Billionaire or Spark

The shriek that erupted from my living room wasn't mine. It was Mom's, a high-pitched squeal that sent shivers down my spine. "Oh, honey! This is wonderful news!"

I stood in the doorway, fiancé's diamond ring glinting under the harsh overhead light, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. Relief because Henry finally popped the question, dread because of the audience. Mom was already dabbing tears from her mascara-rimmed eyes, a radiant smile splitting her face. Dad, on the other hand, remained rooted to his armchair, the newspaper crinkling under his iron grip.

"Henry proposed?" His voice was a low rumble, devoid of the usual warmth.

"Yes, Dad," I confirmed, stepping further into the room. Henry, ever the gentleman, lingered by the entrance, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

Dad finally lowered the newspaper, his gaze meeting mine with a flicker of something that might have been…disappointment? "That's wonderful, Jessica," he said, his voice clipped. "Very happy for you. You've made a good choice."

"Thank you, Dad." The words felt hollow. We hadn't spoken about "good choices" much lately, not since I'd told him I wouldn't be taking over the company. His dream, his legacy, had always been for me to become CEO, to follow in his footsteps. But boardrooms and quarterly reports never did anything for my soul. I craved creativity, not spreadsheets.

"I always knew you'd make the right decision," Mom chirped, oblivious to the tension. She reached for my hand, her fingers clutching mine with the force of a drowning woman. "He's perfect for you, honey. He's handsome, successful, kind…"

"And you wanted to be a painter," Dad interjected, the harshness back in his voice. "Always chasing some whimsical dream."

A hot flush crept up my neck. This wasn't supposed to happen tonight. We were supposed to celebrate my engagement, a step towards the life Dad always envisioned for me. "My dream isn't whimsical, Dad," I said, my voice tight. "It's mine."

"And accepting Henry's proposal proves that," he countered, his gaze shifting to encompass me and Henry. "You finally listened to reason, put your childish fantasies aside."

Henry's smile faltered. I could tell he didn't like the undercurrent of Dad's words. "Sir," he began, in a placating tone, but I cut him off.

"He's not wrong, Henry," I said, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. "Saying yes to you makes up for a lot." But what, Dad? My disobedience? My failure to be the daughter you wanted? The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered.

Henry's smile vanished completely. He cleared his throat, his gaze flitting between me and Dad. "Perhaps we should give you some space to celebrate privately," he offered, his voice tight.

I felt a pang of guilt, a prickle of something akin to pity. I knew him proposing had been a carefully orchestrated move, a way to appease Dad and secure his blessing, but seeing his discomfort now made the whole thing feel even more staged.

"No, it's alright," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "This is good news, right? We should all share it together."

Mom, oblivious to the tension, clapped her hands excitedly. "Exactly! Let's go call your Aunt Margaret, she'll be thrilled to bits!" She bustled off towards the kitchen, already dialing her sister's number.

Dad stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then rose from his chair. He walked towards me, his face unreadable. "Jessica," he started, his voice low.

"Yes, Dad?"

"Henry is a good man," he said, his words gruff. "Treat him well." Before I could respond, he turned and headed for the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silence.

Henry leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you alright?"

There were a million things I wanted to say - about the suffocating expectations, the pressure to follow a path I didn't desire, the hollowness that gnawed at me despite the ring glittering on my finger. But the words wouldn't come.

"I'm fine," I lied, managing a weak smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

He took my hand gently, his touch warm. "We can talk about it later," he murmured. "But for now, let's celebrate." He gestured around the room, his gaze landing on the half-eaten cake we'd ordered to celebrate my birthday a week ago.

"Celebrate what?" the bitter question escaped before I could stop it.

Henry blinked, his face clouding over with confusion. "Our engagement, of course."

"Right," I said, the word a dry rasp in my throat. "Our engagement." The sparkling diamond on my finger felt heavy, a symbol not of love, but of a life I wasn't sure I wanted. And a growing, nagging suspicion that somewhere else, a different kind of love might be waiting for me. A love that wouldn't require sacrifice or compromise, but would set my soul on fire.