Chapter 1
Chapter 1
~Blanca’s POV~
“I know you’re scared, little girl. I can see it in your pretty little eyes. You don’t have to be scared. I know I killed these motherfuckers, but you want to know why I did it? Yeah... They touched you. They touched what’s mine, baby girl. Breaking their fingers one by one was a fucking delight, but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of your plump lips against mine, sweet girl.”
The narrator’s smooth, deep voice seemed to wash over me like waves on the shore, lulling me into a state of deep focus as I carefully painted my nails a deep, glossy black. Slowly, the brush traced the gentle curve of my nailbed, leaving a trail of inky darkness behind. The sound of my nails tapping together as I switched hands was the only sound in the room, the steady rhythm of them seeming to echo the pounding of my heart in my chest.
The world outside was one of glitz and superficiality, a world where everything had a dollar sign attached to it, where every surface shone with the reflection of wealth. But here, in the quiet confines of my own room, listening to the dark, sultry sounds of a narrator’s voice weaving tales of love and passion, I was transported to another world, a world of depth and meaning, a world where passion and heart mattered more than the amount in a bank account.
My bedroom was an opulent affair, with every corner filled with luxury - fine silks on the walls, plush carpets on the floor, and every surface gleaming with the shine of gold and other precious metals. But to me, it felt like a prison more than a dream come true. The extravagance of it all only made me more aware of the obligations that trapped me, with the walls closing in around me and the opulence turning to bars of gold keeping me in.
The male voice in my headphones suddenly shifted, becoming deeper and more intense as the scene of the audiobook grew darker. I froze, my breath catching in my throat as the words spoke of a passion and desperation that mirrored my own, sending a shiver down my spine. It was like the narrator was speaking directly to me, as if he could see into the depths of my soul and knew the turmoil and longing that stirred within me.
I was focused on the audio, the minutes flowing by until I got startled by Victoria standing in my doorway. I quickly tugged my headphones down around my neck.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, and she snorted in response. “My mom sent me to tell you that lunch is in 15 minutes. Also, she told me to tell you to change into something more... presentable,” she replied, giving me a distasteful once-over at my appearance.
I rolled my eyes at her condescending words and tone, feeling the familiar sting of annoyance and frustration. “Of course,” I muttered under my breath, knowing that there was no point in arguing with her. I set my headphones down on the bedside table and stood, heading towards my closet to find something presentable as she had so kindly suggested. I knew that whatever I wore wouldn’t make a difference, but as usual, I would have to play the part of the perfect princess, at least in my mother’s eyes.
Victoria was my older sister, but we were like oil and water. She had been groomed and raised on our parent’s ideals of wealth and extravagance, and as a result, she was completely obsessed with material things and status. She spent her days shopping, going to parties, and flaunting her wealth in the most ostentatious way possible. In contrast, I was more introverted and preferred the simple things in life, preferring to spend my time reading, painting, and listening to music. But to our parents, she was the golden child, while I was the disappointment.
Since I was sixteen, when that incident happened, my life had been a never-ending cycle of disappointment and restriction. My parents acted like I was a burden, keeping me on a short leash as if they were afraid I’d do something to embarrass them again. They kept a close eye on every aspect of my life, from my clothing choices to my social interactions, carefully controlling everything under their watchful gaze. It was as if they were afraid to let me out of their sight for a second, lest I do something to shame them once again.
I rummaged through the closet, discarding the extravagant dresses and fancy blouses that my mother had chosen for me, instead opting for a pair of simple black jeans and a white T-shirt. The jeans hugged my curves snugly, while the T-shirt clung to my figure loosely, a direct contrast to the form-fitting couture my mother would have preferred. I took a moment to gaze at myself in the mirror, the sight of myself in the mirror, the sight of myself in the casual, comfortable outfit strangely satisfying.
My appearance was almost painfully cliche of the wealthy, spoiled girl, with golden waves of hair that cascaded almost down to my butt, large, blue eyes framed by long lashes giving me a perpetually innocent look, and rose-tinted, naturally pouting lips that seemed to beg to be kissed. But beneath the polished, perfect surface, I was nothing like the doll my mother and sister believed me to be. Underneath the wealth and privilege, I was as wild and chaotic as a raccoon, unable to be tamed or domesticated.
At the age of 25, I was still treated like a misbehaving child despite having already experienced more than my fair share of grown-up problems. My parents, and especially my mother, continued to treat me like a naive and ignorant little girl, constantly reminding me that I was too young and clueless to make any decisions on my own. It was beyond frustrating, feeling trapped by not only their expectations but also by the golden cage they had built around me.
