I exited my father's office with my cheek still burning from his slap. The secretary averted her eyes, pretending not to notice my swollen face. How many times had she seen this before? How many other women had walked out of that office with bruises?
As I waited for the elevator, a woman strutted past me toward my father's office. She wore a skin-tight red dress that barely covered her thighs, and six-inch stilettos that clicked loudly against the marble floor. Her perfume—cheap and overpowering—lingered in the air.
The secretary waved her through without question.
I stepped into the elevator, my mind racing. The timing was too perfect to ignore. My father clearly had a new mistress—and I knew exactly how to use this information.
Once safely in my car, I pulled out my phone and called Vera.
"How'd it go with daddy dearest?" she asked.
"He hit me." My voice was flat, emotionless.
"What? That bastard! I'm coming right over—"
