One More Word
LILIANA’S POV
The sharp crack of my palm meeting her skin echoed through the hallway like thunder.
For a moment, everything froze. The chandelier above us seemed to shudder. The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my own heartbeat slamming in my ears.
Lily’s head snapped to the side, a red handprint blooming across her perfect porcelain cheek. Her eyes widened in shock—not because she didn’t deserve it, but because I’d finally done what she thought I’d never dare.
And before she could even suck in a breath, before she could twist her lips into some performance of innocence, my hand lashed out again.
The second slap rang louder than the first, fueled by months of grief, weeks of silent torment, and every poisonous word she’d ever dared spit in my direction. This time she stumbled back, clutching her face, her mouth gaping like a fish gasping for air.
The satisfaction that surged through me was dangerous, addictive. My chest heaved as I stared at her, daring her to say one more word.
One. More. Word.
The clatter of heels striking marble ripped through the tension. Clara shot into the hallway like a banshee, her silk robe flowing behind her, her perfectly manicured hand flying to her chest in feigned horror.
“What are you doing to my daughter?!” she shrieked, rushing forward to cradle Lily as though she’d been struck down by a bullet instead of my hand. Her eyes snapped to me, sharp and gleaming with something darker than outrage—spite. Pure, venomous spite.
She gathered Lily against her, stroking her hair as if she were some fragile little doll instead of the viper she really was. “My poor baby,” Clara crooned, her voice dripping with falseness. Then she turned her gaze on me, her face hardening. “How dare you lay a hand on her? Are you out of your mind?”
I stood tall, fists trembling at my sides, my breath ragged. “One more word from her,” I snarled, my voice low and trembling with fury, “and I swear I’ll do more than slap her.”
Clara’s nostrils flared. “Are you insane? Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”
The mention of my mother’s name from her lips was gasoline on fire. My vision tunneled, hot and white at the edges, my pulse hammering so hard I thought my veins would burst. I took a step closer, my voice dropping to a hiss.
“Manners?” I spat, every syllable vibrating with rage. “Maybe you should teach your snake of a daughter to keep her mouth shut and stay out of my business.”
Clara’s lips curled in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She loved this. Loved me breaking. Loved watching me lose control while she sat there pretending to be the victim. But before she could say more, another voice thundered from behind us.
“What the hell is going on here?!”
My father.
He stormed out from the dining room, his newspaper forgotten, his face dark with fury. His eyes darted from Clara, cradling her precious Lily, to me—standing defiant, my hand still trembling from the impact of those slaps.
“Dad—” Lily’s voice broke, soft and fragile, the picture of wounded innocence. “I was just… just trying to be nice to Liliana, and she—she slapped me.” Her voice cracked on the last words, tears brimming in her eyes like the world’s most rehearsed performance. She even pressed her cheek deeper into Clara’s chest, as if to hide her shame.
It was an act. A flawless, manipulative act. And I knew, I knew, my father would eat it up.
My father’s face hardened, his gaze pinning me like a blade. “Liliana! Why are you being so damn difficult all the time? Can’t you go one morning without starting a fight?”
My chest hollowed out. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Difficult? That was what he saw? After everything—after what Lily had said, after the venom she poured into my wounds—I was the difficult one?
Laughter, bitter and sharp, tore out of me before I could stop it. “Difficult?” I repeated, my voice shaking, high and jagged. “My mother died six months ago, and you—” I jabbed a finger at him, my hands trembling. “You remarried and brought this woman and her daughter into our home like my mother never even existed! And now you stand there and tell me I’m being difficult?”
The words spilled out like blood, unstoppable, raw. My father flinched, but I didn’t care. For once, I wasn’t swallowing the pain. I wasn’t letting their lies strangle me.
“You know what, Dad?” I said, my voice cracking with fury and heartbreak. “Just leave me the hell alone. And tell your wife and daughter to stay out of my sight.”
“Liliana!” His voice rose, commanding, but I was already turning. My hands shook as I yanked the door open, the cool morning air slamming into me like freedom. He called my name again, his tone more desperate this time, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
My heart was thundering in my chest, my breath ragged as I stormed down the steps. My sneakers slapped against the pavement as I crossed the driveway, each step heavier, harder, until I threw myself into my car. The slam of the door reverberated in my bones, final and sharp.
For a moment I sat there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My father’s voice carried faintly through the walls of the house, calling me back. But I didn’t go.
Not this time.
I jammed the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life like a beast unleashed. My pulse pounded with it, the vibrations crawling up through my bones. Without another glance at the house—the place that no longer felt like home—I slammed my foot on the accelerator and peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching against the pavement.
The farther I drove, the more the anger churned inside me, a storm with no outlet. My chest felt tight, my throat raw, my vision blurred. My father. Clara. Lily. The perfect little family portrait at that damn table.
It was like my mother had never existed to them. Like she’d been erased, replaced by that snake and her spawn.
Did he ever love her at all? The thought hit me like a knife twisting in my gut. Six months. He couldn’t even give her six months of peace before shoving Clara into her chair, letting Lily spread her poison through our home.
It was betrayal in its purest form.
My hands tightened on the wheel, fury sparking hotter. If Clara or Lily had anything—anything—to do with my mother’s death, I swore to God they would regret the day they were born. I would make sure of it.
The road blurred before me as I pressed harder on the gas, needing to outrun the house, the lies, the suffocating weight of betrayal clawing at my chest. But no matter how far I drove, their faces haunted me—the smug tilt of Lily’s smirk, the fake pity in Clara’s eyes, and worst of all, my father’s disappointment.
Not grief. Not sorrow. Not love. Disappointment.
Like I was the problem.
The fury boiled over, sharp and hot, and I screamed, the sound ripping from my chest, swallowed by the roar of the engine and the wind rushing past.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t drowning in helplessness.
I was angry.
And that anger was a weapon.
One I wasn’t afraid to use.
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