4

Dressed in a business suit, a cigar held in his left hand with smoke swirling around him, my dad strides towards me with a bright smile. I notice the wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and mouth, adding character to his face. 

His greyish-white hair is impeccably slicked back, and he envelops me in a warm hug.

As I inhale sharply, the scent of smoke, cedarwood, and musk envelops me, likely from the cologne he is wearing. The realization hits me that William had never embraced me before. Memories come flooding back, causing a shiver to run down my spine. The past haunts me, particularly the way I was treated by the Ford family.

My father, the one who had forsaken me and left me to suffer. 

I pull away, shooting icy glares in his direction. "I was informed that you go by the name Raya," I scoff, almost disgusted by his words.

The nerve to act affectionate towards me after all the harm he caused. 

He abandoned me to suffer with strangers, leaving me to fend for myself. And now, he feigns love and care. "I never realized that the wealthy are brimmed with artificial emotions," I retort, my words sharp and striking him like a well-aimed arrow.

I observe the expressions of all four of them shift, with my brothers exchanging concerned glances while my father maintains his gaze on me. He lets out a wry chuckle, seemingly dismissing my words. 

"I understand your frustration, my child. It's natural for you to be upset with me," he acknowledges.

Phil gently suggests, "Let's discuss it over dinner." After a brief pause, he adds, "Come on, Raya. Let us guide you to your room." The atmosphere instantly transforms, the tension dissipating as the four men around me smile. 

As I step into my room, my brothers trailing behind me, I take in the opulence that surrounds me. It dawns on me that this luxurious bedroom is mine alone. 

Compared to back at the Ford house, I had occupied a small room in the attic, furnished only with a single bed and minimal belongings, with a small mirror hanging on the wall.

Here, I have a walk-in closet filled with an array of dresses, shoes, and handbags meticulously arranged just for me. A round bed takes center stage in the room, surrounded by carefully selected interior decor that exudes elegance and luxury.

A sense of satisfaction briefly washes over me, but it quickly dissipates as I remind myself that I cannot be swayed by material wealth. This opulence is fleeting, and I refuse to let my mind be tainted by the notion that I will lead a life surrounded by luxury and indulge in expensive possessions.

"This is your room, Raya. We've just completed the interior redesign," Jack, the eldest sibling, informs me. I nod in acknowledgment, my mind filled with confusion and lingering thoughts. Despite this, I make an effort to maintain politeness towards them.

My brothers are not at fault for the actions of my father. It was my parents who were truly responsible for the turmoil I endured.

As Jack steps closer, I meet his gaze, noting the sincerity in his eyes as he begins to address me. "I understand this is all unfamiliar to you. But I urge you to listen to all of us at least once, so you can comprehend the experiences that each of us has endured," he implores.

Speechless, I find myself at a loss for words, the urge to hold back tears building within me. Just as the tension in the room seems to escalate, Steve interjects with a cheerful tone, "Well, freshen up, Raya. You have plenty of outfits to select from. We'll be waiting for you at the dinner table."

After a moment, each of my brothers kisses my forehead in succession, and I am enveloped in their warmth. I realize that I have three protective men in my life, my siblings. Unsure if I can truly rely on them, they exude a sweetness and a deep brotherly affection that fills me with a sense of being cherished and loved.

"We are happy to have you as our sister, Raya," Phil smiles at me, but I do not reply. 

I mentally prepare myself for the upcoming dinner, not to enjoy a meal with my family, but to confront them for abandoning me. Anger simmers within me, reaching its peak, and it shows no signs of subsiding. 

I choose not to wear anything from the extravagant closet to show that I am not impressed by their wealth. Instead, I unzip my suitcase and put on the old dress my other mother had given to me, and quietly left the room.

On my way, I met the house manager, Samantha whose smile is instantly faded away. I believe this is my dress and I want to see the same expression on my father’s face. 

As my father joins us at the dinner table, we all take our seats. I observe the array of dishes laid out before us, prepared for the four of us. The servants attentively serve us, filling our plates, while my father, wearing a smile, takes a sip of red wine.

"Raya, I am relieved that we have reunited," my father expresses, his tone filled with gratitude. As the servants retreat to the sidelines, allowing us to partake in the meal, I gather the courage to address him, my words laced with bitterness, "Yet I still question why you abandoned me to fend for myself with strangers."

Jack occupies the seat to the left of my father, with Steve seated next to him, while Phil and I are seated together. The atmosphere in the room grows tense, and I notice expressions of indiscernible melancholy on all their faces.

"I apologize for all that has transpired, my child," my father offers sincerely, to which I scoff, "What good is your apology to me? I ask for the truth," I assert, demanding answers.