Poisoned Glamour

The music was thunderous, the lights extravagant, but nothing could drown the venom in Robert's voice as he marched toward Grace the moment he spotted her.

"Why are you late?!" he hissed, seizing her arm in an iron grip. "Do you want your mother dead? Is that what you want?"

Grace flinched, her heart pounding. His fingers dug into her skin, and Grace winced.Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to pull her arm free. The pain, both physical and emotional, was sharp, overwhelming.

"I—I'm sorry," she whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the party.

Then, like a blade slicing tension, someone walked past them—tall, composed, silent. Robert's hold loosened instantly, and Grace staggered slightly. Her arm was red and sore, the imprint of his fingers blooming like bruised roses across her skin.

Without another word, Robert gripped her shoulder and dragged her toward a regal corner of the venue where Mr. Lawrent stood, accompanied by Vivianne. Vivianne's eyes sparkled with delight, her lips curled in a honeyed smile.

Vivianne gave her a look—a sweet smile, empty of warmth. It was as though the mall incident never happened, as though Aries's pain was erased from her memory.

"Mr. Lawrent," Robert greeted, straightening his coat. Grace followed suit and gave a polite bow, the ache in her arm pulsing with every movement.

"Where's Cassian?" Robert asked casually, as if his fury from moments ago never existed.

"Upstairs," Mr. Lawrent replied. "With some friends."

Robert took a step forward. "Shall we join him?"

But Mr. Lawrent stopped him with a smooth chuckle. "Now, now. Let the youngsters enjoy themselves. It wouldn't look right for us old men to interrupt their fun."

Robert laughed stiffly and nodded. But before stepping back, he led Grace to a quiet corner.

"Don't embarrass me," he warned in a harsh whisper. "Vivianne will take you to him. Just smile, act pretty, and behave."

Grace nodded slowly, her throat tight. As Vivianne turned and gestured her forward, Grace followed like a condemned soul walking to her fate. Her hands trembled. Her heart thudded so violently, it made her light-headed.

And then—she stepped into the room.

The air changed.

What greeted her wasn't youth or elegance. It was chaos draped in gold.

Smoke curled through the room like a snake. The scent of alcohol and drugs burned her nose. Cassian Lawrent—her so-called future—was sprawled on a leather couch like a king of depravity. Girls, barely clothed, hung off his arms, one perched on his lap. He was laughing, or maybe coughing. A girl on the stage had begun to undress, twirling under purple lights while half the crowd hooted in a drunken daze.

Grace felt her stomach churn. Her feet rooted to the spot.

Vivianne, ever the perfect hostess, turned with a cruel glint in her eyes. "What's wrong? Go on. He's waiting."

Grace clenched her fists and forced her legs to move. She stepped closer to Cassian, who barely acknowledged her until Vivianne leaned over.

"Cassian," she said sweetly, "this is Grace."

Cassian's bleary eyes shifted to her. He blinked, trying to focus. Then he grinned.

"You're pretty," he slurred, reaching for her waist.

But before his hand could touch her, another girl—elegant, unfamiliar—slinked in and intercepted him with practiced ease. She wrapped herself around him, murmuring something in his ear, and gently led him away.

A tiny earpiece glinted in her ear.

And though no one else could hear it, a voice buzzed through her mind—sharp, venomous, and trembling with rage:

"If he dares to even come near her, I'll ruin both him and you. So move that fucking bastard away from My Grace, the only pure thing in my world. Touch her—and I unravel."

It was Aries.

The girl stiffened. She quickened her movements, steering Cassian far from Grace.

And Grace—she turned and ran.

The hallway blurred as she rushed through it, her heels clicking like thunder. She stumbled outside, her breaths ragged, her vision swimming.

She bent over, a hand pressed to her stomach. She was about to be sick.

"Here," came a gentle voice.

She looked up. A man she didn't recognize was offering her a bottle of water. His expression was calm, kind, entirely unfamiliar.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

His voice was a balm, but it didn't reach the places that were breaking. Because in Grace's mind, the only voice she wanted to hear was the one that had just spoken like a storm for her. The voice that had called her my Grace.

Aries.