"Oh? You like math, Mel?" Bianca asked again, her tone overly sweet, like she was fishing for something, trying to coax me into a conversation I didn't want to have.
Before I could answer, my mother cut in with a bright smile, "She absolutely loves math."
The forced cheer in her voice made me clench my jaw.
Then Alexei, Salvatore's father—the one who made this whole ordeal worse just by existing—turned his gaze to me, his eyes expectant. "Where do you want to attend college, Mel?"
I remained silent, but of course, no answer was needed.
My father jumped in on my behalf, his voice smooth and rehearsed. "She'll pursue a double undergraduate major in Mathematics and Computer Science at MIT. Following that, a Master's degree in Financial Engineering at UC Berkeley. Then, she'll complete a PhD in Theoretical Physics at Princeton. Alongside her studies, she'll take summer internships starting her first year at Citadel in New York City." He smiled as if reciting a well-polished script. "And once she achieves an annual salary of twelve million dollars—a million a month—she'll take over the family business."
I looked down at my plate, swallowing hard, forcing my throat to cooperate. My appetite had completely vanished.
Bianca's voice cut through the silence again, soft but pressing, "But what do you love most to do, Mel?" I felt her eyes burning into me, waiting for some sign of emotion.
"Melissa enjoys studying, reading, playing the violin, and ballet," my father said smoothly, as if ticking off a checklist. "She's also been exceptionally skilled at tai-chi and kung-fu since she learned to walk. Those are her interests. A classic girl with a refined upbringing."
Alexei nodded, slightly impressed, or so I thought. "And you manage to do all that so well at just seven years old?"
My mother chimed in, her voice layered with pride, "She can. She's incredibly dedicated and naturally talented."
I kept my gaze fixed on the plate before me, counting my breaths, trying to steady my trembling hands. Slowly, I reached for my glass of water, careful not to shake as I took a sip. I just wanted this dinner to end. More than that, I wanted to disappear entirely.
Bianca pressed on, undeterred. "Is the King Crab Pelmeni with Saffron-Alpine Butter not to your taste, Mel?" Her eyes searched mine again, trying to read my expression. "Your parents said you liked everything."
For the first time, I really looked at the dish before me. King crab and saffron. My lips tightened as a wave of weakness rolled through me. I sucked in my cheeks, fighting the tremors inside. Then, I forced my eyes back up to meet Bianca's expectant gaze, doing my best to sound calm and steady.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Koshkin," I said quietly but clearly, "I'm severely allergic to both crab and saffron."
The room froze.
"Don't lie, Melissa," my mother groaned, her tone thick with embarrassment, like I had just insulted her by breaking the script they'd all agreed upon.
"She's just joking about the allergy. She has none," my father quickly interjected, his voice attempting to smooth over the tension at the table. There was a faint edge of impatience behind the polite tone, as if he'd had to deal with this kind of defiance before. "Melissa, what did we tell you about making up stories just to get attention?" He looked at me with that familiar mixture of disappointment and expectation, the kind that always made me want to disappear.
I lifted my eyes to meet his and the others', refusing to back down or pretend. "The steward has taken me to the hospital more than six times because they included crab and saffron in my meals back home." My voice was calm but firm, carefully measured to let them know I was serious. "Each time, I was admitted for treatment. You can call him if you don't believe me. You can call the family doctor, too. If you think I'm lying—go ahead." I let my words hang in the heavy silence, letting the weight of my reality settle over the room like an unshakable truth.
"I'm not a machine. I'm not a calculator or some robot here just to fulfill your expectations with academics and achievements." My gaze sharpened, cold and piercing. "Somehow, you've forgotten who I am since I became the oldest child — how I'm expected to be emotionally irrelevant to this family, how I'm just... there. I'm no longer offended by that, honestly. But being called a liar? That cuts deeper than you know."
The room felt colder as my voice grew more intense, a simmering frustration barely held in check. "But since you've already decided I'm lying, and that I'm just here to embarrass you—"
I reached for a forkful of king crab, carefully dipping it in the saffron-alpine butter until it glistened under the soft lighting. I lifted it deliberately to my lips, the rich aroma filling my senses for a brief moment. I bit down slowly, tasting the sweet, buttery flavor mingled with the delicate crab meat. I chewed with exaggerated care and swallowed, steady despite the knot tightening in my stomach.
"There," I said quietly, my eyes fixed on theirs like a challenge. "Let's see if I'm lying." My voice was low but sharp, the barest trace of defiance coloring it. "Since you didn't even pause before accusing me of—"
Then, suddenly, everything changed.
A fierce, burning heat flared at the base of my neck, like liquid fire racing upward beneath my skin. It spread quickly, scorching my throat and face with an unbearable intensity. My throat constricted violently, as if unseen hands were squeezing tighter and tighter, cutting off the air I desperately needed. Panic clawed its way up my chest, squeezing my lungs and crushing my ribs beneath its weight.
My heart pounded erratically—no, it was slamming, thudding against my chest wall like a wild drum in a war march. Every breath I tried to draw came out ragged and shallow, each one feeling more impossible than the last. My skin erupted in angry, itchy hives that flared hot and raw, the burning sensation driving me to scratch frantically even as I knew it wouldn't help.
The room began to tilt and blur, edges melting and warping as dizziness crashed over me like a tidal wave. Colors bled and faded, the faces around me twisting and warping into distorted shapes I barely recognized. My lips swelled rapidly, becoming thick and numb, heavy as though filled with lead.
My chest tightened unbearably, a vise squeezing my ribs, crushing my breath and pressing down with relentless force. Fear and helplessness surged through me in waves, overwhelming my senses until all I could feel was the frantic need for air.
I tried to call out—tried to force the words from my throat—but the swelling had already stolen my voice. The panic rose like a flood, drowning out everything else, swallowing my mind in a fog of terror and confusion.
The last thing I remember was the creeping blackness at the edges of my vision, swallowing the world whole and dragging me down into cold, suffocating darkness. My body grew heavy, limbs numb and unresponsive, as if gravity itself had doubled its pull.
In that moment, I was utterly alone, trapped inside a failing body and a mind overwhelmed by fear — caught between consciousness and oblivion, struggling to hold on against the tide of darkness.