And worst of all was who was beside him—Rosalie-fucking-Vanderbilt. Blonde waves cascading down her back, those slate-gray eyes gleaming like chipped diamonds. Everything about her screamed effortless wealth, curated beauty, entitlement wrapped in silk. She leaned into Theo like she belonged there—like they were carved from the same cruel, golden mold.
A picture. Perfect. Fucking. Couple.
The tray in my hand trembled, the glasses rattling with the force of my grip. My throat locked up, my lungs stopped working, and I couldn’t tell if it was anger or heartbreak—or that terrible, quiet cousin of both: humiliation.
I didn’t even realize I’d started moving toward them until Thalia’s arm wrapped around my waist like a lifeline and yanked me out of the garden before I shattered. Her fingers dug in just tight enough to anchor me but not enough to bruise.
I stormed ahead the moment we were out of sight, the corridor spinning, the tray clutched to my chest like a weapon I didn’t trust myself to drop. Theo’s laughter still echoed behind me like a cruel soundtrack, each note ripping another stitch out of me.
Thalia caught up to me by the spa, her boots echoing down the tiled floor like thunder in the pit of my chest.
“What the hell was that?” I snapped, my voice brittle and cracking.
She didn’t answer right away. Just grabbed my arm and dragged me into one of the empty treatment rooms before I could bolt. “Talk to me, Sin.”
The walls finally caved in. I collapsed, my back sliding down the cold plaster until I was curled in on myself on the floor, knees to chest, arms wrapped tightly around my legs, like I could hold the broken pieces of me together. My breath came in jagged stabs, fast and uneven, my chest refusing to open fully.
“Theo,” I spluttered his name like it burned, like it betrayed me just by forming on my tongue. “He was up there with her. With Rosalie. That goddamn porcelain doll with perfect eyes. I saw them, T. I saw them laughing. Smiling. Like they were in some fucking Jane Austen adaptation while I stood in the shadows holding their champagne.” I choked on the last word, the tray still beside me. My voice cracked, splintered. “They looked like they belonged together.”
Thalia sat down beside me, crossing her legs, her back against the same wall. She didn’t say anything at first. Just placed a warm hand between my shoulder blades and began drawing slow, steady circles.
“You don’t get it,” I murmured, hating how small I sounded. “When we were in the Caymans… it was just us. No eyes, no expectations. Just him and me, and it feltreal, T. Like I wasn’t just someone he found convenient or easy to hide.”
I paused. Swallowed. My throat hurt. My eyes burned. But I wouldn’t let the tears fall. I refused.
“I thought it meant something,” I whispered. “That maybe, somehow, we were more.”
She kept rubbing my back. She didn’t interrupt. She just listened.
“Now?” I laughed bitterly. “Now I’m the help. Just a shadow in black linen. Background noise. Forgettable.”
Thalia finally looked at me, her expression raw and open. “You are not background noise, Sin. You’re not invisible. You are not a footnote in anyone’s story—not even his.”
I scoffed. “Tell that to Timothy,” I spat his name. “He’s been waiting for an excuse. You saw him. Ready to pounce.”
And like summoning a demon, the door to the treatment room opened. Cold air swept in. Timothy’s silhouette filled the space like judgment incarnate. Lips pressed into a thin, cruel line. “This is your last warning,” he said, his tone as precise as a guillotine. “If you cause another scene or step out of line, I will terminate your contract immediately. And yes, clause thirty-seven is clear. Your wages will be withheld.”
I stiffened, fists curling, a scream building in the base of my throat like fire. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected me. With his words saturating the room he smirked, turned on his heels and vanished back to the event I’d been called in specially to work.
The second the door clicked shut, Thalia pulled me into her arms, tucking my head under her chin, her grip fierce. Comforting. I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. She was the only thing holding me together.
“Sin,” she murmured against my hair, “this place—it’s poison. You’re breathing in fumes and choking on them.”
I clutched her tighter, that knot in my chest refusing to budge. “I can’t go back out there.”
“Shhhh, I don’t want you to either. You should get out of here,” she said softly, running her fingers through my hair.
A sob ripped out of me. “I.. I can’t go to the apartment, T. Not tonight. I’ll break something. Or scream. Or...”
“Then don’t.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Go to the lookout. Away from the noise. Away from them. I’ll cover for you. No one will find you up there. I promise.”
I shook my head slowly. “Why do you care so much?” My voice was thin. Skeptical. “I’ve never had anyone support me like you.”
She pulled back, eyes shining with something close to affection. “Because I see you, Sin. The real you. Not just the guy carrying champagne flutes who’s down on his luck. You’re fierce. You’re fire in a world full of fake light. And I know what it feels like to burn for someone who only sees their own reflection when they look at you.” My breath hitched. “You don’t have to stay invisible,” she said. “Not with me. You’re my ride or die Sinful.”
Silence settled over us like ash. I let my head fall against her shoulder, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. She pressed a soft kiss to my temple, arms wrapping around me like I was something precious—like I meant something.
For a moment, I let myself believe it.
