Lightning Strike (Billionaire Boys Club #3) | ongoing

Chapter 30

                      Alora:

"No."

"I'm afraid it's unavoidable." My mother sighs.

"Absolutely not. Eomma, I can't go. There's no need for me to even be there."

"Their children will also be in attendance and you know as well as I do that appearances matter. I know you two don't get along but you will behave tonight, won't you?" She strokes my hair. "And after tomorrow I'll be back at the hospital for a while. Let's leave this deal with a successful start."

I don't like this, hate it actually. But she's right and that's the only reason I say, "Fine."

She smiles and then lets go, leaving me in my bedroom with a parting, "7sikkaji junbihaseyo." (Be ready by seven)

I drop onto the edge of my bed and let my back flop to the covers as well.

After what he threatened me with yesterday? I'm supposed to just sit there and be cordial?

If anything else had happened then I could do it. I could muster up the courage and endure his presence. But I can't even lie to myself. Since the gardens I can't help feeling what I know had settled into my bones when he held me there and told me he'd leave me in the dark.

Fear.

I'm scared of him.

Not that much and definitely not entirely but enough to know that if he ever were to do something like that again, I'd do or say whatever he wanted to get out of the situation.

He knows my weaknesses and he's using them without mercy.

But I know one of his weaknesses now, too. Maybe not to a T but enough. And I can use that too.

Tonight will be a perfect opportunity to make an example of that.

He won't dare to do anything to me afterwards, not when it has a chance of getting back to his father.

Two can play this game.

With a fresh wave of confidence, I stand up from my bed and begin the process of getting ready and once I've finally done, I take a good look at my reflection in the mirror.

I decide to go for a short-sleeved tweed dress tonight, a soft cream with sparkling buttons and pair it with some cream, four-inch pumps that have a supportive strap around the ankle. My jewellery is minimal, as is my makeup and my bag is a Chanel that matches perfectly.

By 19;03, I'm downstairs with a black coat over my shoulders, heartbeat relatively steady and a mental preparation about halfway downloaded. By the time we arrive outside of the restaurant, my mental preparation is at one hundred percent download.

...okay, ninety-nine.

But there's nothing to do for it now. So, when the driver opens the door to the car, I step out like it's at two-fifty and walk inside with my head high, not faltering when I spot him sat at the table and certainly not when he looks at me with just as much contempt I have for him.

"Lalana." Eomma greets his mother, who turns around at the first sound of her voice and stands to face her.

"Mira." She smiles back. "How are you?"

"Wonderful. And you?"

"Excellent. Oh, and look at you." She turns to me and gives me an appreciative once over. "So beautiful. Even more than last week."

"Thank you." She believes what she's saying, I mean it'd be hard to argue with, but I'm also sure that there's some sucking up being done.

"And your children." Eomma offers. "Your daughter is exquisite. And your son's so handsome."