Morning came too soon.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt unforgiving, piercing Grace's closed eyes like a cruel reminder that the world kept turning no matter how heavy her heart felt. She stirred, her entire body stiff and aching as though she had spent the night battling demons. And in many ways, she had.
With a groan, she forced herself up. The blanket slid off her shoulders, and her exposed skin prickled as the morning chill seeped in. Her hand instinctively brushed against the bruises on her arms, tracing the faint outlines of red and purple that had blossomed overnight. The pain was sharp, but she hardly flinched. Pain, in all its forms, had long since become her constant companion.
Her gaze shifted to the small makeup bag on the dresser, and she sighed, the weight of her routine pressing down on her. Grace rose, her movements slow and deliberate, and settled in front of the mirror. With mechanical precision, she pulled out each product and began to work., too bright for the weight she carried. She had years of practice in covering up bruises; this time was no different. By the time she was done, her skin was flawless—at least on the outside.
Her father's voice snapped her out of her daze. "It's time."
She didn't reply. Grace grabbed her coat and walked downstairs, her steps heavy.
The car ride was silent, but the quiet was deafening. Her father sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable.Her father didn't spare her a glance as she got into the car beside him. Silence hung between them, thick with unspoken words, until they reached their destination: Vivianne's father's office.
When they arrived at the towering building, the gravity of the moment sank deeper into her chest.
Robert Vale's entire demeanor changed the moment they stepped inside. His voice dripped with charm, his laughter forced but convincing as he engaged in easy conversation with Mr. Sinclair Lawrent. Meanwhile, Vivianne sat on the couch, legs crossed, her manicured fingers idly scrolling through her phone.
Grace stood stiffly in the center of the room, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Well?" Vivianne finally looked up in expectation, her cool, condescending gaze locking on Grace. One perfectly shaped brow arched, and an amused smirk tugged at her lips.
Grace inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay steady.
Then bent her knees, lowering herself onto the plush carpet. The humiliation burned, hotter than any of her father's beatings, but she forced the words out. "I'm sorry for not attending the party," she murmured, her voice small but steady.
Vivianne sighed dramatically, tossing her phone onto the table. "You humiliated me, Grace. Do you understand that? I don't just invite anyone to my parties. Your absence made me look bad."
"I—" Grace swallowed hard. "It wasn't intentional. My mother—"
"Excuses, excuses." Vivianne flicked her fingers dismissively. "Fine, I forgive you. But whether or not you can still be part of my circle… well, that depends on your performance from now on."
Grace clenched her jaw, nails biting into her palms. Performance. Like she was some sort of showpiece, an act in Vivianne's elaborate theater of wealth and status.
"Thank you," she murmured, bowing her head once more before standing abruptly. Her father barely acknowledged her as he continued chatting with Mr. Sinclair Laurent, and that was her cue to leave.
She ran.
Not in the way she wanted to, not in the way she needed to, but she ran out of that suffocating office, out of the building, into the open air where she could finally breathe.
She found herself in a nearby park, her legs giving out as she collapsed onto a bench. The world was still cruelly bright, the sun high in the sky, but it felt colder than the night before. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and let the tears fall.
Minutes passed, maybe longer, and then—
A neatly folded handkerchief entered her line of sight.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, and there he was.
Aries Cain.
His expression was unreadable, his face shadowed slightly by the sunlight at his back. "Take it," he said, his voice even, calm.
She stared at the handkerchief, then at him. And suddenly, rage bubbled in her chest.
Cheap sympathy.
She slapped the handkerchief away, watching it flutter to the ground. "I don't need your pity," she snapped, standing abruptly. Her vision blurred with fresh tears, but she refused to let them fall in front of him.
Aries didn't react. He simply followed the descent of the handkerchief, then lifted his gaze back to her, his dark eyes steady, searching.
"Understood," he said quietly.
She turned on her heel and stormed off, slipping into the backseat of the waiting car. As the door shut behind her, she dared one last glance out the window.
Aries was still standing there, his gaze unwavering as he watched her leave.
The handkerchief remained on the ground between them, untouched.