Unveiled Tension 

Chapter 12

With every dip beneath the surface, I could feel the remnants of the day's frustrations drifting away. The water caressed my body, washing away the tension that had gathered up in me for hours. In these moments, I found solace, a temporary respite from the demands of my reality.

As the water gradually cooled, I rose from the tub, wrapping myself in a plush robe. The reflection in the mirror revealed a face that mirrored my weariness, the lines etched by stress. But tonight, my countenance carried an additional layer of resentment, a result of the unwelcome presence of my mother.

In my room, I closed the door of the bathroom behind me, shutting out the world beyond. As I dressed in my night wear which was an up an down night white shirt and white pants with vertical lines, I couldn't help but wonder when the rift between my mother and me had grown so deep. Our differences were not mere trivialities; they were fundamental aspects of our beings. She lives in a world driven by material wealth and powerful connections, while I yearned for something more meaningful.

Her relentless pursuit of securing rich people daughters for me through a contract marriage was an example of her ideology. She saw it as a means to solidify our standing, expanding our network of influence and wealth. But for me, it was an abomination, a sacrilege against the sanctity of love and personal choices.

Throughout my life, my mother had been consumed by the pursuit of wealth, constantly entangled in a web of business deals, social gatherings, and endless negotiations. Her focus on money and work left little room for genuine human connection, let alone concern for my well-being. Even as a child, I was a mere accessory to her grand designs, a pawn in her never-ending game of power and ambition.

She failed to recognize the emptiness that resided within me, the longing for something more profound than material success. She remained oblivious to the fact that her constant fixation on opulence and the allure of glamorous women left me feeling hollow and lost.

As I sat down at my desk, the weight of my mother's expectations bore down on my shoulders. I was an heir to a vast empire, burdened with the responsibility of upholding the family legacy. But the thought of succumbing to her desires, of entering into a loveless union for the sake of power, was unbearable.

As I sat at my desk, the weight of my mother's expectations bore down on my shoulders. The constant pressure to conform to her ideals and enter into a loveless contract marriage was suffocating. But amidst the turmoil, a sudden thought invaded my mind, pulling me away from the confines of my room.

I couldn't help but think of Emma, the captivating woman I had met a few weeks ago. Our encounter had been brief, ad we had good chemistry, we ended up having a one-night stand filled with fleeting moments of passion and desire. Yet, her memory lingered, I had been excited to see her on the night of the past day but her words were a shock. Then I thought of my mom and realized something impeccable that could relieve me of the woman's troubling.

Emma's allure lay not in her opulence, but in her genuine spirit and zest for life. She embodied a freedom I yearned for, a liberation from the chains of expectations and societal constructs. In her presence, I felt alive, unburdened by the weight of my responsibilities. And her presence fills my world with nothing than pure happiness

Descending the grand staircase, I prepared myself for the inevitable surprise that awaited my mother upon seeing me. Maintaining an indifferent look in my eyes, I greeted her with a curt nod before making my way to the other end of the table. I took my seat, determined to break free from the chains that bound me.

As I began my meal, Maria, ever attentive, moved around the room, her presence a stark contrast to the tension that permeated the air. The clinking of cutlery against the ceramic plates served as a weird kind of soundtrack to the battle of wills that unfolded before us. And it helped make the room less quiet.

As I finished up with my meal, Maria approached, a tray of desserts in hand. It was my favorite chocolate cupcakes and that is something Maria doesn't know about and that means..... But before she could offer her delicacies, I waved her away, declining the sweet temptation. My mother, ever the opportunist, seized the opportunity to assert her own culinary prowess.

"I prepared the dessert myself, Alexander," she said, her voice laced with a hint of pride. But I knew the real truth.

A wide exaggerated smile crept upon my lips as I looked at her, my voice dripping with disdain. "Mother, we both know you've never held a whisker in your life, let alone a spoon with the intention of cooking. Spare me your baseless lies. You baked me cupcakes? You're quite the joker"

Her expression turned sour, a flicker of anger dancing in her eyes. It was a moment of truth, a glimpse into the reality she had so desperately tried to conceal. But I would no longer be swayed by her manipulations and false pretenses.

Her attempt to assert her culinary prowess was nothing more than a feeble attempt to regain control, to maintain the illusion of a doting mother who cared for her son's every need. But I saw through the facade, aware of the relentless pursuit of power that had taken precedence over my own well-being.

Silence settled over the room, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of a fractured relationship. My mother's face contorted, as she said her next surprising words.

"I had the most incredible opportunity, Alexander. I was invited to the Met Gala, but I couldn't bear the thought of being away from you," she said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and affection.