Chapter 2:A Cracking Mirror

The rain came slowly that evening, as if reluctant to fall. Just a drizzle at first, dusting the rooftop like a whisper, but soon it pressed heavier against the windows, weeping down the glass in steady sheets.

I sat curled near the hearth, the flames throwing golden light across the parlor walls. A book lay open in my lap, its words long forgotten. The house felt hollow again—like the soul had been sucked out of it, leaving only shadows and ticking clocks. I stared at the doorway more than I read, hoping Vincent would come because it's been day's since he's been acting so distant.

He always said he'd try.

He always said he'd be home soon.

And I always believed him.

When the clock struck eight, I moved to the dining room and removed one of the plates. No point in waiting with the food going cold. I told myself it wasn't his fault. That business meetings could run late, and roads could flood, and phones could die.

I didn't want to doubt him.

But doubt always crept in quietly—like rot beneath painted wood.

The door finally opened near midnight.

I heard the familiar rhythm of his boots, slower tonight, heavier. When he stepped into the entry hall, his coat was soaked, and his hair clung to his face in dark, dripping strands. I rose from the couch and met him halfway.

"You're soaked," I said gently, reaching to unfasten his coat. "You should've called."

He said nothing for a moment. Just stood there. His eyes were glassy. Distant.

Then finally—"I'm sorry. There was a meeting. I didn't mean to—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "It doesn't matter."

His voice was off—just slightly, like someone playing an out-of-tune instrument.

"I kept dinner warm," I said with a smile that took effort to form.

Vincent nodded, brushing past me. "I'm not hungry."

I stood alone in the hallway, the air colder somehow.

It wasn't the rain.

It was him.

Later that night, I wandered the corridors, unable to sleep.

The house, for all its grandeur, was built like a cage—narrow hallways, old walls that whispered when no one spoke. As I passed the east wing, I heard the muffled rise of voices—low, urgent. I froze, my bare feet anchored to the polished marble.

Vincent's voice. And… someone else.

I crept closer.

"I told you I don't want to go through with this," Vincent hissed, the words sharp as broken glass. "She's innocent"

A man—older, colder—answered him. I didn't recognize the voice. "It's not about what you want, boy. It's about securing your future."

"My future?" Vincent barked. "You mean yours. Your deal. Your legacy. I've been using Ryena and...I..I!"

I flinched, the words slicing through me.

A heavy silence.

Then the man replied, calm and cruel. "You've grown soft. You think love will save you? Think again. Her mother's funding keeps this house afloat. The only reason you've risen this far is because of your proximity to her family. If you abandon that now—"

"I don't know," Vincent said, voice breaking. "I-Im..."

A pause. A scoff.

"You love the idea of her. But you'll do what's necessary. Or everything we've built will collapse."

I didn't hear the rest.

The world blurred. The floor swayed beneath me, nausea creeping into my throat. I turned and slipped away, pressing a trembling hand against the wall to steady myself.

So that was it.

He was being pushed into something—something cruel, something tied to power, money, legacy. And I was the cost. A bargaining chip.

And still… he said he loved me.

And gods help me—I wanted to believe him.

The next morning was quieter than usual.

Vincent was already gone by the time I woke, the bed beside me cold and untouched. I sat at the edge of the mattress, hands clenched in my lap, trying to steady my breathing.

I wanted to confront him.

But what would I say?

That I eavesdropped like a ghost in the night?

That I heard him defend me only to be silenced by greed?

Instead, I forced myself into the routine: washed my face, braided my hair, walked the garden paths with dead flowers in my hands. I told myself I'd wait. That maybe he'd come to me first. That maybe there was still something honest in him.

But by dusk, I had to know.

I walked to his study, palms damp with nerves, and knocked.

"Come in," he called.

I stepped inside.

He was hunched over a stack of documents, pen in hand, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. He looked up when he saw me, something tender flickering in his gaze.

"Hey," he said softly, setting the pen down. "Sorry I was late last night."

I hesitated. "I heard you… in the hallway. Arguing."

His shoulders tensed.

"With who?"

"Does it matter?" I whispered. "You're using me??"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, rising to his feet. "Ryena, listen to me. I'm trying to protect you."

"By using me?" I asked, the hurt cracking through every word.

He moved closer, reaching for my hands. "You don't understand the pressure I'm under. Your mother—your family's wealth—it holds power. More than you know. There are people involved who… who would destroy everything I've worked for if I don't comply."

"Then why are you still here?" I asked, tears burning my eyes. "Why tell me you love me if you're just—negotiating me behind closed doors?"

He faltered.

His silence was louder than any confession.

"Because I wanted to keep you," he said finally, brokenly. "Even if I couldn't have you forever. Even if I had to lie."

The world tilted.

My knees weakened. I pulled my hands from his and stepped back, a sharp breath catching in my throat. "You don't get to say you love me and still betray me."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did." I said, as tears streams to my cheek's. I didn't want to talk to him for now so I walk away.

I wandered again. The garden was soaked with rain, the lanterns dimmed by fog. I walked barefoot across the slick stones, every step a quiet ache. My nightgown clung to my skin, and the wind bit at my arms, but I didn't turn back.

I needed to remember this—the cold, the silence, the sting of truth.

Because this was the moment my heart began to fracture.

And somewhere, deep down, I feared it would never fit back the same way again.