Behind Blue Eyes

Part 2

After a few hours of mingling with Damian, exhaustion began to weigh heavily on me. The events of last night had left me drained; I hadn't slept for more than 36 hours, and the champagne only served to lull me into a drowsy haze. The artificial laughter and empty pleasantries of the guests grated on my nerves, each interaction feeling more forced than the last.

Throughout the evening, none of the other family members had approached me, opting instead to observe me from a distance with sharp, scrutinizing gazes. But as my father made his way toward me, I knew my time was up. Knox Phoenix would never cause a scene in public; maintaining the family's pristine image was paramount.

"Blue, can you spare a minute?" His voice was gentle, almost as if he were speaking to a frightened child—a stark contrast to the distant figure he had been in my life. Excusing myself from the conversation, I followed my father to the terrace overlooking the garden. Stepping outside, I leaned against the balcony railing, inhaling the cool night air in an attempt to steady my nerves.

The balcony was attached to the side of the mansion, offering a breathtaking view of the sprawling, groomed gardens below. Steps led down to the meticulously maintained grounds, enveloped in the soft glow of moonlight. Enclosed by a low railing, the balcony felt grandiose, reminiscent of a palace terrace. But such extravagance was typical of the Phoenix family, who fancied themselves as royalty.

For a few minutes, we stood in silence, the distant sounds of voices and laughter drifting through the balcony door. I avoided looking at him, feeling a swirl of conflicting emotions. I missed the father he used to be—the one who would read me bedtime stories and call me his little girl, his sunshine. But alongside that longing was a deep-seated anger—for lying, for abandoning my mother and me, for choosing another family over us, for making my mother suffer. As these memories flooded back, I shook myself out of the reverie. He wasn't worth my distress. I locked away my emotions and turned to face him.

He took a deep breath. "I've been looking for you," he said, his voice calm.

I didn't respond, waiting to hear what he had to say next.

"Where were you?" he asked, his frustration starting to show, a furrow forming between his brows.

I met his gaze, my expression conveying my incredulity. Did he really think he had the right to ask that question?

"Talk to me," he urged, his composure slipping, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Until this moment, I had avoided discussing my mother with him since the accident. Of course, he had tried to broach the subject, but my anger had been too raw. I blamed him for the world taking my mother from me and leaving me with a liar and a cheater. So I had shut him out. But now, for some reason, I felt compelled to speak. Perhaps I knew it would hurt him.

"She cried herself to sleep almost every night, waiting for you," I said quietly, my eyes drifting to the garden. Then, with a bitter smile, I added, "You claim you were looking for me, but you never looked hard enough. Not the first time, and certainly not the second."

With that, I turned and walked back inside. I wanted nothing more than to grab my car keys and flee this damn house, but Damian intercepted me with a wave.

He stood near the bar with a select group of men and women, all dressed impeccably. As I approached, their gazes lingered on me—a girl in a cheap red dress, with marks of choking on her neck and bruises marring my arms and legs. But their scrutiny didn't faze me; it never has.

"Blue, come meet one of the biggest clients of our law firm," Damian beckoned, gesturing for me to join them. I forced a polite smile, masking the discomfort that gnawed at me.