Chào các bạn! Vì nhiều lý do từ nay Truyen2U chính thức đổi tên là Truyen247.Pro. Mong các bạn tiếp tục ủng hộ truy cập tên miền mới này nhé! Mãi yêu... ♥

fifty-six

Stepping into his childhood home felt odd. Walking through those cold, metal gates as an autumn's shriek rolled down his spine and a gust of wind floated animosity through his every step. The tiled pathway aimed gold towards his family, yet all Nicholas could see was the rusting of old traditions.

I used to live here, he thought. This used to be my home.

A colossal structure boasted its strength through the numerous empty rooms that resided within, an illusion of perfection, a perfectly trimmed front yard, smooth with evergreens and wilting flowers. Skeletal trees lined the sides, resonating with a deafening silence until Nicholas heard a familiar ringing in ear.

This was the silence he remembered, the sharp stab of depression, the acute pain of loneliness. A mansion that rivaled those of celebrities and it couldn't even bring a drop of joy to its inhabitants. Only tears marked the soil. Only broken glass marred the frames.

He sighed when he came face to face with the front door, a quaking fear rumbling within.

Knock Knock.

His family's butler opened the door in the same black suit he always wore as his lips thinly pressed together and gray, bushy eyebrows scrunched in confusion. His graying mustache mimicked those of a typical butler from classic movies, a defining feature of his prim and proper background. Nicholas smiled at the memory.

"It's been a while, old man," he joked.

"Sir, you've returned," stated Sergio, his only friend during those lonely days. His arms quickly engulfed Nicholas in a giant hug, practically sobbing into his shoulders. "I thought you'd never return after all they did to you."

Nicholas chuckled nervously. "Trust me, I wouldn't be here unless I had to."

Sergio pulled away, his height surpassing Nicholas by a significant inch. "I heard you now work for your father and are engaged."

"I am."

"Why would you do that?" he asked, not understanding the situation in the slightest.

His father must have withheld details from Sergio to preserve his reputation not only at the workplace but in his home as well.

Before Nicholas could even answer, a pair of heels clicked against the floor while footsteps thundered behind them. His parents came in to view, fake smiles plastered on their lips. Their eyes gleamed at the sight of their son, but Nicholas knew a darkness lingered.

A chill rolled down his spine at his father's icy glance.

"Nicholas, you're here. Come, we were just about to have dinner," his father said.

Without a word, Nicholas followed them to the dining hall. His throat felt dry, feeble body losing its strength from the emotional baggage that came with their house. Scintillating gold lined fixtures of every room like jewels of European monarchs. The hallways stretched for miles in all directions, a winding of twisted turns and foreign drapes. Under his shoes, the white marble teased his reflection, mocking Nicholas for his humility.

Blinded by the radiance of his childhood home, he felt a small itch growing within like canines sinking into his supple skin, a ripe adult fresh for picking at a devil's hand. In Nicholas's case, it was his parents.

Tonight wasn't a formality. It was a warning.

When the trio took their seats, no words escaped their lips except the usual questions. His parents had a layout of the night, but Nicholas had it all figured out before they knew. They underestimated him.

A chandelier dangled above, tiny flecks of light dotting the smooth, golden rods. Ten maids passed through double doors, each arm holding a delicacy for a three part meal, appetizers, dinner, and dessert. Some carried the most exquisite bottles of red wine, filling glass cups with a blood-like liquid splashing into a contained object. It was thin, red, and exotic.

Sergio glanced at Nicholas nervously, but he paid no regard to his concern. There was a new demeanor to Nicholas, one that everyone in the room could witness. No longer did the dead glaze of his eyes freeze those who tried to befriend him. Instead, he stood tall with confidence, blue eyes scheming more than his parents could ever imagine.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sergio bid the Mullers a farewell as he headed back into the kitchen. Nicholas knew what he was doing. He was playing with fire, but the game was so careful that he could not get burned by their torches.

His father cleared his throat. "How was your first day at the company?"

Nicholas felt a light reflect against his glasses as a small smile touched his lips with a promise. "Dad, are we really going to continue this pleasantry game?" he chuckled humorlessly, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on a closed fist. "If you must know, my first day went incredibly well Alhamdulillah (thanks to God)."

