Grace sat in the opulent lounge, her hands folded in her lap as the air filled with meaningless chatter. The scent of expensive perfume clung to the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating weight in her chest. Vivianne and her circle of privileged girls lounged on the velvet sofas, sipping imported teas and laughing in soft, practiced tones. They spoke in a language of luxury, of high-end brands, of parties exclusive enough to make headlines. Grace listened, a quiet outsider in the nest of gilded vipers, her presence an obligation rather than a choice.
Her father had pushed her into this world. He believed connections mattered more than anything, that aligning with the rich and influential was the only path to success. Grace knew better. She had spent enough time with Vivianne to understand the cruel undertones beneath the honeyed words, the way they toyed with people's dignity for sport. Yet, here she was—his daughter, his pawn—trapped in a game she despised.
The new bodyguard arrived in the middle of their conversation, introduced with all the ceremony of a well-bred hound being presented to its master. Aries Cain. His name was sharp, clipped, and his presence even sharper. He was tall, his dark attire tailored to perfection, but it was his eyes that held an unsettling weight—cold, observant, assessing. He stood behind Vivianne, silent and unmoving, yet Grace could feel his gaze skimming over her as if taking note of every detail.
Vivianne barely acknowledged him beyond a dismissive wave. "My father insisted on hiring him. Something about increasing security. It's ridiculous. Anyway—Grace, we're going shopping after this. You're coming."
Grace stiffened, her fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. She had an appointment at the hospital today. Her mother's condition required constant check-ups, and she couldn't afford to miss this one. "I can't. I have something important—"
"Cancel it," Vivianne cut in, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You've been included in our plans."
A muscle in Grace's jaw tensed. This was how it always was. Vivianne commanded, and others obeyed. But not this time. "I can't," she repeated, firmer this time. "But I'll come to the party later."
Vivianne's gaze lingered on her for a moment before she huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Fine. Don't be late."
Grace exhaled, tension coiling in her stomach as she excused herself. As she passed Aries, their eyes met for the briefest second. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something unsettling. She didn't linger to find out.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and despair. Grace sat beside her mother's bed, gripping her frail hand while the machines beeped a steady rhythm.
As Grace gently brushed a stray hair from her mother's forehead, a fierce wave of protectiveness swelled within her. This was her real world, fragile and imperfect. She bit her lip, vowing that no one—not even Vivianne—would reduce her to a pawn."
The appointment had gone as expected, but as the evening crept in, her mother's condition took a turn for the worse. Doctors rushed in and out, their hushed voices brimming with urgency, and Grace was shoved into the corner, helpless and frozen.
She can't leave me. Not now. Not yet. The thought looped in her mind, frantic and fragile. Her hands clutched the edge of her chair, knuckles white, as she tried to hold herself together.
Her father's voice, cold and firm, echoed in her mind: "You cannot afford to cross Vivianne, Grace."
Grace barely noticed when the clock struck the time she was supposed to be at the party.
But how could she think about Vivianne's party when her mother's life hung by a thread? Anxiety clawed at her chest, competing with the dread. If she didn't show up, there would be hell to pay—not just with Vivianne, but with her father. She could already imagine his clenched jaw, his piercing glare, the words that would cut sharper than knives. He wouldn't care about the circumstances. He never did.
Grace's vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. She couldn't let herself fall apart—not here, not now. A nurse briefly turned to her and said something about waiting outside, but she couldn't move. This wasn't just fear—this was paralyzing guilt, knowing that no matter what she chose, someone would think she had failed them. Her knees buckled as she thought of Vivianne's icy smile, of her father's disappointed silence.
Still, nothing mattered more than the fragile figure on the bed. Taking her mother's hand, she whispered, "Stay with me, Mom. Please."
It wasn't until the early hours of the morning, when her mother stabilized, that Grace allowed herself to breathe. The weight in her chest loosened, but another dread replaced it. She had ignored Vivianne's invitation. She had humiliated her.
As Grace pushed open the front door to her house, her pulse quickened. The silence was suffocating, each creak of the floorboards amplifying the tension that coiled in her chest. Her father had to know by now. He always knew. She could picture him waiting in the study, his expression carved from stone, ready to berate her for her defiance. She winced at the thought.
Step by step, she crossed the vast, cold marble floor, her breath catching as she neared the sitting room. It was empty. Her gaze darted toward the closed door of the study, the very sight of it making her stomach churn. She bit her lip, debating whether to knock, to explain herself before he got the chance to lash out. But then the maid's voice startled her.
"Good morning, Miss Grace," the maid said softly, setting a tray of tea on the side table. "Your father left early for a meeting."
Relief flooded her, weak and fleeting but undeniable. Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. He wasn't here. For now, she was safe. She nodded to the maid, mumbling a "thank you," before retreating to her room.
But as she climbed the stairs, a gnawing thought lingered. This isn't over. Her father's absence was not an escape, just a delay. The consequences were waiting, heavy and inevitable. Her reprieve was temporary, and deep down, Grace knew the storm was still coming.
She didn't have the luxury to rest. She had to fix this.
With every passing second her head became heavy with thoughts of up coming disaster.