As I stepped closer to the huge windows of my bedroom, my eyes skimmed over the opulent landscape, taking in the manicured lawns and the ostentatious mansions that made up the exclusive neighborhood. To most people, living in Beverly Hills seemed like a dream come true, a place where luxury and class collided in the most spectacular way. But to me, all I could see was a nightmare, a constant reminder of the expectations and restrictions that were thrust upon me like a golden chain.
The lawns, which were perfectly cut and maintained by gardeners, seemed to mock me, a symbol of the superficiality and materialism that I despised. The mansions, with their grand entrances and flashy decorations, represented a world of wealth and extravagance that I had no interest in. As I stood there, staring out at the glittering homes and perfect lawns, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of suffocating oppression. The idea of being trapped in this glittering hell for the rest of my life was almost too much to bear.
I let out a deep sigh as I left my bedroom, the endless halls of our mansion seeming to stretch on forever. I slowly made my way down the grand staircase, the sound of my footsteps echoing loudly in the expansive foyer. The house felt more like a museum than a home, every corner filled with expensive artwork and luxurious furniture. It was all a show, a carefully curated image to project the image of opulence and wealth. But to me, it was nothing more than a cold and empty symbol of my confinement.
I walked into the dining room to find my family already seated around the long, mahogany table. My father sat at the head of the table, dressed in his usual suit and tie, his face serious and stern. My mother sat next to him, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her expression one of mild distaste. Victoria sat across from me, a sly, superior smile on her face as she looked me up and down, no doubt judging my choice of clothing.
I took my seat at the table, trying to ignore the disapproving gaze of my mother and the smug air of my sister. The silence in the room was defeated, the only sound being the clinking of the silverware against China. I could feel the tension in the air, the knowledge that this dinner was going to be anything but pleasant.
My father finally spoke, his voice booming through the room, “Blanca, what on earth are you wearing?” His tone was disapproving, his eyes narrowing as they flicked over my casual outfit.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at my father’s question and respond with a simple “Clothes.” My mother tutted disapprovingly, her red lips forming a small, tight line, clearly displeased with my answer. I knew that she had been expecting me to be dressed in a fancy dress and heels, the perfect image of a wealthy, well-mannered daughter. But I was fed up with the endless pressure to project an image of perfection, so I decided to wear something more comfortable.
Victoria snickered, the sound of her voice making me want to punch her. “You look like you just rolled out of bed.” She taunted, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Honestly, is it that hard to dress like you have some class for once?”
I bit back a biting retort, knowing that engaging in a fight with Victoria would only lead to more trouble and headaches. I could feel my mother’s disapproving gaze on me, her disappointment and disapproval coming off her in waves. My father remained silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I remained quiet, trying to tune out Victoria’s smug comments and focus on the food in front of me.
I was relieved when the conversation turned to a more important topic. My father announced that the new security system for the house had been installed and that tonight was the Purge, an annual event where all crime was legal for 24 hours. I tried to ignore the anxiety and uneasiness that washed over me at the mention of the dangerous night ahead.
The Purge was a night of chaos and violence, where all laws and morals were thrown out the window. It was the one night a year when people could let loose their darkest, most violent desires without fear of consequences. As my father talked about the new security system, trying to reassure us that the house would be safe and impenetrable, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear and dread.
Every year, my family would spend The Purge locked away in our mansion, protected by the expensive security system my father had installed. But there was always that nagging feeling of uneasiness, the knowledge that there was always a chance that the systems could fail and that we could be vulnerable to the violence and chaos outside.
I had to admit that I had always been curious about what it would be like to be out during the Purge, to experience the sense of liberation and freedom that came with breaking all rules and societal norms. But I knew that it was a dangerous and foolish thought and that I would never be allowed to venture out into the chaos.
My family was far too protective, too invested in their image of perfection to let me even consider going out during the Purge. And even if they were willing to let me, the thought of facing the violence and unpredictability of the night was enough to scare me back into submission.
I ate in silence while I listened to my family talk about the helpless people out there during the Purge. “All lower-class people will be vulnerable, but that’s just the rules of nature. The poor die. The rich thrive.” My father spoke.
I winced as I listened to my father’s words, disdain dripping from his voice as he discussed the people who were most affected by the Purge. His callousness and lack of empathy made my stomach turn, but I knew better than to challenge him. I had learned long ago that arguing with my father was pointless, and I didn’t want to risk making lunchtime even more unpleasant than it already was.
Their comments about the lower class were acidic. I inwardly cringed as I listened to my family talk about the lower class, their words dripping with disdain and disgust. It was clear that they thought of people who were less fortunate as nothing more than useless and inferior, not deserving of even a fraction of the respect and empathy that they felt entitled to. Their callousness and privilege made me sick to my stomach, but I knew better than to speak up and challenge them.
