The Forbidden Princess

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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FIONA

"Who is he?" My dad barked, but I pushed my ear closer to my bedroom door. When I was younger, my parents always fought, never shy to raise their voices, but tonight, I could hear the tremble in Dad's tone.

"Lionel, I didn't-" Mom protested.

"...Tell me the truth!" He shouted, cutting her off. I flinched from the echo. "How could you do this to me?!"

I couldn't hear what Mom was saying, but the footsteps in the hallway caused my heart to race. I quickly jumped on my bed and pretended to be asleep.

The door bursts open, and I jolted up as Dad storms inside. His face is red, and tears stream down from the corners of his eyes."Fiona, pack your bags!" He ordered. "You're going to boarding school."

I sat upright, trying to process the news. "What? Why? But... Daddy?"

He pointed a hard finger at me. "Be ready, because we're leaving tomorrow morning."

Tears fell down my cheeks as I struggled to catch my breath. I realized I was being sent away, and also because my mother didn't do anything about it.

We lived in a small town outside New York City; my folks were middle-class, but they could afford to keep me away at a prep school in Boston.

Going home felt like living in hell; I remembered my mom crying after my dad hurt her. He would grab her arm and scream at her until she cried. She didn't try to leave him. She called it love; I called it madness.

Twelve years passed; I'd just graduated from the culinary institute at Boston University and was working at a five-star restaurant in Boston.

"Table nine needs more wine!" The head chef, Donald, barked. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Flinching at the tone of his voice, I nearly dropped the tray of dirty dishes in my hands."I was just returning these." I said, giving the tray to the dishwasher.

Donald's face was red as he thrust the order slip at me. "Get the wine now, Higgins!"

I took the slip and hurried to the wine locker room, and my shoulders slumped in defeat; getting a job as a chef was tougher than I imagined. So I settled for being a waitress, working two jobs and struggling to pay my bills.

I snatched the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine rack and hurried out of the kitchen. Tonight all the tables were filled with Boston's rich and famous chatting over dinner plates filled with vegetables and steaks; the good side was the generous tips.

The bad side, however...

"Unbelievable," one of the men at the table sneered. He had tried to cover his bald head with his hair. "The service here is so slow. I should leave a one-star review!"

I smiled sweetly as I uncorked the wine. "I'd leave your hairstylist the same review, because you aren't fooling anyone." I said innocently.

The look on his face was purely comical. His companions struggled not to laugh. The tables around us went silent. I filled the empty glasses with wine.

"Excuse me?" The man demanded in outrage.I set the bottle down with a feeling of satisfaction.

A man on the next table signaled for me.I walked towards him, my lips parted to speak, when he interrupted me.

"Is that any way to speak to a customer?" He asked, his deep blue eyes hinted with amusement. I couldn't help but notice he was attractive, with a well-cut jaw and broad shoulders from working out. I'd noticed him earlier; he'd looked at me too.

But men like him paid no attention to the help. His partner was an elegant blond woman adorned in a red dress with diamond earrings.I realized he was probably controlling when he ordered a three-course meal without asking what his date wanted.

I took a deep breath and ignored his question. "Is there anything else you'd like to order?"

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