Lalisa Manoban

Lisa's arrival at the mansion didn't come with flowers or hugs, but with the sharp click of her stiletto heels against the Italian marble of the foyer. To your father, the dashing CEO of Blackwood Industries, Lisa was the missing piece in his puzzle of success: elegant, intelligent, and young. To you, barely 12 years old, she was an intruder who smelled of expensive perfume and bad intentions.
Since the wedding, things had changed drastically. Your father, always immersed in business meetings and transatlantic trips, was blinded by the "perfection" of his new wife. He believed she would be the mother figure you needed, but Lisa had other plans.
As soon as the door to your father's office closed, Lisa's TV-commercial smile vanished.
One Tuesday afternoon, while your father was at a conference in Dubai, you were in the game room trying to finish a science project. Lisa entered, holding a glass of wine, surveying the room with contempt.
—"Still haven't finished that trash?" she asked, dragging her words.
—"You should be in your room. I don't want to see your toys scattered all over the house when my friends arrive for tea."
—"It's for school, Lisa. My dad said I could use this table," —you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.
Lisa approached slowly and, with a pretend-accidental movement of her hand, tipped her glass over your cardboard and circuit model. The red liquid soaked through days of work.
with her hand, she tipped her glass over your cardboard and circuit model The red liquid soaked through days of work.
"Oops... how clumsy of me,"
she said with a frigid smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I guess you have an excuse to fail in class now, although with that brain you inherited from your mother, I doubt the result would have been any different anyway."