Morning came like punishment a cruel reminder that sleep hadn't saved me. Pale light bled through the curtains, slicing into my swollen eyes.
My head throbbed, a dull ache crawling behind my temples, the price for tossing half the night instead of sleeping. I should've known better than to drink that much wine, but it wasn't the alcohol keeping me awake , it was her.
Celestine.
Even when I shut my eyes, her voice lingered like an echo I couldn't chase away. The way she'd looked at me yesterday, distant yet so devastatingly gentle… it had burned into my mind until sleep became impossible. I kept thinking what if I had stayed? What if I'd said something foolish? What if she had misunderstood the whole situation ? Why is my life so fucked up?
Now here I was, half awake, my reflection in the mirror looking like someone who'd wrestled her thoughts and lost.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the exhaustion clinging to my skin. It didn't help much. My hair fell loose around my shoulders, slightly tangled from the restless night, and I tied it up lazily before slipping into a simple blouse and trousers.
I was halfway to grabbing my bag when a sharp knock came at my door.
"Miss Selene?"
The voice was firm but familiar — warm in that quiet, respectful way that only one person carried.
I sighed, already knowing. "Marcus?"
"Yes, miss. Your parents have requested your presence. Immediately."
I froze. The word requested sounded like a lie, a polished version of commanded. They never requested anything.
I opened the door to find him standing there — Marcus, the family butler, dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit as always. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed neatly, his posture straight despite his age. There was something undeniably graceful about him — a man molded by discipline but softened by kindness.
Even now, his expression held sympathy. "You look tired, miss."
"I didn't sleep well," I muttered.
He gave a small nod, the kind that said he already knew but wouldn't pry. "Your mother insisted you come at once. The car is ready."
Of course she did. My pulse sank, the familiar weight pressing against my ribs. I'd been expecting this — the storm that always followed any moment of calm.
"Thank you, Marcus," I said quietly.
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway. "Shall we?"
I nodded, grabbing my bag though I knew it wouldn't make any difference. There was no escaping this summons.
...
The air outside was too bright, the kind that made your head ache even more when you weren't in the mood to face the world. Parked in front of the dormitory gates was one of my parents' cars a sleek black Maybach S680, polished to perfection, the kind of luxury that screamed power.
Marcus opened the door for me as he always did. I slipped in silently, the smell of leather and faint cologne filling the space.
As the car began to move, I leaned against the cool window, watching the city blur past. I knew this drive too well. It always meant confrontation.
"Do you know what this is about?" I asked, though I already had an idea.
Marcus hesitated before answering. "I'm afraid your parents didn't specify, miss. But... there are guests at the house."
Guests. That explained the urgency. And the tone.
"Unfamiliar faces?" I asked quietly.
He gave a small nod, eyes focused on the road. "Yes, miss. Several of them. Arrived early this morning."
Of course. Unfamiliar faces in our household could only mean one thing ... business or alliances. My stomach twisted at the thought.
I sighed, resting my forehead against the window. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?"
Marcus's voice was soft when he replied. "Because, Miss Selene, the world they built was never meant for peace."
His words lingered in the air between us ,a truth both of us understood but never said aloud.
The rest of the drive was silent.
...….
When the car finally slowed before the massive wrought-iron gates, my chest tightened. The mansion loomed beyond the same ivory façade, tall windows, and gardens trimmed so precisely they looked unreal. I used to love this place when I was little. Now it just felt like a stage, and I was the actress forced to perform a role I hated.
Marcus parked and hurried to open my door. The moment I stepped out, the air hit me cool but sharp, filled with the faint scent of roses and expensive perfume.
As we entered through the front doors, the sound of chatter and laughter reached my ears. Unfamiliar laughter.
Inside, the grand foyer glittered with chandeliers and polished marble floors. Several well-dressed strangers stood near the sitting room, glasses of wine in hand, voices blending in polite conversation.
I recognized none of them.
One of the maids hurried up the staircase the moment she saw me. Moments later, my mother's voice echoed from the top of the stairs — elegant but cold as glass.
"Selene."
I looked up to see her — Rose Leclerc, flawless as always in a cream silk gown, her expression composed but unreadable. Her beauty had always been untouchable, her grace intimidating. Most people mistook her calm for kindness. I knew better.
"Upstairs. Now," she said, turning without waiting for me to answer.
I followed quietly, my footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floor.
My old bedroom hadn't changed the pale blue curtains, the vanity filled with untouched perfume bottles, the same framed photo of me as a child smiling beside parents who had long stopped smiling for real.
But now, there was something new.
Laid neatly across my bed was a dress — elegant, silver, and obviously expensive. The kind of dress chosen to impress, not to comfort.
