side note

ah, there she goes again... you must be thinking. 

I didn't want to, but I had a very enlightening chat with one of my dearest readers last night and it really made me realize how feel about my whole experience on Wattpad and pushed me to say it out loud. 

Updating every day on time only to witness radio silence from a majority of the readers is really depressing as fuck. ngl. I feel like I update it for no one except myself and the 4-5 of the ones who unfailingly always motivate me with their feedback, and that's all. I don't really need attention, but it's a super awful feeling to put your blood and sweat out there, and feel unappreciated by an absolute lack of engagement on my comment. I know those of you ghost-read it have a lot of reasons why you don't show it, but it's kind of negatively triggering. why do I even update on Wattpad? Because I love Wattpad so much that I am willing to risk this precious work of mine being stolen and plagiarized? No. Did I even have a reason to return to Wattpad? Not really. Why did I? So I could get your feedback guiding me through it. Did the feedback come? Nope. Not apart from those handful of people who I owe so much to. 

What reason do I have any more to update it here when I am done writing the finale? None. Why am I still doing it? Because I owe to those who have always given me their perspectives and engagement. Because a part of me feels like I owe it to those who have stuck through since the previous versions. I am not accusing anyone of anything, but please know it hurts. Really hurts.

So if you're reading works by other authors on Wattpad---especially the ones that aren't charging yet putting it out there unfailingly every week and not even threatening you that they won't update unless the chapter gets X no. of votes and X. no of comments, do leave meaningful feedback and comments on their work at least to make them feel valued and appreciated. Believe me, that's the only reason they're putting it out. You never know what they could be going through in their personal lives and might be coming here to feel motivated and valued watching that someone appreciates what they do. It could be the whole reason they might be pushing through. Always remember that. 

Having said that, do not feel pressured to engage. It's not some sick reverse psychology or guilt trip tbh. I just wanted to be honest about my experience here and share a thing or two about what not to do with other writers.

Thanks!

💗💗💗

I walk past the heavily guarded security at the grand oak doors of my father's Lenox Hill townhouse that rivals a mansion, and into the opulent, grand drawing room that is rich with vintage and classic elegance, and exudes a sense of quiet authority and history. 

From the polished checkered marble floor, the thick velvet drapes, the ornate ceilings featuring detailed golden moldings, to the giant crystal chandelier overhead with cascading droplets of crystals, luxurious furniture with gilded accents that matches the lavish, historic space and the rich, dark polished wood paneling lining the hallway furnished with the portraits of landscapes and noble ancestors with gold frames, it all screams top tier nobility. The air-conditioned atmosphere is infused with a rich, captivating aroma that evokes a sense of perennial grandeur. It's a rich blend of subtle fragrances of polished leather, aged mahogany, and sandalwood. The fresh-cut peonies arranged in beautiful antique vases add delicate notes of sweet floral scent to the air.

Stepping here after years feels like being swallowed by the ghost of my bitter past. I run my fingers lightly over the embellished furniture as my mind wanders off to recall the unnerving details of the last time I was here, standing in the same spot.

"Papa, please. This is the first time I'm asking you to do something for me." My voice trembles as I stand in the middle of the drawing room, my heart pounding, tears streaming down my face. The ticking of the vintage clock feels like a countdown looming upon my head to something inevitable. "I want to go to Harvard to be with Areston. I can't live without him, papa. I love him. Yale is not for me. I have this... bad feeling about the idea of living without Areston. I have never lived without him. I have this premonition of sorts that my relationship with him won't survive long distance. Please don't subject me to that."

He sits in his usual armchair, the New Yorker in his hands, his expression unreadable, bordering disinterested. "Generations of Rothschilds have graduated from Yale. Your mama needs the legacy to continue with you."

"I am also an Alanis. Generations of Alanis have graduated from Harvard. Why can't I go to Harvard? You allowed Chase to pick Harvard. Why can't I get the same privilege?"

His forefinger slightly tapping against the New Yorker's cover betrays his calm facade as he continues disregarding me and maintaining his attention to the content on the page. "You're being irrational, pumpkin. That's not what you're raised to be. Jennifer knows what's best for your future. She has been planning everything since the day you were born. It's not some decision she took on a... whim."