Mrs. Muller tensed at her son's sudden switch in language. "Did it?" she asked, smiling tightly through her wine-stained lips.

Nicholas nodded, cerulean eyes meeting his father's sharply. "In fact," he started with a devious grin at the sight of his family squirming, "some people even said I could surpass you in a couple of years. Like father like son right, Dad?"

Mr. Muller inhaled a shaking breath. "Correct."

"Now, how about you two tell me the truth?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've seen your men, Dad. I've seen them following me around, so tell me. What exactly are you searching for?"

His father didn't seem surprised by his son's observational skills. "I wanted to know the woman my son plans to marry," he said, a sly smile teasing his lips.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "Leave Dina alone," he seethed threateningly. "Don't think for a minute that I'm not watching you like the way you watch me."

Mr. Muller scoffed in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? You plan on marrying that filthy Muslim girl?"

His jaw clenched.

Mrs. Muller nodded in agreement. "Nicholas, please hear us out," she begged with her green eyes, pretending to be the nurturing and caring mother he always needed. "This girl-"

"Her name is Dina."

"Right," said his mother, ignoring his comment. "She has nothing to offer this family, no influential background, no connections. Honestly, Nicholas, this woman has nothing but faith to offer you."

Rage blinded his eyes, controlling the movement of his limbs as he smashed a fist down onto the table. Silverware shuddered under the brute force, table creaking under his weight, and gasps infiltrating the dining room.

Never had such anger coursed through his veins. Never had such hatred boiled his blood. His parents pushed all his buttons, cornered him into a wall like a scared animal all his life, but he would never accept their slander against his bride-to-be.

"How dare you?" he asked fiercely, blue eyes blazing with fury. "You think I care if she doesn't fit your standards? You think I care if her family is rich or not? Unlike your marriage, I don't want money to poison my household."

His father abruptly stood, shadow towering across the table like the power he contained. "That's enough!" he roared until his thundering voice rumbled against the walls. "We have been far too generous to you. I have tolerated your conversion to a religion that taints the American lands like a plague, but I will not tolerate your disrespect for a woman of low socioeconomic status."

Nicholas rose from his seat, meeting his father's eyes with the same ferocity, wild and primal like a predator stalking his prey. "Watch your mouth," he growled. "All you two care about is a picture perfect family, about a trophy wife, about a submissive daughter-in-law that will raise your status in society."

"Nicholas," gasped his mother at his crude words. "You know that's not true."

"Oh, isn't it, Mom?" he mocked. "You ask for my respect, yet you disowned me long ago. I tried to make things right, and you threw my efforts away just because I chose to believe in Islam. My heart wants to forgive, but my own parents cannot put away their prejudices for the sake of their son. You even went as far as forcing a young woman to marry a man to provoke me into the family business, and you want my respect?"

"Nicholas," sighed Mr. Muller, pinching the bridge of his nose.

His son held up a hand. "Stop. I'm done hearing your shitty excuses for not being real parents. I'm sick of hearing the lies you try to force me to believe. I'm tired of watching you ruin people for your own selfish reasons. I am done with this family," he announced, turning on his heel.

He stalked his way to the doorway that would lead him to a hallway towards the exit.

His parents said nothing, watching his retreating figure as if he was a loss cause, as if their son was just as broken as the day they sent him to a mental hospital for his grief. They could never accept Nicholas, could never accept Dina. Even after every attempt Nicholas made, his parents spit out his kindness.

Nicholas paused, breathing heavily. This isn't right, he thought. This isn't what I want.

Slowly, he turned to face them again once more. "Look," he said softly, "it wouldn't be right of me as a Muslim to not invite my parents to my wedding. Although you've slandered my bride's background, you're still her in-laws."

Nothing.

Nicholas drew in a breath. "Okay," he sighed, preparing to leave. "I meant what I said. I'm done being your toy. With or without you, I will marry Dina. If you two pull another stunt, I make no promises for your business's future."

----

My boy, Nick, ain't playing. *low whistle*

Mr. Zemel wants me to co-teach a reading packet of essays with him. BUT I DON'T THINK HE UNDERSTANDS THAT HIS JUNIORS MIGHT NOT RESPECT ME. Oh God, I'm screwed.

Anyway, do you guys have a favorite scene from this book (I'm curious)?

Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro