The Secret Heiress | ✔️

33 | 𝙱𝚎𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛

☘︎ Jᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ Rʏsᴏɴ ☘︎

Confusion is a pathetic thing, shock is twice that emotion.

So long I've been thinking Mia is a spitting image of her mother, but that is until I witness her father in flesh. The man who has his arms around Mia in a paternal embrace, looks nearly the same he did twelve years ago when he rescued us in the warehouse, when he caught the real clown. Dark hair, smooth pale skin and arched brows. A retired police officer chief.

But it is his physique, the broad shoulders and the leanly bulk form. It is those eyes, brown with a maniacal glint in them that finally makes me realize who he actually is. The man who impersonated the clown to haunt me, the man who made me believe I killed my mother. . .

"That day, I pulled the trigger on my gun too." Fury seethes my veins, overtaking any sense of irrational fear that might shroud me, "It hit someone. Was it you?"

Mia detaches herself from her father's hug, clinging to his arm like a toddler does to their parent. The annoyance is apparent in the frown settling between her brows, "Why can't we just get done with her, Dad?"

I remember Moon telling me her husband's name is Paul. That he was a respectable man among his peers. That he was so good to everyone outside, no one ever suspected him to be a twisted abuser at home. I see that charm take over him right then.

"It's okay." Paul affectionately pats Mia's head as if she's a kitten. Mia immediately obliges, separating from him and obediently standing beside him. There's something so disturbing about it. She acts like he's the only person who can give her a sense of direction in her life, like he's her savior, her God.

Paul turns to me, gentle smile and approachable demeanor, except I know it's all a facade, "You did shoot me, yes. Right here." He points to a part on his clothed shoulder, "But you see, you're no match to my daughter's aiming."

Mia beams gleefully, half twirling again. Something is awfully wrong with her.

Paul seems to catch on my thought process as his gaze follow my sight, "Mia has extreme-case DPD, Dependent Personality Disorder. It's a condition where a person tends to be highly dependent on someone. They fear separation from the said person to an obsessive level, they seek the approval of that person no matter what and will do anything to keep the person appeased. Psychologists say it could be caused by various factors. Some of them being having an overprotective parent, history of neglect and in some cases, it can also be triggered by. . .childhood trauma or an incident."

Paul looks to his daughter and his eyes soften in pity. Mia just smiles at him, still twirling and happy as if she doesn't mind her father talking about her mental condition as long he's present here.

But Paul's jaw clenches, a nerve ticking in his temple. He turns back to me, taking large strides to reach where I'm bound to the chair. Mia immediately looks up in alarm at him leaving her behind and follows right along.

"Mia's condition is a product of all of those reasons. You know why my daughter is like this?" Paul grabs my jaw in a bruising grip, "It's because of your father."

He must've seen my confused expression, because he lets out a nasty laugh, "Did you expect me to tell you it was your mother? Although that bitch was very much involved in the entirety of the situation, the main cause of every destruction I'd ever faced is because of that father of yours."

"Did you know Irene was supposed to be my wife? That Samuel stole her from me, that he tricked me into getting married to Moon while he wooed Irene away. All for her inheritance. Samuel was never the rich one, it was always Irene. Samuel just had plans he wanted to initiate if he had the money. Irene was money." Paul tsks, taking in the surprise on my face, "Your father isn't the Samaritan he poses himself to be." He shoves me away so hard by my face, the chair balances on two feet.