My chest tightens with desperation and a sharp sting that I feel in his dismissive voice. "I know. That's why I never said anything. But I am telling you now—I don't have a good feeling about it. Can't you just talk to her? Just this once? Convince her? I don't want to break her heart by begging her to go to Harvard. You can, however, persuade her to change her mind by telling her that it's your wish that I go to your alma mater. She has always had her way when it comes to my upbringing so maybe this time she'll let you have this."

"Your mama—"

My voice catches in my throat as hurt and frustration start mingling as I take a step closer to him. "I am your daughter too, papa. Isn't it your responsibility to use that card to help me just once?"

He finally stands, his tall height towering over me. My father is a handsome man, blessed with lethal good looks that he has blessed my brother with as part of the gene pool, but right now, he looks intimidatingly scary.

He turns away, walking to the large window overlooking Central Park, and looks out, his posture rigid. "As your father, it's my responsibility to assist your mother with the path to a bright future she has laid out for you," his voice is cold and detached.

I ball my hands into fists at my side. This is his last chance to mend this relationship between us that never existed in the first place but I kept living with a hope that one day it will. I am such a fool. "You're not even going to attempt to help me, are you?"

He doesn't turn around. "Your mama knows what she's doing, pumpkin. You'll thank her one day."

"Alright." I storm out of the room, my vision blurred with incessant tears.

"Where are you going?"

I spin around. "Home, and just so you know, I'll never set foot here again. Ever. I was naive to think you care. You don't and guess what? I am so done making foolish attempts to make you care. I gave you an opportunity to be the father I want... to be a father. You tossed it away and why wouldn't you? You have never wanted to be my father anyway."

His expression remains unchanged and impassive. "There's no need to be dramatic, pumpkin. Come, have lunch."

"Lunch?" I sneer, almost choking on a sob. "You're so damned insistent to have me follow all the rules set by your wife and yet you're absolutely clueless about the fact that she doesn't prefer me having lunch. It can make me lethargic so she has me eating almonds instead. But then how would you know about these things anyway? It's not like I mean anything to you for you to care about these things related to me. Chase is the only child you wanted. Isn't that right? I have always been... I don't even know what I am to you. Guess what, papa? I will never expect anything from you anymore. Goodbye."

A bile rises in my throat as the overwhelming sense of hurt and rejection washes over me again.

The urge to leave ignites again, but this time, I am not the same person. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself as the memory of the past burns in my mind when my father's private secretary appears in front of me.

"Your father is in his home office attending a meeting. It'll take some time, but I shall announce your arrival to him." If he's surprised to see me here after the debacle that happened the last time I was here, his face doesn't show.

Jameson Hale is a looming, lean man in his late sixties, with silver-streaked hair neatly combed and sharp, intelligent gray eyes covered by thin, rectangle, gold-framed prescription glasses. He's as always in a crisp, tailored suit that compliments his austere and dignified demeanor behavior. Having served since the time Papa graduated and joined the Alanis group, Jameson's presence is as much a permanent fixture of the mansion as its intricate vintage details.

"It's alright. It's not like he'll be rushing to cut his meeting short to spend time with me," I sigh, looking at the marble stairs. "Do I still have a room upstairs?"

"Of course," he speaks with a voice that's articulate and measured to carry the weight of ages of his unwavering loyalty and service to my father's side of the family.

"That's where I'll be then," I smile and surprise him with a hug—just like I used to when I was a kid despite knowing that the man is as good as a statue who'd never return my hug. "It's good to see you after so long, Hale."

It's he who surprises me this time with a gentle pat on my back. "It's good to see you too, Ms. Rothschild."

"Mrs. De L'Aquila. I am married now."

"I am aware."

"Of course," I sigh. "I'll be upstairs."

The fresh pink peonies arranged in the light pink ornate vases fill my nostrils, taking me back in time. The huge bedroom is just as it was back then. An explosion of gold and pink, a princess's dream come true. The shade of fuschia and bubblegum feels overwhelming now but back then I used to love it. The ornate bed with pink tufted headboard, pink curtains, chandeliers, pink furniture, the golden pillars, all of it was made to precisely match the interior of my bedroom at my mother's place. Everything is in the same place.

