Our Forbidden Love

XV : Bad Parenting 101

Fallon's POV

I have always known how influential my parents are.

My dumb ass have played the game wrong and now I have to suffer a consequence I never even knew I would encounter throughout my existence!

"Are you really going to beg me to marry that brat?" I asked for the nth time, as my father glared at me.

"If not marriage, could you do anything better?" Mother chimed, giving me a bittersweet look.

She was never really there and I don't think she ever cared. She should know better, as far as I'm aware, she had to marry my father for the same reason why they are now begging me to death to marry my arch enemy.

"I don't know, this seems like just... the last fucking resort! You guys went to college and didn't realize we could possibly go bankrupt? Are there no other plans than to beg the orphan you adopted from Asia to marry that brat supermodel?!" I scolded both of them for the very first time, possibly be the last if one pulls out the trigger.

"That is because this is the last resort, Fallon. Oh great heavens, we have no other option."

Oh father, I see you're taking the career before family in reality.

But I don't know, I am just adopted.

I was just a replacement. A replacement for their daughter who died of cancer. She was only eight, a little girl with her whole life ahead of her—until it was taken too soon.

My name isn't even really Fallon Demir Parker. It used to be just Demir Andiç. My biological grandparents raised me from the moment I was born, after my parents split. They told me my parents couldn't keep me—couldn't bear the weight of raising another child, so they gave me away to the orphanage. That was my new reality.

I spent my childhood there, forced to grow up fast, forced to learn how to defend myself. In a place like that, you either fight or you fade into the background. I fought.

My name—Demir—was my Baba's middle name. He was a good man, gentle and kind. He passed away when I was still young, but his memory stayed with me in that simple gift. I carry it, even now, as a piece of him that no one can take from me.

But Mama—my grandmother—she knew what was coming. She knew her time was running out. She made the choice to send me to the orphanage before her health failed her. I think she didn't want to burden anyone with the reality of what would come next. She wanted me to be out of harm's way when she was gone. I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now.

I remember that day clearly—the day I was caught trying to leave the orphanage. I had only one goal: to visit her grave, to see where she lay. I had to. I needed to feel close to her again. But they stopped me before I could even get close to the door. The guards lifted me off the ground, like I was some kind of troublemaker, and dragged me back inside.

I used to hate the fact that they gave me the same name as the little girl they lost. I used to think it was a cruel reminder of her death—of how they replaced her with me. But as I've gotten older, I've come to see it differently. Now I try to look at it logically, maybe even with some acceptance.

I think she would've been happy knowing that her name didn't just vanish. That even though she was only eight, her name lived on in me. I don't know if it would have mattered to her, but in some strange way, it matters to me. She may not have cared about fame, or legacy, but I think—if I were her—I would be glad that people still remembered my name.

At least, that's what I try to believe.

"Is this why you guys were never supportive of me dating girls?" I sadly spoke.