Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 118

Chapter 118
Miexha’s Point of View

Sunday.

Supposed to be family day.
But today?

It felt like a trial.

I sat beside Jayson, who looked just as thrilled to be here as I was—which meant not at all.

Across the table sat his parents: President Ashel Dom and First Lady Jane Dom.

And on the other side: my parents. Suited, powdered, perfectly dressed for what felt like a corporate funeral.

Me?

Messy ponytail. Oversized hoodie. Yesterday’s lip tint barely surviving.

“Explain yourself,” my father said.

No ‘Good morning, sweetheart.’
No ‘Congratulations on going viral.’
Just straight-up interrogation.

“I sang,” I said, as calmly as I could.

(Should’ve added 'like a free human being', but I held back.)

“And now you’re signing a record deal?” my mother gasped, like I just announced I’d joined a cult.

“You're not just any girl,” my father snapped. “You're a Wayne. A walking bank. Presidential in-law.”

Ouch.

He said it like I was a security risk with decent pitch.

“You don’t need to be a celebrity, Miexha,” Mama Jane added, voice gentle but deadly.
“You’ll be recognized. Watched. Stalked. Do you want to be kidnapped? Held for ransom? Gunned down?”

I sat still.
Numb.
A little mad.

Then—

“No,” I said.

“But I want it.”

Louder this time.

“I want to perform. Not sit in pastel dresses at silent auctions. I want applause for my voice, not my last name.”

My father stood. Fast.

His hand lifted—faster.

But my mom caught his wrist midair, eyes wide.
“Don’t. Not here.”

I stood too.

“You want to know what I want?” My voice shook.
“I want to live. I don’t want to be Jayson’s puppet—”

“What?” Jayson turned to me, shocked.
“Who said you’re my puppet?”

I ignored him.

“And I don’t want to be a Wayne just for convenience. Disown me if you want. I’ll still sing—even if it’s just on a mall corner.”

They looked at me like I’d just burned the Constitution.

President Ashel finally spoke, voice calm but sharp.

“You don’t have to be Jayson's puppet. But we need this alliance. The Doms need the Waynes’ support for future elections.”

“So it’s all politics,” I said quietly. “This engagement—it’s a business deal.”

No one denied it.

Not even Jayson.

“What about what I want?”

Silence.

Even the chandelier seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, my mother sighed. “Fine. You can join showbiz—if you follow certain rules.”