I smile as I look around my bedroom. Whenever I felt like making attempts to fetch my father's attention, I used to come and spend nights here. He'd never come to see me and ignore me as if I didn't exist, but it never mattered to me. I was a stubborn fool who never stopped trying. It would hurt me deeply of course. It's just that I never allowed that feeling to overwhelm me. I just kept trying in vain hoping that he might come and sit with me.

I cannot believe the place still exists and is maintained on a regular basis. It's not like I can even accuse someone of doing it on purpose just because they were expecting my arrival. Until an hour ago, no one even knew of my plan—not even my husband. I wander off to the walk-in closet, which now when I think of it, feels like it's Lysandra's closet. There's just so much pink in here. I'd forgotten just how obsessed I used to be with the color. Probably more possessed by pink than Lysandra happens to be.

The glittery pink combs, bracelets, earrings, shoe collection, clothes, all of it remains intact. I chuckle as my fingers idly touch a pink Versace dress that would still fit me but it's out of fashion now. This place is a Y2K influencer's dream. As I open one of the closets, my eyes catch a pink box I'd never seen before. Probably because I never bothered opening any of them.

Grabbing it, I take it to what once used to be my cozy spot, here and in my mother's home—a bubblegum pink teepee with pink cascading sheer curtains on a smaller, but still big bed in the other corner of the room. It has a cozy pastel pink blanket, faux fur cushions and throw pillows, a pink floral rug on the floor, a pink underfoot, and stuffed toys in pink. There are pink fairytale lights wrapped around it.

Settling inside, I open it to realize it's a memory box. 

There are mementos from my childhood I was absolutely unprepared to find here out of all the places. Each one carries a small note attached to it in my father's unmistakable cursive handwriting.

A dried flower—a peony. 

The note reads—Pumpkin's first time gardening.

A brown thing. 

The note reads—Pumpkin's first time baking in her easy bake oven.

Oh, god! I remember feeding the first one to Areston and then taking it to Chase who was being scolded by our father for some chaos he had stirred. I cannot believe he kept it all this time. I thought he didn't even try it.

A pink iPod. The note reads—Pumpkin's first-ever iPod. Contains all her favorite songs. She doesn't like it anymore.

A photograph of me in a pink helmet riding a pink bike. Pumpkin's first time on a bike.

A tooth. Pumpkin's first tooth. She believes the fairy took it.

A tiny pink onesie. Pumpkin's first dress after she was born.

A baby pink-colored hospital ID bracelet with my birth date, time, sex, and all. Pumpkin wore the day she was born.

A crayon drawing complete with random scribbles and attempts at writing the word Papa. Pumpkin's first time writing my name.

A small pink fluffy blanket. Pumpkin's first-ever blanket.

A glittery pink birthday candle in the shape of 1. Pumpkin's first birthday candle.

A pair of pink baby shoes. Pumpkin's first pair of shoes.

A lock of golden blonde hair tied with a pink ribbon. Pumpkin's first haircut.

A report card with straight As. Pumpkin's first report card. Proud father.

A tiny pink handprint of a blank framed canvas. Pumpkin's first attempt to paint.

A Polaroid with my face smeared in red lipstick. Pumpkin's first time with makeup. I washed her up. She loved it. Asked me to buy her more red lipsticks and not tell her mama.

A seashell. Pumpkin's first-ever beach trip. She caught this in her tiny palm and gave it to me.

A stick figure with what looks like a cape on his neck. My Superman is scribbled on top of it. Pumpkin's first drawing of me.

A movement catches my eyes and I notice him leaning against the door. He's in his custom Italian-tailored Cesare Attolini charcoal suit sans the jacket. 

He looks effortlessly regal—a king who doesn't need a crown to rule and command respect. 

 I am not even surprised to catch him working in a suit even when he's supposed to be working from home following a mild wrist injury I was informed he had while weightlifting at his home gym a couple of days back. Mama has been nagging him to work from home and because he cannot ever upset her by not obliging, he does it the way he prefers the best.