I was the black sheep of the family, the one who was always under the microscope, and my every move was closely monitored and scrutinized. I remembered clearly how we had moved far away from our old home, settling down in this exclusive neighborhood in the heart of Beverly Hills. It was a fresh start, a chance to reinvent ourselves and start anew, but for me, it felt more like being trapped in a golden cage.
My parents had enrolled me in a private school, where I was required to wear uncomfortable uniforms and follow stringent rules. The students there were all snobs, children of other wealthy and arrogant parents, and they looked down on me with disgust and disdain. It was a daily struggle to keep up appearances and try to fit in, but I knew deep down that I was never truly one of them.
The other students were all spoiled, entitled brats who had never known hardship or disappointment. They lived pampered lives, always getting whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it. They were dismissive and rude, constantly taunting me with snide comments and cold glares. I was always the outsider, the one who didn’t quite fit in, and they made sure I knew it.
Victoria chimed in, her voice full of superiority and smugness. “Just the thought of being caught out there, defenseless and alone, is enough to make me shiver.” She shuddered dramatically as if to emphasize her point. “We are so fortunate to have everything we do, to be able to lock ourselves away in this luxurious mansion, safe and sound.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at Victoria’s words, her self-important attitude driving me nuts. She acted as if she was better than everyone just because she had money and privilege. As if being born into wealth made her somehow immune to the chaos and danger of the Purge. It was infuriating, but I knew better than to say anything.
Lunch continued, my family chattering on and on, their words fading into background noise as I focused on my food. I tried to make myself invisible and unnoticeable, knowing from experience that any attempt to join in on the conversation would be shut down immediately. It was easier to just keep my head down and stay silent, letting the voices of my family wash over me like a wave.
I looked up to see my father staring at me with an intense gaze, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. He had zeroed in on the black spiral corn earrings I was wearing, the same ones that always seemed to rile him up.
“Take those infernal things out immediately,” he ordered me in a chilling, calm tone, his words leaving no room for argument. As usual, he was not willing to tolerate any deviations from his preferred image of me.
I swallowed down the food in my mouth, the chewed-up meal feeling like shards of glass in my throat. Despite the physical discomfort, I forced myself to be brave and asked my father, “Why?”
My heart thumped loudly in my chest as I waited for his response. I knew that questioning him never ended well, but I was tired of submitting to his whims and demands.
There was a tense silence in the room as my father’s face darkened at my question. It was clear that he was not accustomed to being questioned, especially not by me. He leaned forward in his chair, fixing me with a cold, hard look.
“Because I said so,” he answered in a low, dangerous tone. “Those earrings are tacky and unsuitable for a young lady of your status. They reflect poorly on our family.”
His words stung. It was always the same response with my father, never a justification for his demands, just the expectation of unquestioning obedience. I fought back the urge to argue, knowing that it would only end in a bitter fight that I would inevitably lose.
I was tired of always being compliant and silent, of always following my father’s orders without question. This time, I decided to push back, to speak up for myself.
“But I like these earrings,” I protested, my voice tremulous but firm. “Why does it matter what jewelry I wear?”
My father’s eyes flashed with anger at my impertinence. He was not used to me talking back, and it was clear that he was not pleased. “It matters because I say it matters,” he replied through clenched teeth. “I will not have my daughter wearing something so low-class and tacky. You will take them out, and that is final.”
I shoved my chair back, stood up with a fierce determination, and muttered under my breath, “This family can go to hell.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. The constant belittlements, the endless expectations, the constant surveillance. It was too much. Without another word, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the room, leaving behind my father, mother, and big sister in stunned silence.
I raced back to my bedroom, the only place in this house where I could escape from my family’s oppressive presence. As soon as I crossed the threshold into my room, I slammed the door shut behind me with a resounding thud.
Finally, alone, I let out a deep breath and dropped onto my bed, feeling the weight of my family’s judgments and restrictions lift from my shoulders, if only temporarily.
Instinctively, I reached for my headphones and pulled them on, immersing myself in the loud music that blared through them. It was as if the music was a barrier between me and the outside world, a shield against my family’s disapproving looks and harsh words. Sinking into the rhythm of the music, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax, if only for a few moments.
I lay on my bed, the music blasting through my headphones, drowning out the world around me. I let the sounds wash over me, the steady beats and melodious tunes filling my mind. It was almost like the music was soothing my tired, frayed nerves, calming me down, and helping me forget, for a brief time, the pressures of my family and their expectations. I felt a sense of peace, a small oasis of calm in the storm of my life.
When I opened my eyes, I stood up, narrowing my eyes at Victoria who was standing in the doorway. I pulled down my headphones. I glared at my big sister, my eyes flashing with irritation. I was in no mood for more arguments.
