Airports always felt like portals to freedom.
A place where people laughed, rushed, hugged, kissed, reunited, escaped.
A place where nobody knew your past or cared enough to chain you to it.
I stood on the pavement outside the drop-off lane, staring at the crowds bustling through the glass doors. Men in suits wheeling briefcases. Families laughing. Couples holding hands. Teenagers dragging backpacks on their way to new adventures.
For a moment, I just let myself breathe it in — the noise, the lights, the smell of coffee and jet fuel, everything I'd never had the luxury to enjoy.
If only I was one of them.
If only I was free like they were.
The fantasy shattered with a loud slam.
The back door of the car was thrown open behind me, making me flinch.
Jallen climbed out, sunglasses on despite the early morning sun, acting like some arrogant prince who owned the world. Behind him, Lola stepped out slowly — deliberate, dramatic — dangling her manicured fingers so he could "help" her.
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself.
Jallen turned toward me with that familiar sneer.
"Don't stand there looking useless. Get the bags out."
Lola clasped her hands sweetly, batting her lashes.
"And be careful, Daisy… don't damage my designer bag. It costs more than your entire existence."
She said it gently, like honey poured over venom.
Jallen smirked approvingly and escorted her toward the sliding doors.
I inhaled sharply, swallowing the lump burning in my throat. It was too early to cry. Too early to break. And I refused to give them the satisfaction.
So I walked to the trunk and opened it.
The luggage looked heavier than it had any right to be. I hadn't eaten since last night — they'd had breakfast; I hadn't — but hunger was a familiar ache. I grabbed the first bag, then another. My fingers trembled from the strain and from the irritation boiling in my chest.
I lifted one suitcase wrong, my foot slipped, and I stumbled forward.
A hand shot out behind me — I felt the shadow before I saw him.
Damien.
He must've walked up silently, because I hadn't heard a thing. I froze mid-fall, my heart tripping faster than my feet ever could.
He looked ready to steady me… to catch me.
But I jerked away like his touch was fire.
"I'm fine," I snapped, grabbing the bags again even though my hands were shaking.
His brows tightened — irritation mixed with something strangely unreadable.
I didn't care.
Didn't want to care.
Didn't want him to see how weak I was.
I pushed forward, dragging the heavy bags toward the entrance without waiting for him.
Behind me, I felt Damien's eyes.
Hot. Cold. Conflicted.
Watching me like he wished I'd just collapse so he'd have a reason to carry me — or yell at me again. I couldn't tell which.
The plane ride was a different kind of torture.
I found my seat and nearly choked when I saw the number.
Damien was sitting right beside me.
Great, I thought bitterly.
Just great. Twelve hours trapped next to the man who hates me.
I slid into my seat, turning my face toward the window, hoping invisibility might magically become one of my skills.
But I could feel him.
His presence.
His stare.
It burned into the side of my head, heavy enough to pull my heartbeat into a messy rhythm.
I pulled out my phone and pretended to scroll, though it wasn't even on. The cracked screen still reflected my embarrassed face.
My stomach rumbled — loud, humiliating.
Heat rose to my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could shrink.
Damien didn't say anything.
He didn't offer food.
He didn't even pretend not to notice.
Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his jaw clench… like my hunger bothered him.
Like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.
I turned the brightness down until the world looked dim, blurry. My eyelids grew heavy — sleep was easier than facing the reality that I sat beside a boy I once adored, a boy who now looked at me like I was the enemy.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under.
Somewhere in that half-dream haze, I felt something soft brush my hand.
Warm. Careful.
Like fingers hovering over mine, not quite touching.
Damien.
Checking the red marks the luggage had left on my skin.
My sleeping mind tried to cling to the sensation — a stolen tenderness I'd never get while awake.
But the moment I stirred, the warmth disappeared.
The landing jolted me awake hours later.
I blinked, disoriented, the airplane lights too bright.
My neck ached. My head spun.
And Damien?
He was already standing, grabbing his bag, not even glancing at me.
He didn't wake me.
He didn't wait.
By the time I unbuckled my seat belt, he'd walked ahead with Jallen and Lola, her giggles echoing through the narrow aisle.
I stared after them, my chest tight.
I told myself it was better this way.
That I preferred it when they ignored me.
That it hurt less.
But deep down?
I wished they'd look back.
Just once.
Just long enough for me to believe I wasn't invisible.
Stupid crush, I scolded myself as I stepped out of the plane.
Stupid heart. Stupid dream. Kill it. Kill it now.
A car was waiting outside the airport.
Sleek. Black. Expensive — of course.
As I reached for the door, Damien suddenly appeared beside me. His hand shot out faster than I expected, wrapping around my wrist.
I gasped, stumbling to a halt.
He leaned in close like he was fixing a strand of hair near my face, but his voice dropped low and sharp where only I could hear.
"We're about to meet Mother. Behave."
The wind blew my hair across my cheek, cool against the heat rising beneath my skin.
Damien stared a second too long.
His ice-blue eyes softened, just barely.
Like my flushed face unsettled him.
I pulled my hand back.
His fingers lingered half a second too long.
Then I stepped into the front seat of the car without another word.
The drive was short.
Lola and Jallen giggled in the back like villains in a teen drama.
I stared out the window, ignoring them, counting streetlights until I lost track of numbers.
Soon, the villa appeared — glowing softly in the evening light.
Tall pillars. Greek statues.
Trimmed flowers lining a stone walkway.
It was beautiful.
Like a postcard.
Like a dream.
And then—
The door opened.
There she was.
Mrs. Javier.
Her blond hair was shorter now, styled in soft waves. Her white gown flowed around her like she was walking out of a myth. Even from a distance, she radiated warmth — the kind that wrapped around me like sunlight.
I didn't wait for the driver.
The moment the car stopped, I ran.
"Mother!" I breathed, tears stinging my eyes.
She opened her arms before I even reached her.
I pressed myself into her embrace, inhaling her familiar scent — lavender and soft perfume and something gentle I could never name.
"Sweetheart," she murmured, cupping my face. "Look at you."
I smiled up at her, heart swelling. Lola hovered behind us, scowling like the attention physically burned her.
Mrs. Javier's smile faltered.
Her eyes scanned my face — my cheeks, my collarbone, my too-thin frame.
Her expression tightened.
She turned sharply toward Damien.
"Why," she demanded, voice icy, "does Daisy look so thin?"
The world froze.
Even the wind held its breath.
Damien stiffened.
Jallen shifted nervously.
Lola looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her.
My heart pounded.
And for the first time since the morning…
I felt seen.
Not as a burden.
Not as a maid.
But as a daughter.
As someone who mattered.