Ramon Alanis is a ridiculously handsome man who looks almost the same as he did when I was a kid—ages like a fine wine. His tall, towering frame, and broad shoulders—all the same and just as imposing as always. It's as if he has been blessed to remain untouched by the time. His face, with its high cheekbones and sharp jawline, is chiseled like some sculpture, the sort that resides in the Louvre, and stares down at you with a sense of quiet authority. The noble Spanish ancestry is undeniable, embedded deeply into every angle, every line. He's well into his late fifties but he doesn't look a day over forties. Not a single year appears to have settled on him. The man is frozen in time.

"I didn't mean to intrude," My voice is a weak whisper.

"It's your bedroom. Your home. You're not intruding," he says, his deep baritone surprisingly soft and lacking the usual haughtiness.

With his arms still crossed, he comes in my direction and takes a seat beside me. When they say my brother is a carbon copy of him, they're not lying apart from the difference in eye color. 

That's the only thing I take after him—eyes. 

We have the same color. 

However, there's a huge difference. Mine are a mirror to my thoughts as my husband says. Whereas my father's, well, they rival my husband and brother's degree of unfathomable.

He takes the drawing from my hand and studies it. "I was your favorite superhero."

"I am sure all girls feel the same way about their dads. I had no idea you'd been collecting all of this. Do you have Chase's too?"

"Just the ones from the time of his birth when he was a calm creature. Your brother was a wild child. Lost his first tooth lord knows where. Painted red demons with big teeth and tossed them at the ducks in Elizabeth's pond to hurt them. It is hard to collect the mementos of such kids, you see," his lips twitch in a smile.

"That's true." 

"It's good to have you here." There's no doubt he remembers the last time I was here.

"Why did you keep all this?"

"Because you're my daughter."

"Daughter whose existence you've ignored all the time, but alright. Let's go with your reason," I sigh, closing the lid of the box, and lying down on the bed with my fingers crossed on my chest and legs dangling down the bed. 

I stare at the roof of the pink teepee as pink neon stars glow in the dark. From the fairytale string lights hanging from one end to another inside in a manner that doesn't touch anyone's head, polaroids are hanging down from it. They're my pictures with Areston, Chase, Selene, and Claire. 

"I did not want to come here," I say. 

"You've never wanted to," he surprises me as he mimics my movement and lies beside me, staring at the ceiling. His large frame feels like a monster's inside the small teepee.

"You never gave me a reason to."

"It's your home."

"Home is where you feel comfortable. All I've felt here is anxiety from being ignored."

"It's my fault you felt that way. You shouldn't have."

"Yes, I shouldn't have," I inhale deeply and raise my arm to show him the custom Vacheron Constantin on my wrist. "I had no idea you had it engraved."

"You've always been my pride."

"You couldn't have said that to me on my face? Even once?"

"I could have."

I change the topic as tears threaten to explode. "I got married, by the way."

"I had an inkling when I saw Areston shamelessly flaunt his wedding band," his voice remains stern, but I sense a hint of amusement.

"Bahamas. The same island he was born on. I tried to keep it a secret from mama but failed spectacularly. I was hoping for a huge drama, but she was surprisingly too happy about it and didn't give me a shit about eloping. I am guessing it has to do with the fact that now I do not get to whine about the huge wedding spectacle she has always wanted for me."

"Probably from the day my mayhem found out she'd conceived you." Regardless of all the tension that has always existed between us, I've always adored how he worships the ground mama walks on. 

He's absolutely, irrevocably as smitten and in love as he has always been. Claire, Selene, and I have always swooned whenever Papa calls Mama his mayhem. It's cute. 

"She did not even wait for the ob-gyn to confirm the gender. Just knew we were having a girl and started making plans for her," he adds. 

"You didn't?" I turn on my side so that I am facing him.

He mimics me again. Now we're facing each other. "Do you know your beloved mama to even consider anyone else's plans, especially when it comes to her precious daughter? Besides, I was a wretched bastard who ended up becoming envious of his child who hadn't even been born yet."

I restrain a sharp inhale. For the past couple of weeks, whenever my mind has idly wondered about it, I've sensed a reason like this, but I was never sure until now. "Envious." I measure the word. 

