“Open the door, I know you’re there,” I hear my mom say from the hallway, the footsteps of her pacing back and forth like a caged lioness reaching me like a bad omen. Maybe if I just remain silent she’ll give up and go away.

“I can see your shadow from under the door, you know?” she continues triumphantly, and finally stops pacing.

Sigh. I guess I can’t avoid her, right? She’s my mom, I know, but after that fight at The Oak Room I’m in no mood to see her. Ah, screw this.

Surrendering, I open up the door and there she is, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “I can’t believe you’re avoiding your own mother, Natalie. That’s so below you,” she tells me, walking inside the apartment while she shakes her head in disapproval.

“Well, maybe that’s because my own mother is trying to force me to destroy my company,” I shoot right back, closing the door and preparing for another fight.

“Sell your company. Not destroy. It’s totally different,” she replies in a condescending tone, as if I was still five years old and she was explaining to me why playing with the poor kids isn’t proper. “Honey, think it through. You own a sex toy company. What kind of career is this? You have a degree in finance.”

“I know what kind of company I have, and I also know what I graduated in, mom. But this is my life.”

“Sweetie, please. I’m just trying to help you, really. Get rid of this awful company of yours, get a proper job—like I know you can—and once I’m mayor it’ll all payoff. I’ll pull some strings for you and set you up for life.”

Her words are full of honey, and the lines around her eyes seem to have gained a soft, and almost kind, quality. Linda, the actress—please give this woman an Oscar. Her words might be honey, but trust me, her intent is vinegar.

“No.”

“Be rational about this, Natalie,” she continues sweetly, reaching for me and taking my hand in hers. “You’re my daughter. Forget about my bid for mayor, I’m just thinking of you right now. You’ve proved whatever it is you want to prove, haven’t you? You have money; you have success. Wouldn’t it be nice to be respected as well?”

For a fraction of a second I almost believe her. Perhaps she really wants what’s best for me. Perhaps she isn’t thinking of herself and her ambitions right now, and she’s really worried about me in that twisted way of hers. But no, I can’t let her sink her hooks in me. She’s trying to play me, but I won’t allow it; if there’s one thing I inherited from her, it's that I’m stubborn.

“No,” I merely say, shrugging and taking back my hand. “I’m on the verge of securing a major investment, and I’ll take a bullet before I give up on this company.”

“Investment?” she scoffs, looking around my apartment and gazing at the towers of cardboard boxes crammed in my living room. “And why would anyone invest in this, sweetie?”

“I have a prototype I’m working on, and I’m betting my whole company on it,” I tell her, determination rising inside of me. I’ve never been the kind of woman who did things just to show others that I can do it, but right now all I want is to rub my success in her face.

“Is this really how you want to play your hand, Natalie?” my mom asks me, lowering her voice and giving me a look that would make the most hardened SEAL run for cover. I stand my ground, though. I won’t bend over to please her.

“You can do what you want, mom. I’m not selling my company,” I say again, feeling more determined than ever. An expression of contempt washes over her face and, for a fraction of a second, all of her beauty vanishes; she looks dangerous now, like a coiled snake ready to jump and bury its fangs into the neck of a defenseless prey.

“Actions have consequences. And I can’t be responsible for what happens next,” she tells me, her words cold and heartless, a veiled threat in her voice.

“Are you threatening me?” I ask in complete disbelief. I know my mother is ruthless but… Christ, I’m her daughter!

“You’re making your own bed. And, sooner or later, you’re going to lie down on it. I offered you a bed of respect and money, Natalie, but it seems that you prefer one made of thorns.”

“Why are you threatening me, Mom?” I ask, a bit too shrill. “Why are you always so brutal on me?”

Mom looks at me. "Honestly, Natalie, I'm warning you," she says. "If you don't get out of this filthy sex toy business, you're not going to be considered my daughter any longer.”

"And so what?" I shout back. "It's not like you were ever a mother to me!"

It takes her two seconds. But her hand reaches out.

And slaps me.

"You ungrateful little bitch!" she yells. "You better watch your back, baby girl. Because I'm about to destroy both you, your stepdad, and your stepbrother."

There is nothing but anger in her eyes.

"I'll make the world hate you! To the point where they close your business down for you! And by the time I'm done destroying the three of you, they'll be wanting to make me a saint for putting up with you," Mom says. I

"You wouldn't," I say, shocked. "Not to your own family."

"I hate all three of you," she says. "And with the reporters I have in my payroll, you're going to watch Sloane and Drake suffer."

Clutching her purse to her breast, she then turns on her heels and walks for the door, leaving me completely dumbfounded in the middle of the living room.

Before she can leave, though, I walk after her. I slam the palm of my hand against the door, stopping her from opening it, and look into her eyes. It hurts me to say it, but the person looking back at me isn’t someone I can call a mother. There’s just ice there, almost as if I were just another obstacle in her path.

But there’s something else too. It finally dawns on me.

“You’re jealous…” I whisper, and I notice a flicker of anger in her eyes. I can hardly believe it, but she’s jealous of me.

“Don’t be silly. Why would I be jealous?” she says, but her voice falters as she says it. I can see through the cracks in her armor. I open my mouth to speak, but then I realize it won’t do any good.

“Just go,” I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I step back from the door, and with one final hard look at me, she leaves. I lean against the wall and let my body slide down to the floor; burying my face in my hands, I let one huge sob rise in my chest and I finally let the tears loose.

I’m not crying because I’m afraid of her. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself; I’m crying because she’s my mother. I never had a close relationship with her, but to think that she has become a complete stranger… And, more than that, she’s on the verge of becoming my enemy. My own mother!

I pity her, to be honest. She always chased money and fame, the high-life, running after it like a dog chasing after a car. It’s everything she wants, but the last thing she needs. And that’s why I know she’s jealous of me. I live a life of freedom, doing the things I love and being true to myself. And she either can’t do that, or won’t.

Wiping away the tears with the back of my hand, I go up to my feet and take a deep breath.

Let her threaten me. Let her come after me.

I’m right here.