Hera had felt lost. In every sense.

She wasn't sure which terminal she was due at in order to board the plane and neither did she think about what to do when she returned home after attending her father's 6th wedding.

Or rather, she didn't want to think about what the future held when she got back because at the moment everything was very bleak.

Although she hailed from a reputable family with her father being a world-renown real-estate agent Hera wasn't one to relate to that.

Her mother, Ruwayda, was an indian-malaysian beauty who was wife number 4 of the great Youssef Uzayr. Their love story was quite fickle in Hera's opinion and was doomed from the get-go. What could a mere 19 year old receptionist expect from a high society, well-groomed and proud 37 year old heartthrob?

Absolute fuck all! Their marriage had lasted for barely 5 months before the divorce proceedings were drawn up but that's how it went with each of her father's wives.

Hera was the only daughter of the duo but she had an abundance of half-siblings. It's a pity that she was considered to be somewhat of the black sheep amongst them. Youssef's taste was limited to pure white women only with Ruwayda being the exception and their heat-of-the-moment passion-child as Hera referred to herself, was distinct in an opposite appearance from her siblings.

Most of the clan was blessed with the fair skin, above average height, lean figures and straight light brown hair that mixed beautifully with Youssef's Indian genes and the European features from their mothers, however Hera was opposite to them as chalk and cheese.

She stood at 165cm with a much chubbier stance, yet proportioned impeccably adding to her exotic appeal. Her jet black hair cascaded down to her waist in luscious curly tendrils and her plump lips and dark brown eyes complimented her brown skin perfectly. It was apparent for her that the Indian genetics were dominant - something that made her feel distanced from the other siblings.

"Damn it!" she cursed unladylike as she looked at the plane ticket in her hand. Airports were dangerous according to Hera, they were the hub of toxic bacteria and virus' that had the ultimate superpower of clawing away the human life hence she had over done it with the spray bottle of sanitizer that now caused the ink on her plane ticket to fade away.

She cursed at her clumsiness and squinted her eyes finally managing to make out the terminal number. Clad in blue baggy jeans, a comfortable beige body suit that managed to snatch her tummy illuding it to look flat and some worn out sandals, she exasperatedly made her way to the long queue boarding for economy class.

One would have thought a lawyer would be bathing in riches yet here she was carrying her china copy of a Louis Vuitton bag and stressing over her finances.

After her internship at a creditable law firm, she had thought that her boss summoning her to his office was to ask her for permanent employment, yet she was faced with an apologetic smile and was let go. For four months she had been freelancing and now drowning in credit since that wasn't enough to get by.

Employment wasn't by any means easy and nobody really cared for a fresh lawyer. Experience was the name of the game, something that Hera gravely lacked in.

The line was moving way to slow for her liking and she wanting to scream at the universe for being cruel in every single sense but she held it together severely praying for the flight from the UK to Bahrain to be pleasant.