The Secret Heiress | ✔️

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝

☘︎ Jᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ Rʏsᴏɴ ☘︎

"There is no clown, Miss Violet." Pushing the glasses up her straight nose, Dr Hareith Wilkins, my psychologist and mom's close friend, enunciates in a calm tone, "What you're experiencing is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Seated on a plush velvet chair in front of the floor-to-celing length vanity mirror, I pass a quick wave to the maids ushering out the door after cleaning the mess I'd created in my room with the party dresses.

Lifting my arms in exasperation, "I'm not imagining things. If it was PTSD, I'd have gotten over it by now. It's been a year."

My mother brushes my hair back with a sigh, bounding the thick brunette strands in a large crystal bow hairclip. Picking up the ivory colored silk sash with the words 'Birthday Girl' printed on it in gold, mom shrugs the sash over my head and fixes it on my shoulder with a diamond brooch.

Dr Hareith leaning against the mirror, shakes her head, exchanging a loaded look with my mother, "PTSD isn't something you just get over. Also yes, its been a year and it's time you accept the fact, the clown isn't out here anymore. Your parents have confirmed countless times. He's in the prison, Violet."

My throat clogs with emotion.

I get up from the chair and turn to mother dressed up in a similar white tulle gown as mine, "I'm not making it up. It's real, mom. He's real. I've seen him. He's been following me in the villa at nights." I intone desperately, wanting for her to believe me.

I hate how none of them get it. How I know after the kidnapping, each of those times I'd run in the hallways away from the clown at the dead of nights as everyone slept, it'd been real. But no one believed me. Because there wasn't a single proof of it.

"We checked the cameras, sweetheart. Your dad confirmed with the security, took up measures so there are no intruders. The clown can't get to you even if he wasn't in the prison, which he is." Mom scoots down to my height and brushes my bangs from front of my eyes, "I know it's a terrible nightmare and letting go is hard, but you have to, darling girl. Your dad and I are worried for you."

My fists clench at my sides and I look into her amber eyes, "But mom. . ."

"Stubborn lady." Smiling, she pats my cheek, "Fine, let's not talk about this today. It's your birthday and birthday girls ought to be happy. No clown talks. Let's go cut that ginormous cake, everyone's waiting."

"And dying to eat the cake!" A cheery voice quips.

Whisking my head sideways at the entrance, I find Mia poking her pretty head from the doorway, grinning from ear-to-ear. She was in a frilly bloodred tulle frock, large black goggles shielding her pretty brown eyes and making her look like a punk fairytale princess.

"Mia, you're here!" My own lips pull into a wide smile.

We attend the same home schooling here, but the days her mother allowed her to stay back at the Davidson villa after classes, solely to play with me, were on rare occasions. But I suppose birthdays were rare enough occasions to be granted permission.

Giving mom a warm hug, I rush towards my bestfriend whose petite form collides into mine halfway as she squeezes me in an one-armed embrace, her other hand holding a gift bag.

"Happy birthday, Violetttt!" Mia sings, tightening her hold around me.

We're wrapped in our own little bubble; Mia and me hugging, mother and Dr Hareith watching us adoringly, when the lights go off.

The situation is so foreign in the Davidson Villa because even in case of power shortage, there are inverters always keeping the electricity going, that a chill sweeps through my blood stream. This isn't normal.