My mother stood beside it, arms crossed. "Change," she said simply. "You have twenty minutes. The guests downstairs have been waiting."
"Guests?" I asked, my voice small.
She gave me a cold look. "You'll meet them soon enough. And Selene..." she paused, eyes narrowing slightly, "do not test my patience today. I'll deal with your stubbornness later."
Her tone sliced through me.
"Yes, Mother," I murmured.
Without another word, she turned and left, closing the door behind her with that soft, final click that always made me feel smaller than I was.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the dress. My throat felt tight, my chest heavier with every passing second.
I wanted to scream, to tear the dress until the threads gave way . To tell them all I didn't want this life — their plans, their perfect world, their expectations but I didn't. I'd learned silence was safer.
But instead, I wiped the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes before they could fall. Crying would only make things worse.
I sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers across the smooth fabric.
"This isn't living," I whispered to the empty room.
And yet, when I closed my eyes, the memory of Celestine's warmth brushed against my thoughts like a balm against the ache. Her calm voice, the steadiness in her gaze , it was the only thing that kept me from breaking apart completely.
I took a deep breath, stood up, and began to dress.
When I looked at myself in the mirror again, I barely recognized the girl staring back.She looked like a stranger. But a stranger who knew how to survive.And that had to be enough.
By the time I made it downstairs, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking filled the air — the kind of laughter that didn't belong to happiness, but to power. The chandeliers above gleamed like sharp ice, catching every reflection and cutting it in gold.
My mother stood near the center of the room, her smile perfectly rehearsed, while my father leaned against the fireplace, his presence as commanding as ever. Around them were people I didn't know — wealthy, well-dressed, eyes that measured rather than admired.
And beside them stood Demian Leclerc.
He was taller than I remembered, his hair styled immaculately, his posture too perfect to be anything but practiced. His suit was tailored, his smile polite the kind that made people believe he was kind, though his eyes told a different story. Cold. Detached. Assessing.
"Ah, there she is," my mother said, her voice slicing through the chatter. "Our lovely daughter, finally joining us."
Every pair of eyes turned toward me. The attention felt like fire under my skin. I forced myself to step closer, my heels clicking softly against the marble.
My father's gaze was sharp, and his faint nod warned me not to embarrass them.
"Selene," my mother said smoothly, gesturing toward the young man. "You remember Demian, don't you? The Leclercs have been waiting to see you."
I smiled or tried to. It felt like stretching a wound. "Of course. It's… been a long time."
Demian stepped forward, his smile widening as he reached for my hand. "Too long," he said, and before I could pull away, he lifted my hand and pressed his lips against the back of it.
The touch made my stomach twist. I fought the urge to recoil, but every muscle in my body went stiff. His lips were cool, impersonal, and his grin lingered like a stain.
"Still as shy as ever," he teased quietly.
I forced a hollow chuckle. "And you're still as confident as ever."
He tilted his head, eyes flicking to my mother, then back to me. "It's good to see you again, Selene."
"You too," I lied.
Behind him, my mother was smiling the kind of smile that screamed satisfaction. My father gave a subtle nod of approval, his expression unreadable.
The rest of the afternoon was torture.
Demian's parents praised me like I was a prized possession, not a person. My mother laughed at every compliment, my father poured wine and spoke of family alliances and the beauty of tradition.
I sat there, silent, my smile fixed like a crack in porcelain.
Every time Demian leaned closer to whisper something a memory from childhood, a teasing comment, a reminder of our engagement , my heart sank deeper into my chest. I wanted to disappear.
When the guests finally rose to leave, I felt the first real breath of relief in hours. I stood behind my parents as they said their goodbyes, hands trembling slightly at my sides.
Demian kissed my cheek before leaving, his voice low. "Don't vanish again, Selene. I'd hate to have to come looking for you."
I didn't reply.The door closed behind them. Silence followed.The kind that choked.
My father was the first to move. He didn't look at me, just exhaled slowly and said, "You've become difficult, Selene. Disrespectful. Careless."
I kept my eyes down. "I didn't…."
"Do not interrupt me," he cut in sharply, voice like thunder without volume. "You have no respect for your family. You ignore calls, you run away to that college, you embarrass your mother and I in front of guests."
My throat tightened. "I didn't mean..."
He slammed his glass down on the table, the sound sharp enough to make me flinch. "You never mean to. That's the problem."
"Enough," my mother snapped, stepping forward. Her voice was low, furious. "Do you even understand what you've done today? Those people — the Leclercs — they are the future of this family. And you can't even manage a smile without looking like you're being dragged to the gallows!"
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. "I didn't ask for any of this!"
The slap came so fast I barely saw it.
