𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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The weekend finally arrived, but it brought no relief. Lucas hadn't budged, and the group's concern for him was palpable, yet unresolved. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, but there was no space left in my heart to worry about Lucas. I needed comfort, guidance-something to ground me amidst the chaos. There was only one person who could provide that right now, one person who had always been my refuge in the storm.
But as I walked into the foyer, seeking the solace I desperately craved, I was confronted by a scene that brought my world crashing down.
My father's hand was clamped around my mother's arm, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. Her face was a mask of controlled fear, the kind that spoke of years of practice, of swallowing pain to keep the peace. My mother's eyes widened when she saw me, panic flashing across her face. I froze, the air thick with tension, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on me.
I had read it in her diary, those awful secrets hidden between the lines of her neat, delicate handwriting. She had confirmed it to me, tears spilling down her cheeks as she told me of the years of torment, of the bruises hidden beneath long sleeves and the silenced cries that never escaped her lips. But this... this was the first time I witnessed it with my own eyes.
And it broke something inside me.
Everything stopped. The world went silent, and I could feel the blood pulsing in my ears, my vision narrowing until all I could see was my father's hand, cruel and unyielding, on my mother's arm. The sight triggered something deep within me, a primal rage I hadn't known I possessed.
My mother was the first to react, pulling away from my father's grasp and rushing toward me, her voice trembling as she tried to soothe the situation.
"Winter, it's okay," she said, her hands shaking as she reached for me. "Please, just go upstairs. Let me handle this."
But there was no way I was going to walk away. Not now. Not ever again.
I pushed her gently behind me, shielding her from him, and took a step forward, my eyes locked onto my father's. I could feel the anger rising, like a tide swelling within me, too powerful to be held back any longer.
"You coward," I hissed, my voice shaking with fury. "You piece of shit."
My father's face twisted into something ugly, a sneer pulling at his lips as he stared down at me, but I didn't back down. I took another step forward, then another, until I was standing right in front of him, my chest heaving with the force of my anger.
"How dare you," I spat, my voice rising with every word. "How dare you lay a hand on her!"
My mother tried to pull me back, her hands grabbing at my shoulders, but I shrugged her off. This wasn't her fight anymore. This was mine. All the anger, all the pain I had buried over the years came flooding out of me in a torrent of words. Every hateful thought I'd ever had about him, every bitter memory I'd tried to suppress--it all poured out in a rush, my voice growing louder and louder as I screamed my head off.
