Chapter 63: No Support From My Family
The front door slamd behind Vanesa as she stord into the grand house, her face still streaked with dried blood.
She threw her bag on the floor, ignoring the pristine marble that echoed her every step.
"Mother!" Vanesa called out in a shaky but loud voice.
Beatrice erged from the sitting room, dressed in a black silk blouse and tailored trousers.
Her sharp heels clicked against the floor as she approached, her piercing eyes narrowing when she saw her daughter.
"What on earth happened to you?" Beatrice demanded.
Vanesa pressed a tissue to her nose.
"Eira. That low-class nobody attacked in class!"
"She did what?" Her voice was icy and clipped.
Vanesa sniffed, her voice rising in pitch.
"She hit with a book. Slamd it in my face! In front of everyone. My nose—look at it!"
Beatrice’s nostrils flared. "How dare she. That wretched peasant lays a hand on my daughter?"
She turned, her hands clenched into fists. "This won’t stand. I’ll call the university imdiately—"
Vanesa interrupted in a small tone. "It’s not just that."
Beatrice turned back. "What do you an, ’not just that’?"
Vanesa hesitated, pulling nervously at the neck of her turtleneck sweater.
Beatrice’s gaze zeroed in on her daughter’s strange choice of clothing.
"And why," Beatrice said slowly, her tone suspicious, "are you wearing that ridiculous sweater indoors? Take it off. You look absurd."
Vanesa froze, but Beatrice stepped forward, grabbing the hem of the sweater. "Stop being dramatic and—"
She tugged, and the fabric lifted slightly, revealing faint red marks circling Vanesa’s neck and shoulders.
Beatrice’s hand dropped. "What is that?"
Vanesa turned away, but Beatrice grabbed her arm, forcing her to face her. "I asked you a question," she said in a commanding voice. "Who did this to you? Was it Eira?"
"No," Vanesa muttered, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
Beatrice tilted her head. "Then who?"
"Let it go, Mother," Vanesa said quickly. "It’s nothing—"
"Vanesa," Beatrice snapped. "Don’t test . Tell exactly who did this. Now."
Vanesa swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her sweater. "It was Callian," she admitted in a whisper.
Beatrice’s eyebrows shot up. "Callian?"
Vanesa nodded.
"I... I found him at a bar. He was drunk, and I thought it was my chance to... you know, get closer to him. I took so pictures with him, then brought him to a hotel. I just wanted—"
"To seduce him," Beatrice finished.
Vanesa nodded, tears pricking her eyes.
"But he woke up before anything happened. He realized what I was trying to do and—"
Her voice broke. "He grabbed by the neck, scread at , and left."
Beatrice stared at her daughter, her lips pressed into a thin line. "So, you’re telling you tried to trap him," she said slowly, "and then got yourself strangled in the process?"
Vanesa nodded miserably.
"Did you show anyone those pictures?"
Vanesa hesitated, then said quietly, "I showed them to Eira. I told her Callian wanted a divorce."
The slap ca so fast, Vanesa didn’t see it coming.
Her mother’s palm struck her cheek with a loud crack, making her stumble.
"Are you insane?" Beatrice hissed. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"
"Mother, I—"
"You had leverage! You had sothing that could have ruined Callian. And you wasted it on that nobody?" Beatrice slapped her again, this ti harder.
"Mother, stop—"
"No!" Beatrice snarled, her hands shaking.
She shoved Vanesa backward, her voice rising with every word. "You stupid, useless girl! You can’t do anything right! You’re a disgrace to this family!"
Tears stread down Vanesa’s face as Beatrice grabbed her arm, shaking her.
"Do you know how much damage you’ve done? Do you even think before you act, or are you as brainless as you look?"
"Stop it!" Vanesa sobbed, breaking free from her mother’s grip.
Beatrice stepped back, glaring at her daughter.
"Pathetic," she spat before turning on her heel.
"Clean yourself up. You disgust ."
Vanesa crumpled onto the floor, her hands trembling as she wiped her tears.
She sat there for several minutes, her sobs echoing through the empty hall.
"M-M-Mother," Vanesa stuttered. "Pl-please, for-forgive ."
In Henry’s Office
Vanesa wiped her face as she knocked on the door of her father’s study.
"Co in," Henry called.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Henry sat at his desk, a cigar in his hand, papers spread across the surface.
He glanced up and frowned when he saw her swollen nose and tear-streaked face.
"What happened to you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.
Vanesa sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. "Eira. She attacked ."
Henry’s face hardened. "Eira? What did you do this ti?"
Vanesa’s jaw dropped. "What do you an, ’what did I do’? She hit with a book, Daddy!"
"And why would she do that?" Henry’s tone was sharp. "What did you say to provoke her?"
Vanesa’s lip quivered. "I... I just said so things about Callian. That’s it."
"Ugh!" Henry groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Vanesa, for God’s sake, when are you going to stop? Haven’t you done enough damage?"
"She humiliated !" Vanesa shouted.
"In front of the whole class! You need to call the university and—"
"No," Henry cut her off, breathing heavily.
"You made this ss, Vanesa. You’re going to deal with it yourself. I’m not cleaning it up for you."
Her eyes widened and ears started ringing. "You’re just going to let her get away with it?"
Henry leaned forward, smacking his hand to his face, then slowly removed it.
"You’re lucky Eira didn’t press charges for what you tried to do to her. If I were you, I’d stop digging your own grave and take so responsibility for once."
Vanesa’s face crumpled, but Henry waved her off. "Get out of my office. I’m done with your nonsense."
She turned and stord out, slamming the door behind her.
For the second ti that day, she found herself alone, cold tears running down her face as the weight of her actions pressed down on her even harder now.
Both of her parents didn’t show her any sympathy or support, and all she could do was bla Eira.
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