“If you came here to pour salt in my wounds, you can get lost,” I snapped at her. I expected her to retaliate with some cold, biting remark. Instead, she closed the door behind her and spoke in a gentler tone, surprising me.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said. “I just want to talk.”
I was taken aback by her uncharacteristic tone. Victoria had always been the favorite child, pampered and praised by our parents. She was never one to show empathy or understanding. But something in her voice and expression made me pause, my irritation giving way to a hint of curiosity.
“Talk about what?” I asked warily, still half-expecting her to say something cruel.
I watched as Victoria stepped further into the room, her eyes roaming over the collection of photos on my vanity desk. She picked up one in particular, a snapshot from our first trip to Disneyland, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips.
“I remember this,” she said softly. “You were so excited back then.”
Her words were tinged with nostalgia, and for a moment, it was like we were transported back in time, to a simpler, happier age. I looked at the photo she held in her hand, memories of that day flooding back into my mind. I had been so young, so innocent, filled with excitement and wonder at being in the magical world of Disney.
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?”
“You know... I always admired you.” I was taken aback by her confession. Victoria had always been the perfect child, the one who seemed to fit so perfectly into our family’s expectations. To hear her say that she admired me was a surprise, to say the least.
“You... do?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. “Why?”
“You are brave, you stand up for yourself... I wish I could be like you, little sister.” Her tone turned vulnerable.
I was utterly stunned by her words. Victoria, the confident and seemingly unshakeable sister, admired me for standing up for myself. I never thought I’d hear those words from her.
“I never knew you thought that,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I always thought you looked down on me for being the black sheep.”
She swallowed hard, chewing on her bottom lip. “I was afraid... and I still am.”
Her words hung heavily in the air, the vulnerability in her voice striking me to my core. She was admitting that she was afraid, that she had been all along.
“Afraid of what?” I asked, my heart racing. “What are you afraid of, Victoria?”
She sighed, gently setting down the framed picture where it had been. “Can you imagine where we would be... if it weren’t for our luck to be born into a wealthy family?” Her tone was thoughtful, her words making me consider an alternative reality, one where we hadn’t been born into wealth. It was impossible to imagine, really. The privilege and status that we had been born into had shaped us in ways we couldn’t even begin to fathom.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s hard to imagine a life without the privileges we’ve always had. I don’t think it would be better, necessarily, just... different.”
Victoria chuckled. It was a dry sound full of anxiety. “Girl. Look at the world outside. This country is going to shit.”
Her words hit me with a pang of truth. I knew she was right. The world outside was chaotic, dangerous, and heading in a bleak direction. It was hard to imagine life without the comforts and security that our wealth provided.
“It’s a mess, I agree with you there,” I said quietly, my voice tinged with sadness. “But I don’t think that wealth and privilege alone can protect us from everything. Especially if the Purge keeps going on every year...”
Victoria’s face darkened at the mention of the Purge. The Purge was an event unlike anything our country had ever experienced - a night of violence and mayhem where all laws were suspended, allowing people to act on their darkest impulses without fear of consequences.
“You’re right,” she murmured, her voice a chilling whisper. “Wealth can’t protect us from the Purge or the chaos it brings.”
“But...” she trailed off. “We have better protection, compared to the poor ones... out there, trying to survive. So far, those past years, we’ve been safe.”
I knew she was right. Our wealth had allowed us to live in a bubble of relative safety and comfort while many outside were struggling to survive in the chaos and danger of the Purge and the evil world outside.
“Yes,” I replied in a subdued tone. “We have better protection, at least for now. But there’s no knowing when it might all fall apart, right?”
Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know, sister. You know, all these years, I tried to keep on a good daughter facade, all for our parent’s approval, because... I am afraid.” I am afraid they will kick me out one day if I step out of line.” she admitted in a shaky tone.
I felt a pang of empathy in my heart for my sister. I had always seen her as perfect, as the favorite, but here she was, telling me that she was afraid of being disowned. I reached over and squeezed her hand gently, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about that. Our parents may be strict and unfair, but they will never kick you out. You’re their golden child.”
Another dry chuckle left her. “But nothing is guaranteed anymore. If they kick us out... Shit... We are doomed out there!”
The reality of her words sunk in, making my heart race. She was right - we hadn’t learned any skills that would allow us to survive on our own. We had never had to fend for ourselves, never had to work a day in our lives.
“I know,” I admitted in a trembling voice. “We’ve always relied on our wealth and our family. If they abandon us... We would be completely unprepared for the world outside.”
I checked the clock, my stomach churning with anxious anticipation. We only had a few more hours left before the Purge started for the night.
“It’s almost time,” I said, my voice low and trembling. “We need to be careful tonight. The Purge makes everyone go crazy. No one is safe.”
