day, was actually happening. And Dora wasn't about to let anyone slack off, especially not June.
"Will you two stop suffocating me?" Jane grumbled through a mouthful of apple, glaring at them.
For days, she had been trapped in an endless loop of wedding talk, matching gowns, coordinating suits, venue decorations. Not that she was mad about it… just maybe a little left out.
She huffed and squeezed between them on the couch, exaggeratedly chewing her apple.
The girls burst into laughter at her grumpy face before squishing her in a tight cuddle, planting kisses on both her cheeks.
"Don't worry, your day will come," Dora teased, tickling Jane under her chin.
Jane swatted her hand away. "I'm not a baby, you know."
June leaned back, sighing. "When's your mom arriving?"
Dora groaned, rubbing her temple. "She'll show up, all right. But only after she's finished decorating herself with the world's most expensive accessories."
Jane snorted. "So, the usual?"
"Yep," Dora muttered, rolling her eyes. She could already picture it—her mother waltzing in like a self-proclaimed queen, ensuring everyone noticed her entrance. She never removed the price tags from her designer outfits, just so people knew their worth.
This was going to be a disaster.
She knew from the start that bringing their parents together to plan the wedding venue was a bad idea. And with her mother involved? There was no way she wouldn't try to take control of everything.
As if on cue, the door flung open.
A shrill, dramatic voice sliced through the air like a perfectly rehearsed entrance.
"What the hell, sweetheart?! How are you living in such a tiny, congested apartment?!"
The three of them froze.
Dora squeezed her eyes shut. Here we go.
Graceful yet demanding, her mother strutted inside, designer heels clicking against the floor, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes.
As expected, the price tags dangled freely from her absurdly expensive outfit, swaying with her every move.
"Mrs. Fancy Queen has arrived," Dora muttered, dropping her head onto June's lap in pure defeat.
June barely held back a laugh. "Should I light the royal torches in her honor?"
Before Dora could respond, another voice pierced through the air, one far less dramatic, but just as unimpressed.
"Who's disturbing the peace?"
June's mother stepped into the room, eyes scanning the newcomer like a predator assessing its prey. Her arms folded across her chest, her expression laced with skepticism.
A long silence stretched between them.
Dora's mother pulled down her sunglasses just enough to peer over them, taking in June's mother with an equal amount of judgment.
June's mother scoffed. "What is she doing here?"
At the exact same time, Dora's mother huffed. "What is she doing here?"
The tension snapped like a stretched rubber band.
Dora sat up, rubbing her temples. "Oh God."
June blinked. "Wait a minute—"
Jane's jaw dropped. "You two know each other?!"
Dora's mother tilted her chin up with an air of superiority. "Know her? Hah. I unfortunately happen to be related to her."
June's mother let out a dry laugh, crossing her arms tighter. "Related is a very strong word."
June and Jane shared a horrified glance.
Dora's mouth fell open. "Wait.."
June's mother smirked. "My annoying sister has a calm, sensible daughter?"
"Sister?!"
All three girls shrieked in unison, their heads whipping back and forth between the two older women.