The Gutter III

A vase somewhere behind her detonated against the ground like a warning shot. Sharp ceramic burst and scattered, clattering across the hallway floor.

Cecelia flinched.

"What the hell was that?" someone inside snapped.

"Probably a drunk. Let it be," came the reply.

Still, her focus was rattled.

Which is why, when a voice behind her murmured, "Getting careless, Cece."

She replied before she could stop herself.

"Alden, shut up."

She blinked.

Wait.

That voice wasn't Alden's.

Her spine stiffened as she turned, slowly.

Soren stood behind her, half in shadow, arms crossed. A smirk danced on his mouth, but his eyes were as cold as the night, like usual. The red silk shirt fell on his body, outlining his muscular build. 

"You're lucky," he murmured. "That crash could've been followed by something much worse."

Cecelia exhaled sharply. "What are you doing here?"

Soren tilted his head. "Making sure you don't get your dumb ass killed."

"You followed me?"

"No," he said. "I followed a suspiciously overdressed woman into the most dangerous club in the city and, surprise, it was you."

She glared at him. "I'm working."

"You're playing spy with your name, face, and purse out in the open," he snapped. "And recording. Here. You out of your mind?"

"They're talking about Sebastian."

"And you're risking your neck for what, proof that he's a pig? You needed a club full of coke dust and fake IDs for that?"

Then—thunk. A chair scraped inside the room. Footsteps shifted. Someone said, "You hear that?"

Without hesitation, Soren grabbed Cecelia's wrist and pulled her into the dark alcove beside the curtain-lined hallway, the two of them wedged between stacked crates and velvet drapes.

He held her there, one arm braced beside her head, breath ghosting against her ear as the door creaked open.

Someone stepped out, looked around.

"Probably staff," they muttered, then went back inside, but not before barking at the 'staff' to bring them more bottles of alcohol. 

The door clicked shut again.

Soren didn't move.

Neither did Cecelia.

Her body was tense against his. His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. His chest rose and fell in steady waves, brushing against the space neither of them had invited. 

When he finally pulled away, she ripped her arm back.

"You're insane," he muttered.

"And you're in my way."

"I'm trying to keep you alive. You say you'll help me one day as soon as you handle your affairs and then disappear into this cesspit like you've got nothing to lose. Is this you handling your affairs?"

Cecelia's lips curled. "Maybe I don't have anything to lose."

Soren's voice dropped, sharper now. "Are you even okay in the head?"

She flinched visibly.

And then, she spit out, "Don't pretend to care, Sinclair. You'll only disappoint both of us."

Soren threw his head back and laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just frustration, worn razor-thin.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. His eyes darkened as he stepped in close again.

"Are you actually going insane?"

His voice was low, dangerous. His hands gripped her shoulders, tight enough to anchor, not hurt, but she could feel the pulse behind his fingers. Controlled fury.

"You are Cecelia Arden Whitmore. The richest heiress in all the lands," he growled. "If that isn't enough for you, your identity as Sabine Vale, the genius doctor everyone fears and envies, ensures that you will never go without."

Her breath hitched, chest tight beneath his stare.

"So tell me," he bit out, voice just above a whisper, "why the fuck are you wasting yourself here? Waiting around for scraps from a mediocre man who would bleed you dry without blinking? Letting people...your family, your so-called fiancé, this society, control you like a goddamn puppet?"

She didn't respond.

Couldn't.

Because no one had ever said it out loud before. No one had dared.

Her nails bit into the fabric of her coat. Her heartbeat was loud, erratic. Not from fear, but from the fact that he saw her.

Really saw through her. 

Soren shook his head, stepping back slightly. His voice was rough now, almost breaking. "You're better than this. You've always been better than all of them. So what the hell are you doing playing dress-up to imitate the perfect obedient woman for men who'll never deserve a second of your time?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Soren's words didn't just hit, they carved into something buried, deep and raw. Something she'd locked away beneath ambition, routine, and the ever-tight noose of expectation.

Then, finally, her voice came. Fractured and low.

"I'm not imitating anything, Sinclair."

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"I am the perfect obedient woman. I was molded into it. Trained to smile when I wanted to scream, to be gracious while rotting from the inside out. I'm not faking anything. This is what they made."

She met his gaze, glassy now, sharp around the edges. "So don't stand there acting like you know me. You don't. You're just another person telling me who I should be. There is absolutely no difference between those people and you right now."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the quake in her chest.

"They said I was sick," she bit out. "But I wasn't. I ran. You know why? Because I was suffocating under everyone's idea of who I should become. And the second I came back, they shoved me into this perfect little box like I hadn't clawed my way out just to fucking breathe."

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away instantly, violently, like it offended her.

"I hate that I'm crying right now," she whispered. "I hate it. You are the last person I thought I would ever cry in front of. "

Soren took a step closer, but she lifted a hand, whispering the word no.

Her voice trembled, but it didn't soften.

"So yeah, maybe I came to this disgusting place with bad intentions, and maybe I pressed record hoping to get revenge. But have you ever thought that I only did it because it was the only thing I could do tonight? Because I'm tired of being good and letting it get swept under the rug. Of being just enough to be used at their will. Of being everyone's perfect fucking pawn."

She kept blinking and tilting her head back to keep her emotions in check. She let out a few sniffles before she spoke up again.