3

Amanda

I let out a yawn and stretched my limbs before springing out of bed. Quickly gathering my hair into a messy bun, I turned my gaze toward the table clock, which displayed half-past three. Mentally calculating the amount of sleep I'd managed, I clicked my tongue in disappointment. These afternoon naps were turning into my downfall. I'd ended up sleeping a straight four hours.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since morning. I left my room and descended the stairs to the kitchen. The maid had already prepared the food, but I didn't feel like having it. Instead, I cooked up some Ramen and fetched a carton of cranberry juice from the fridge.

I prepared the noodles, adding plenty of cheese and topping them with a half-fried egg. Settling comfortably at the dining table, I cranked up some badass music from my playlist on the phone. Taking a bite of the delightful dish, my taste buds danced with pleasure. I couldn't help but stuff as much Ramen in my mouth as I could in one go. This was divine!

"Just look at yourself, devouring noodles like a pig. When will you grow up, Amanda?" A famiAmaliar voice resonated through the hall, and I couldn't help but sigh in frustration. I was enjoying my Ramen! Not now, please.

I craned my neck and spotted my father entering through the door with his wife. I put the chopsticks aside and raised my glass filled with cranberry juice. "Cheers, Dad."

He made a disgusted face but, instead of heading straight to his room as usual, he walked over to the chair across the table. His wife joined him.

"Girls your age are focusing on college and degrees, and you, all you do is party and sleep," he said, his tone laced with bitterness.

I shrugged and took a sip of cranberry juice. His wife rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You're nothing but a disgrace."

"At least I'm not promiscuous like you," I retorted, keeping my composure.

"Amanda, how many times have I told you she's your mother and-"

"Correction, Dad. She's my stepmother," I interrupted.

"After being involved in a car accident and hitting someone, don't you think you're acting too casually? If it weren't for your father, you might be behind bars," his wife stated, teeth gritted in irritation.

And suddenly, a strange feeling welled up in my chest, a sense of suffocation. I was hit by a powerful wave of nausea.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and the haunting memories of that night resurfaced. The girl lying on the road, surrounded by a pool of her own blood, all because of me.

All because I had driven the car while intoxicated.

It had been a month since that accident, but I couldn't forget a single detail about it.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't resist shattering the glass in my hand. The sharp pain coursed through my skin, but oddly, it had a calming effect.

As I looked at my father, he gazed at my bloodied hand.

It's okay, Amanda.

That girl hadn't died. Dad had informed me that she was admitted to one of the best hospitals and had survived. I should be grateful that she was alive and well.

I thought about meeting her in person, seeking her forgiveness, but I lacked the courage. I couldn't face her after what I had done. Perhaps, one day, I'd find the strength. Someday, I promised I'd beg for her forgiveness.

"Well, it's because my Dad couldn't afford to harm his reputation. Just think about the consequences if people found out his daughter was involved in a drunk-driving accident. That news would probably cost him the next election," I quipped, though inside, I felt like crying until there were no tears left.

"Amanda, drop that attitude and apologize to your mother right now," Dad said, still fixed on my palms.

I laughed. "Over my dead body."

"I apologize on behalf of my future wife," a strong, masculine voice interrupted. I turned to see a man in a black Armani suit. He was not just handsome but devilishly so. Since when did I start noticing men like this?

Our eyes briefly locked before he smirked and approached us. My father and his wife stood up, greeting him. This was the first time I'd seen my dad so energetic around her.

"Come sit with us, son," my stepmother beckoned him toward the couch.

What the hell? Son? Had I missed something?

I looked around in confusion, but before I could ask, the man took a seat beside me instead of joining them in the living room.

"You should take care of yourself," he said.

Frowning, I was about to reply when I felt the warmth of his touch. He gently removed the glass shards embedded in my flesh, causing me to hiss in pain. He pulled a white cotton napkin from his pocket and wrapped it around my wrist, which quickly turned red with my blood.

I blinked several times, trying to comprehend what was happening. I pulled my hand away from his and stood up, irritated. "Dude, who gave you the right to touch me?"

He didn't even look at me, but there was a smug smirk playing on his lips. I wished I could punch myself for being mesmerized by his good looks. He was probably some political associate of my father trying to impress him.

I grabbed my bowl of Ramen and sighed in frustration. The noodles had become soggy, and my stomach was on the verge of revolt if I didn't feed it. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the fork and devoured the noodles despite the pain in my wounded hand. I deliberately ate like a pig to annoy my father in front of his colleague.

"This brat," my stepmother began to say, but the man in the black suit raised his hand to silence her.

"Mr. Ray, why don't you introduce me to Amanda?" he asked my father.

Holy moly, this guy knew my name too? But hearing him say my name sounded pretty sexy, with that deep voice. Damn, I had to snap out of these absurd thoughts and refocus on my angry stepmother. So, just to spite her, I faked a cough and intentionally let the bowl slip from my hand, spilling all my Ramen onto the man who had touched me out of the blue.

All three sets of eyes turned to me, and I simply shrugged. "I'm sorry, it slipped."

"AMANDA," my dad yelled, making me flinch.

"I'm going to my room," I muttered and headed in that direction. He had no idea how much I feared his temper.

"Meet Marco Felix," my father added in a softer tone.

Why did that name sound so famiAmaliar?

"And you're going to marry him."