Her palm met my cheek with a sound that echoed through the room. The sting shot straight to my bones, leaving my face burning.
My head turned from the force, but I didn't move. Didn't cry.
"You will not talk back to me," she hissed. "You ungrateful child."
I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I tasted blood metallic and bitter on my tongue.
"Rose," my father muttered, but his tone held no real protest. Just exhaustion.
She turned on him sharply. "No, she needs to learn. You let her run off for months, defying us, and look what she's become a spoiled, arrogant brat who doesn't even respect her own family."
Then to me: "You think you can ignore your mother? Ignore your fiancé's calls? You think you can hang up on me and hide behind that school like a coward?"
Her voice grew sharper with each word.
I didn't answer. If I spoke, she'd hit harder.
"Say something!" she demanded.
"I…" My voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
The words were barely out when she struck again.
The sound was louder this time. My vision blurred.
My father finally spoke, his tone flat. "Do something about her attitude, Rose. I'm done watching her disgrace this family."
Then he turned and walked out, the door closing behind him like a final judgment.
My mother stood there, breathing hard, eyes cold.
"Fetch the lash from my office," she told one of the maids who had been standing by silently.
My stomach dropped.
"No," I whispered, taking a step back. "Please… not that."
But the maid obeyed without hesitation, her eyes full of pity she couldn't show.
When the whip was placed in her hand, my mother didn't hesitate.
"You will learn," she said simply — and the first strike landed across my back.
The crack split the air. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood — the only sound I'd allow her to win.
Again.And again.
Each lash burned, slicing through skin and sound until the pain became something else distant, almost numb. My tears fell silently, sliding down my face and staining the dress she'd chosen for me to look perfect in.
When she finally stopped, she dropped the whip like it disgusted her.
"Clean yourself up," she said, voice calm again, as if nothing had happened. "And remember this the next time you decide to embarrass us."
She left.
The door clicked shut behind her.
I stayed on the floor, breathing raggedly, my palms pressed against the cold tiles. I couldn't feel my back anymore just a dull throb with each heartbeat.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Then the door opened quietly.
"Miss Selene…"
Marcus.
He didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. His face tightened when he saw the blood on the back of my dress, the welt marks, the tears I couldn't stop anymore.
He said nothing just walked over, gently wrapping his coat around my shoulders.
"Let's go," he whispered. "You don't deserve that."
I couldn't even nod. He helped me to my feet, every movement sending sharp waves of pain through me.
We walked out in silence. The night air hit my skin like ice.
Marcus helped me into the car, closing the door softly so it wouldn't echo. The drive back to the dorm was quiet only the hum of the engine and the sound of my uneven breathing.
When we reached the building, he got out first, helping me up the steps like a child.
At the door, I turned to him, voice trembling. "Thank you."
He shook his head gently. "Don't thank me, Miss Selene. You deserve better than this."
I tried to smile, but it broke halfway.
When he left, I dragged myself into my room, shut the door, and sank onto my bed.
The silence was unbearable. My body ached, my soul heavier than my skin could carry. I pressed my face into the pillow.
Not the quiet, polite kind. But the raw, broken kind that comes when you've been holding it in too long.
And through the blur of tears, one name kept rising above the rest not my parents', not Demian's. And now this something I will never forget.....then the haunting memories from my unspoken past.I always remember the smell before I remember the screams burnt metal and rain. The kind that clings to your skin long after the storm passes. It was the night everything changed. The night the world decided I'd had enough softness left to destroy.
They said I was lucky to be alive.Lucky.
As if crawling out of fire with blood in my mouth and pieces of someone else's voice in my head was a blessing. As if surviving meant healing. They didn't see what I saw. Didn't hear the sound of his breath fading beside me. Didn't feel the warmth of his hand go cold in mine.
Since then, I've lived in fragments. I walk through days that don't feel real, smile because it's expected, talk because silence feels heavier. I still flinch when thunder breaks; my body remembers before my mind does. Some nights, I wake up gasping, convinced I can still smell the smoke.
And when people call me strong, I want to laugh because strength isn't what kept me alive.
It was guilt.And maybe… a promise I can't remember making.
Now, even love feels foreign. The idea of being touched without breaking, of being seen without bleeding it terrifies me. Because if someone reaches too deep, what if they find what's left of that night still breathing inside me? What if they see how ruined I really am?
So I keep it buried.
The memories. The screams. The trembling.
Because it's easier to be "fine" than to admit I'm still standing in the ashes.
Only Celestine.
Her voice. Her warmth. Her calm. Gave me comfort.
I clung to the memory like a thread keeping me from falling apart completely.
Because in a world that had already decided my fate, she was the only thing that made me feel like I still belonged to myself.