"She loved you more than she ever loved me from the time she found out about you. You became her world, her priority, the center of all her attention. I always wanted to be all of that but never could. The realization didn't go well with me and I ended up becoming envious. I never wished that you didn't exist, but I always wished that she would at least regard me on the same level as she regarded you."

"Did you feel the same way about Chase?"

"No."

"Because he didn't take away from you what I did—the only thing you love the most in the world. That's why you always maintained a distance from me. You hated me for what I'd done."

"Never hate," he answers with heaviness in his voice, and for the first time, he reaches out to cup the side of my face. Papa has never touched me before. Not even for one of those pretentious official photo-ops. "I maintained a distance because you were your mother's carbon copy and every time I saw you, it served as a bitter reminder of what I'd lost, and I didn't like feeling that way. It was an inexcusable crime and I am guilty."

I smile, keeping my hand above his. "That's why you couldn't love me."

"I've always loved you."

"I would have said I don't believe you, but I have been contemplating things that have made me conclude that you do love me. In your twisted ways. It's just that you do not love me as much as you love mama. That has always outweighed everyone and everything else, including Chase and I, especially me, given Mama's psychotic attachment with me, which made you feel neglected."

"I understand it's too late... but I am sorry, little one." For the first time, I see pain and deep regret in his eyes for what he has done. I've never seen it before. It's genuine. I came here well-prepared in advance to mend the bridge between us, or attempt to, by letting go of the past, but to see him opening up like this when I was least expecting him is a shocker and honestly, it feels good. "I have been toying with the idea of coming to see you and talking about it... I couldn't gather the strength to do so. I am a weak man. I should have been a better father and come to you instead of worrying about the possible disgust, rage, or worse indifference you could've subjected me to."

"I did not come looking for an apology today. I came to tell you that I forgive you. So, you see, there's no need to apologize really. Besides, I suppose I understand your reasons. I wouldn't have subjected you to disgust, rage, or indifference even if I didn't. Had you known me, you'd have understood I am someone who's desperate to be loved. I go to lengths to make Mama happy regardless of being labeled an asskiss by Chase. My habit annoys the hell out of my husband and yet it doesn't deter me. So, I'd have forgiven you instantly. I took the task upon myself to see you today because I do understand why you did what you did."

I smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Areston is like you. I'll always come first for him and there shall never exist someone he'll love more than he loves me. At first, I didn't believe it. I thought as we have kids, his thoughts might change. But the more I understand him, I've come to realize that he means it. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves me. Not even our kids. They'll always be his second priority. But there's a difference. I will never allow him to do what Mama allowed you to do to me. My husband will have to put our children on the same level as me, if not above me. I'd die before I let anyone make any of my children feel neglected by their father the way I felt. It's not just your fault. Mama could have intervened but she chose not to. I guess she had her skepticism preventing her from doing so. She loved me too much to see me losing to anyone, including my father. I don't blame anyone anymore. It was just how things were meant to be and I have accepted it. Life has given me a second chance with the man I love so I want to give you a second chance as well if you want it."

His face splits into a smile for the very first time for me. "Elizabeth is right. You are a blessing we never deserved. I don't want you to believe me, but if you will allow me then I will spend the rest of my life working to make myself worthy of this chance, little one."

"You don't need to feel that way. Forgiving you is just something I have wanted to do," I smile, shaking my head. The tears clouding my eyes start falling and slipping down my nose. "I love you. Regardless of everything."

He leans forward and kisses the top of my head. "I don't deserve your love, but I am honored. I love you, little one."

"If you are done with this shitshow, I'd like my baby sister away from this hellhole," Chase's deep authoritative voice interrupts us. He's leaning against the door, just like Papa was, and he's looking like his spitting image.

He has come to rescue me. As he always does. 

It's annoying but it brings a smile to my face that even though he's incapable of processing emotions, he knows how to care for me, and it means he's not the cruel monster everyone projects him to be, just like my husband isn't.

"She's not going anywhere," Papa argues and takes my hand, entwining his fingers with mine, and helping me get up. 

"You want to pretend to be her father for a change to ease your guilty conscience after years of neglect?" 

"Trying to be the father she always wanted but never got. It's never too late to start. Just like it's never too late for you to remember I'm still your father and you might want to tone down that condescending tone and glare, you insolent punk."

