KISS'S POV
The hall was suffocating. Every smile, every whisper, every polished surface seemed to mock me. I could feel the weight of their stares—the judgment, the expectation, and, most painfully, the disdain and ruthless of the father who was supposed to protect me.
"And what is all this commotion?"
The voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. My father approached, his face dark with irritation and anger. The man who had once been my safe harbor now looked at me as if I were an intruder.
Ella immediately ran to him, collapsing into tears. "Daa! She's trying to disgrace me all because her fiance doesn't want her but me!"
I stepped forward, my heart pounding. "That's not true, Dad. Both of them betrayed me! I—"
Before I could finish my statement, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek.
Slap.
Pain. Shock. Humiliation.
I staggered slightly, meeting my father's eyes. He didn't look sorry. He looked… pleased and quite satisfied. "All you know to do is bring shame and humiliation to the family. Can't you just comport yourself tonight without causing drama?"
I hung my head, my cheek burning, my heart squeezing so painfully I thought I had a heart attack, but slowly, I gathered myself. The pain was nothing compared to the years of silent torment I'd endured. I drew in a deep breath, my voice steady.
"Why am I not surprised that you took her side without even hearing me?" I asked coldly, lifting my chin. "Oh, I know the answer."
Every eye in the room turned toward me, stunned especially my family. I had never spoken to my father like this before, and my mockery cut deeper than any slap ever could.
"From the moment you brought these people into our home, everything changed," I continued painfully. "I think she fed you poison—poison that made you hate your own daughter."
I clapped slowly, my tone sarcastic. "Isn't it wonderful, Daa?"
The room was silent. My stepsister's smug smile faltered slightly. My father's expression darkened, but I didn't waver.
"Enough of this drama," I said, my voice firm. "I don't need any of you anymore."
I scanned the grand hall, the glimmering chandeliers, the polished floors, the servants frozen mid-step. "All of this," I continued, gesturing vaguely, "you can keep it. Every ounce of it. But remember this."
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle in their hearts. "One day, I will return for my shares. For my inheritance. Especially my mother's properties. And when I do, you will regret every decision you made to betray me."
The room grew colder, quieter. They knew I wasn't bluffing.
Then, with a deep breath and a steady heart, I delivered the final declaration:
"I am cutting ties with you, Daa. I am no longer a Hilson."
Shock rippled through the crowd. Whispers and gasps filled the air. I didn't care. I wasn't done.
"I am now a Wilson," I said, my voice echoing off the walls. "And I will find my mother's family. Goodbye, the Hilson family."
Without another glance, I turned and walked away confidently, my heels clicking on the polished floor, each step carrying away years of pain, humiliation, and heartbreak. My chest ached, but I felt an unfamiliar weight lift off my shoulders: freedom.
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ADRIAN'S POV
Across the city, in a bar that pulsed with low music and murmurs, the CEO of the Goodwill Empire nursed a glass of whiskey. I should have been focusing on numbers, on deals, on rivals—but my thoughts kept drifting back to the girl I had saved tonight.
Feisty. Unapologetic. Interesting.
I smirked slightly. She was exactly my type.
"Clearing your throat won't make you invisible, Isaac."
The familiar presence behind me made me flinch from my thoughts. My best friend, ever annoying, ever persistent, plopped into the seat beside me.
"Why are you only showing up now?" I asked, my voice cool. "I called you earlier. We need to discuss business."
Isaac laughed. "Relax, man. You called at the wrong time."
I shot him a sharp glare. "Can you stop fooling around for once and learn something from me?"
He threw up his hands dramatically. "I'd rather die than become like you."
We ordered more drinks and discussed the empire—investments, contracts, mergers—but my focus kept drifting. Then I saw her.
Across the bar.
Miss Feisty.
She looked… different. Not broken, not fragile. But pain lingered in her eyes, hidden beneath elegance. She carried herself like someone who had just survived a storm.
I didn't speak. I just watched, studying the way she moved, how her hands trembled slightly, how her eyes scanned the room.
"She's interesting," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than Isaac.
Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Adrian?"
I shook my head, still observing her. The way she held herself… that fire in her eyes… it was dangerous. And yet, it was magnetic.
I took another sip of whiskey.
I need to know more about her.
And something told me this wasn't over.