The Point of No Return
Liliana's POV
I lay in bed smirking to myself, staring up at the ceiling as I tugged the blanket higher under my chin. My phone still sat on the nightstand, black screen hiding the sin I’d just committed. But I didn’t need to look at it again to know what I’d done.
Ronny had seen them.
The thought alone made my lips curl wider. I could almost feel his frustration through the phone, his tightly coiled self-control snapping thread by thread as he scrolled through those pictures. Lace, satin, silk—I’d given him no escape, no way to pretend he was unaffected. No matter how cold and disciplined he claimed to be, no matter how many times he shoved the word “professional” down my throat, there was no denying the truth anymore.
I had gotten to him.
The man who had tried so hard to keep me at arm’s length was unraveling, and I had been the one to pull the first thread loose.
I couldn't help but imagine what his face would look like. His jaw tight. His grey eyes darkening. I wish I was there.
I chuckled softly into the quiet of my room. For once, I didn’t feel powerless. For once, I was the one who had shaken him.
It was more than a victory—it was a promise. A promise that soon, no matter how much he fought it, he would end up right where I wanted him. In my bed. And, whether he liked it or not, in my heart.
The warmth of that thought carried me to sleep like a lullaby.
***
When I woke the next morning, sunlight spilling in through the curtains, I felt like I could conquer the damn world. I stretched luxuriously, my body humming with leftover satisfaction from the night before. My reflection in the mirror looked different somehow—sharper, brighter, like the girl staring back was glowing with secret power no one else could see.
Ronny had looked at those pictures.
And that was enough to make me feel untouchable.
I dressed with more care than usual, even though I told myself it was just a casual morning. White shorts that hugged my hips, a light pink top that brought out the rosiness in my cheeks, and clean white sneakers. My hair I left loose, tumbling down my back, because why not? Let them all see how unbothered, how happy, I was.
I bounced down the stairs, humming under my breath. But the moment I reached the landing, my mood soured like milk left in the sun.
There they were.
My father, sitting stiff-backed at the head of the dining table, his attention buried in the morning paper like always. Beside him, my stepmother Clara with her perfect posture and painted-on smile, sipping coffee as though she owned the house instead of being the parasite who latched onto it. And then Lily.
My stepsister.
They sat like a picture-perfect family portrait. A scene meant for magazines—wealth, respectability, unity. Except anyone with eyes could see the cracks if they looked close enough.
I didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance in their direction as I made for the front door.
But of course, Lily had to open her mouth.
“Aren’t you going to have breakfast?” she called out in that syrupy sweet voice, the one she saved for public appearances and for my father, the one that made her sound like the very definition of innocence.
I knew better.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her. My hand closed around the doorknob, already twisting, already tasting freedom in the air.
The sound of a chair scraping back made me freeze. Footsteps followed, quick and purposeful.
“Liliana,” Lily’s voice trilled behind me, light and airy. “Come on. I want us to be a family.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. Slowly, I turned to face her. She was standing a few feet away, her perfect blonde hair shining under the chandelier, her eyes wide and guileless—except I knew the devil was dancing behind them.
“Cut the crap, Lily,” I snapped, my tone sharp as a whip. “Drop the act. No one’s buying it.”
Her mouth twitched, that angelic mask slipping for just a second before she laughed. Soft, musical, like bells chiming.
“Okay, okay,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “You got me.”
Her laughter grated on my nerves. I hated that sound. Because it wasn’t real. None of it was ever real.
And I hated more that my father didn’t hear the truth when it was right in front of him.
When he wasn’t listening, when his nose was buried in the paper, Lily could drop the act. She could be who she really was. And she loved reminding me of it.
Her smirk sharpened as she stepped closer, lowering her voice so it carried only between us.
“Tell me, Liliana,” she murmured, her tone dripping with venom. “When are you going to disappear just like your mother?”
The words slammed into me like a blade.
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The world tilted, narrowed, until all I could see was her smug little face.
The blood roared in my ears.
Something inside me cracked wide open.
All I saw was red.
The tension at the table had always been bad, but today it was like a loaded gun pointed straight at me.
I should’ve walked away. I knew I should’ve. That was what she wanted—to provoke me, to push me past the edge so I’d be the one caught losing control.
But Lily’s words weren’t just taunts. They weren’t just poison.
They were an attack.
On my mother.
On the one person who had loved me without condition.
And that was something I couldn’t forgive.
My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms until I thought I might draw blood. My whole body trembled with the effort it took not to lunge at her.
“Say that again,” I whispered, my voice low, dangerous.
Lily’s smirk widened. She leaned in closer, her perfume cloying and sweet, her breath brushing my ear as she whispered back.
“You heard me.”
Something inside me snapped.
And that was where the world tilted, the point of no return.
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