"Stop it, you two," I intervene. "Chase, stop being an ass." 

"Yeah, stop being that," Papa says in amusement, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. "She loves Melon's burgers, which I am certain is also your favorite fast food joint. We're ordering it. You can join us or be an ass and leave. I am certain you're busy."

"How do you know I love it?" I ask, grinning in amusement.

"I overheard you mentioning it to Selene a couple of years ago. I was happy you'd started eating food like people your age do."

"So, you think all of this can make it up for being a shitty father to her for 30 years of her life?" Chase tosses abrasively.

"Chase!" I gasp.

"That's what he has been to you. Just because you've decided to become a fucking Mother Teresa doesn't mean I'll turn a blind eye to it as well. One of us has to stay sane," he shrugs in response.

"I am well aware of what I've been and there's nothing I can do to fix it, but as I said before, I want to try," Papa says, staring at him as he regards him with a deadly glare.

"Would you have had this miraculous awakening if my naive sister hadn't come here?" He smirks devilishly.

"Stop it, Chase."

"I was planning to talk to her."

"Keyword being planning," my brother says arrogantly and I ignore him.

"Yes. I've been planning it since the day she woke up in the hospital following the rehab but I've never had the courage to. However, ever since I had a light talk with Res a couple of days back, I've wanted to do more so than ever."

Areston never told me. "Chase, I am done trying to hold my past. I want to put it all behind and there's nothing more I want more than you helping me. I am nothing without you, you know that. Please. Can we do this? For me?"

"You want to forgive this man?"

"Our father. Yes."

He stares at me with his ice-cold gaze. "I am leaving. Enjoy your family time."

"You've never left me alone. Are you planning to change it now?"

"I do if I do not approve of your naivety."

"You did not approve of me getting married to Areston so quickly either. You accepted it."

"I made peace with it only because I know what you mean to him," he says, without turning around. His hands remain buried in the pockets of his pants. Fury vibrates of the chiseled muscles of his powerful frame sheathed in his custom Canali charcoal suit. "Still don't approve of the rush."

I take a step further and entwine my hands around his arm. "Then make peace with this as well because I want you to. Please, Chase. This is important to me," I lean forward to whisper. My height is no match to his so I've to rise on my toes. "I've always wanted to be loved by Papa and now that I know he does, I want to revel in it. Even though the grownup me has gotten over all of those things, the teen me wants it. It's not about some false sense of validation. I just want it, Chase."

"For the record, I do not approve of this," he asserts after a bit. I sense his frame relaxing a bit.

"I know."

He finally turns around, pinning my face with his unsmiling one. "I hate that my baby sister is so pathetic."

"Umm. Ew, I am deeply appalled, but alright. I'll take it," I smile, latching onto his arms, and turning to face Papa who has a rare sense of satisfaction and a smile on his face as he watches us.

"You said something about Melon's burger, old man?" Chase asks rudely and earns a gentle nudge in his ribs from my elbow.

"Add an extra burger to that order." Comes my husband's seductive drawl.

I spin around to find him standing at a distance with his hands in the pocket of his pants in a different Brioni than he wore to work today, which can only mean he's here following his workout session with his trainer. He just couldn't stay away—more like he could, but he didn't want to risk me being upset on my own if things hadn't gone my way with Papa.

I narrow my eyes playfully at him and cross my arms as I walk in his direction and stop a little further from him. "Here to see someone, your highness?"

Amusement plays in his gaze while his face remains an unreadable mask as he swallows the distance between us in three steps. His arm shoots for my waist and he draws me closer.

Lowering his head against my forehead, he finally blesses me with a heartstoppingly beautiful smile that causes my breath to trip. "My wife. Can't stay away from her."

I smile like an idiot, cupping his face. "You don't even like burgers."

"I can tolerate them for you and as a reward, you'll let me eat your cunt for dessert on the ride back," he whispers.

"Deal."

"Stop ruining my innocent baby sister with your filth, Res," Chase grumbles from behind, making Papa laugh.

"Too late. My innocence is already ruined," I grin, still looking at my husband, and hear my father and brother groan in the background. 

How was the chapter?

Your favorite parts?