Chapter 4
The private room buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the air thick with noise and celebration.
Sylvie sat in the far corner, watching as Alaric stood at the center of it all, surrounded by friends and admirers, yet his focus never strayed far from Clarisse.
He was always one step ahead of her, twisting the cap off her drink before she could reach for it, handing her a handkerchief the instant a drop of wine stained her dress, quietly raising the thermostat when she coughed,
as if he could sense her discomfort before she even spoke.
All these gentle gestures–Sylvie had never known any of them.
She tipped back another drink, her heart aching as if it were being sliced apart, slowly and cruelly, by a dull blade.
For the past year, her relationship with Alaric had been nothing but nights tangled in sheets–never once, not even at the most fevered heights, had she seen him lose control, not even for a second.
“Looks like the bottle’s landed on Mr. Savrelle!” someone suddenly called out, laughter erupting around the table. “Time for your penalty!”
A tablet was passed down to Alaric amid the cheers. “They say Mr. Savrelle is the most disciplined bachelor in the city–we’ll go easy on you. Just a quick game–pick the person who moves your heart the most, as fast as you can.
The first pair of photos flashed up–one of a famous actress, the other of Clarisse.
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Alaric glanced at the screen, answering without hesitation, “Clarisse.”
The room exploded with whistles and teasing. Clarisse blushed, ducking her head, but a smile still crept across her lips.
Sylvie dug her nails into her palm, biting back the pain.
Photo after photo flickered by, and each time, Alaric picked Clarisse without a pause.
Sylvie couldn’t take it anymore. She got up and headed for the restroom.
She’d barely taken two steps when the room erupted again, even louder. She turned back and saw the screen now displayed her own photo side by
side with Clarisse’s.
“Whoa!” someone hollered, excitement rippling through the crowd. “Now this is interesting! Ms. Ainsley is the most beautiful woman in our circle -even the celebrities can’t compare! If Mr. Savrelle still picks Ms. Pritchard, well, that says it all…
Every eye in the room turned to Alaric.
For once, he hesitated.
Sylvie froze, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might leap from her chest.
Three seconds passed before she heard Alaric’s low voice, “Clarisse.”
In that instant, Sylvie’s world shattered.
The room erupted in wild cheers, but Sylvie stumbled to the bathroom, twisting the faucet on full blast, letting icy water splash over her face. It did nothing to quell the fire burning in her chest.
After what felt like forever, Sylvie finally looked up at her reflection. The
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girl staring back at her was breathtakingly beautiful–and utterly defeated.
When she stepped out, the hallway was dimly lit, shadows pooling along the edges.
She’d barely turned the corner when three or four drunken men blocked her path.
“Hey gorgeous, give us your number, huh?” The one in front reeked of booze, reaching for her face.
Back off!” Sylvie snapped, stumbling back until her shoulders hit the cold wall.
“Don’t play innocent,” another slurred, grabbing her wrist. “You dress like that, you’re just asking for it.”
As she struggled, Sylvie’s gaze darted through the crowd and locked with Alaric’s at the doorway.
She saw his brow furrow, and he started toward her–but then Clarisse’s pained cry rang out behind him. “Ah!”
“What’s wrong?” Alaric turned immediately.
“My ankle–I think I twisted it…” Clarisse’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I’m okay. You should help Sylvie first.”
Alaric crouched to check her ankle. “She can handle herself.”
Those words stabbed through Sylvie like a blade.
One of the men’s hands slid around her waist, his breath hot and foul on her face. “Come have some fun with us…”
Sylvie snatched a wine bottle from the hallway table and smashed it against the wall with a loud crack.
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“Touch me again and you’ll regret it!”
Blood trickled down her hand from the broken glass, but she didn’t care. As the men stared, stunned, she slipped away.
When the party broke up, Sylvie refused to get in Alaric’s car. She stood alone on the curb, waiting for a cab.
Clarisse came over, umbrella in hand, her heels splashing through a puddle. “Sylvie, don’t you have a car? I can give you a ride.”
Sylvie glanced at the brand–new sports car key dangling from Clarisse’s fingers and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Devin sure is generous, buying such a nice car for a stepdaughter,” she thought.
“No, thanks.” Sylvie’s lips curled into a bright, mocking smile. “I’d rather walk than ride in the mistress’s daughter’s car.”
Clarisse’s face darkened, her mask slipping as she grabbed Sylvie’s wrist. “Sylvie! Say that again?”
“Say it again? Will that change the fact that you’re still the mistress’s daughter? Let go of me.”
As they argued, a blinding pair of headlights swept over them.
Sylvie turned just in time to see a car careening toward them, out of control..
In a split second, she saw Alaric racing over, pulling Clarisse into his
arms.
And then, with a sickening thud, Sylvie was thrown to the ground.
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