You are playing with fire

Two figures emerged from the entrance of the rooftop, their silhouettes stark against the city lights. As they drew closer, my happy face turned to confusion immediately. It was her, the girl Chris had mentioned, his "fling", and beside her, was a man, older, with a stern face and a disapproving glare. He was Chris's father.

Chris, who was smiling whole-heartedly just moments ago, turned cold. His face hardened, a mask of displeasure replacing the warmth that had been there moments before. He was clearly taken aback, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the scene. A frown etched itself onto his brow, the playful glint in his eyes vanishing.

"What are you doing here, Celine?" he asked, his voice flat, lacking its usual warmth. The edge of irritation was clear in his tone.

"How many weeks' notice do I have to give to meet my boyfriend?" Celine responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She tilted her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips, as if she was amused by the situation. She held her hand out, gesturing towards the rooftop, her eyes narrowed, a calculated challenge in her gaze.

Chris's father, his stern expression turning into a scowl, stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Chris. He seemed to radiate a disapproving aura, a powerful presence that spoke of authority and unwavering expectations. He looked me up and down, his gaze sharp and critical. "Is this the girl you have been seeing?" he asked, his voice like a thunderclap, demanding an explanation.

"Hello, sir," I said, trying to be polite. He ignored my greeting, his attention solely focused on Chris. His eyes, icy and unforgiving, glared at me as if I were a blemish on his son's reputation.

"Where is your dignity?" He asked, his voice laced with disapproval. "And your standards? I didn't raise you to date girls with no standards!" He looked back at me, his eyes narrowing.

His words were a stinging indictment, a rejection of my very existence. He couldn't see past the superficial, couldn't grasp the connection that had bloomed between Chris and me.

"You know, Chris," he continued, "it's not about Celine. You can do whatever you want with girls. But with girls that worth you," he emphasized, his voice firm and unwavering. "Celine, bring him down," he said, turning to leave.

"Dad, that wasn't cool. You don't tell me what to do. I am an adult," Chris shouted, his voice laced with a mix of anger and frustration. The usually playful glint in his eyes was replaced with a fierce defiance.

His father paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his expression settled back into a steely disapproval. "Then make choices like an adult," he said, his voice cold, turning and walking away.

Chris's father's words hung in the air, a challenge, a reminder of the weight of responsibility that came with his actions.

"Chris, let's go," Celine said, stepping closer to him, her voice laced with a hint of triumph. She was determined to reclaim her position, to assert her dominance over the situation.

I stood there, dumbfounded, my heart pounding in my chest, a mix of anger, disappointment, and confusion swirling within me.

"Your boyfriend?" Chris said, his voice low, a smirk playing on his lips. He was mimicking Celine's words, a mocking echo of her earlier challenge. It was a clear statement, a declaration of his independence, a rejection of the control she had tried to exert over him.

"I'm not your boyfriend and don't you dare call me that again," he said, his voice firm, his anger flaring. He was standing up for himself, asserting his autonomy.

Celine looked at me angrily, then back at Chris. "So, this is how you want to play it? Now you are not my boyfriend. Days you f*cked me so hard, days we smiled and play and do stuff together. What were those days?" she asked, her voice dripping with venom.

"I don't care what you are saying, but I made it clear when we started and you agreed. So don't go around calling me your boyfriend," Chris said angrily. He was done with her manipulations, done with her attempts to control him. "Let me tell you one thing, my father doesn't give a f**CK about you. He just wants to do business with your mum. That's all," he said, his voice cold and sharp.

"Chris, you know what? I can't stand any of this," I said, my voice tight with emotion. I didn't wait for a response. I turned and walked away, my heart pounding, my sadness a heavy weight in my chest.

I could hear Chris calling my name, his voice laced with concern. He tried to stop me, to reach out, but Celine, fueled by anger and jealousy, held him back.

I took a quick glance back, my heart clenching in my chest. I saw it. Celine, with a venomous expression on her face, slapped Chris across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet air, a slap that resonated with betrayal and cruelty.

I couldn't bear to watch any longer. I turned and ran, the city lights blurring as I raced away, my tears mingling with the rain that had begun to fall. My anger was a burning ember, my confusion a swirling storm. What should I do? What was happening?

But then I felt footsteps at my back. Chris had run after me, regardless of what had just happened. I couldn't hear Celine's cries, her anger, her jealousy, nothing. It was just the sound of my own tears, and the drumming of Chris's footsteps as he closed the distance between us.

"Ava, please wait," he said, his voice breathless as he caught up. He pulled me back, his arms wrapping around me, a comforting warmth that felt like a beacon in the storm that raged within me. I cried into his chest, my sobs muffled by his shirt.

Finally, I stopped crying and pulled back, my hands pushing against his chest, a desperate need to see his face, to understand what had just happened.

"Did you bring me here to mock me?" I asked, my voice trembling, my eyes searching his, trying to decipher the truth behind his actions. "Why did you bring me here?"

"You said I was the first person you brought here," I continued, my voice tinged with betrayal. "But how did she know where it was?"

"I swear to God, I have never taken anyone to the rooftop before," Chris said, his voice earnest, his eyes filled with a genuine concern. "My dad must have lounged in the hotel, and probably she found out somehow and brought my dad with her. That's the only explanation."

"Why would he lounge here?" I asked, my mind swirling with confusion. Then, as if a lightbulb had been switched on, I checked the name of the hotel again. Las Dellas. The name rang in my ear, and a memory surfaced. "You guys own this hotel," I said, my voice filled with a mixture of surprise and understanding.

"You know I'm a woman too, and I know how Celine is feeling right now. Just go back to her. I don't want to be the reason another woman feels hurt."

This wasn't about me being the better woman, the more deserving woman. It was about me being strong, about me knowing my worth. And that worth didn't include being the cause of another woman's pain.

"Celine isn't my standard at all. She is a pretender and she sleeps with different men to make me jealous." she will be fine. He added

Not your standard" I mimicked his words, my voice dripping with sarcasm. The word sparked the anger in me

"Firstly, you brought me to your dad's hotel and lied to me," I said, my voice tight with anger and hurt. "And then you watched your dad insult me. 'I'm not your standard?'" I mimicked his words, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "The last time I checked, I'm too good for you" .

"Maybe you don't have to work multiple jobs to cater to your needs, maybe he already made enough wealth to make your life comfortable, maybe all you people do is wear designers that you didn't even get with your own money."

I stopped, my anger bubbling over. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed. "But I work my ass off, I do part-time jobs to get what I want. I don't eat from hand to hand or wait for a guy to treat me. I work for everything I have, and I appreciate every little thing I have."

"And my dad is not some rich lad who has the support of his wife. My mum was a slut and she left me. So yes, I'm not your standard. I'm too good for you. I'm a woman of my words, though I stalked you, but I maintained my standards regardless. And it's not because you are rich, but because I liked you."

"So tell your dad I said fuck off."

The words, sharp and defiant, escaped my lips before I could even process them. I didn't care. I was done with his judgement, done with his disdain.

I had reached my limit. I was furious, hurt, and determined to fight back.

"Tell him I said fuck off, Chris," I repeated, my voice strong, my anger burning brightly.

I turned and walked away, my steps purposeful, my back straight.