Page 71 of Inheritance
“Always remember—tuck your chin, keep your guard up.”
The memory shifted.
His grin was gone, mouth working for air instead of words. His eyes stayed open, still trusting me even as the light bled out of him through a dozen buckshot wounds.
My hand lifted, hovered, then dropped. I turned away. Some doors stay closed.
Sophia
Ihadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, the gala waited on the other side—crowded rooms, strange faces, the weight of all their stares. What they’d see when they looked at me. What they’d whisper when I turned away.
The hours dragged, heavy and restless. It didn’t help that Gabriel was snoring.
By eight in the morning, I had given up on sleep entirely. My mind was too loud, running through everything I couldn’t control. How I’d stand. How I’d speak. How much of me would belong to Gabriel—and how much would belong to the room watching us.
When I finally accepted sleep wouldn’t come, I got up. My body felt wired, my chest tight like I’d been bracing all night.
The red dress I wore my first day here waited on a mannequin in the corner, tailored perfectly to match my figure. I trailed my fingers over it, following the way the fabric caught the light. Cool to the touch—elegant, smooth.
The dress slipped on easily. No resistance. It settled against my figure perfectly.
I turned toward the mirror.
My hands smoothed down my ribs, across my hips. The dress held its shape with quiet confidence. It didn’t need help. My reflection stared back with sharper eyes, a tighter mouth. I looked like someone who had been polished. Prepared. Someone meant to be seen. It made me look like the woman I was starting to feel like—the woman I had become.
A muffled, frustrated voice cracked through the wall. I stepped into the hallway, caught the sound again—coming from Caroline’s room, the door half open.
Here we go again.
She stood with her back to me, arms twisted behind her, struggling with the zipper. Her green satin dress clung tight around her hips and gaped open across her bare back. A faint breeze drifted in from the open window, lifting the curtains just slightly.
“Need help?” I asked.
She huffed. “I can’t get the stupid thing.”
I stepped closer. “Hold still.”
She did, jaw clenched, arms thrown down at her sides. I zipped the dress slowly, guiding the zipper up along the curve of her spine.
“There,” I said.
She crossed her arms the second I let go. “It’s too tight.”
“It fits.” I gently guided her toward the mirror. “And it looks great.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She didn’t meet her own gaze. Her eyes hovered somewhere near her collarbone, fixed and distant. Her shoulders were drawn up, her mouth unreadable.
“I hate it.” She said.
A soft knock at the door drew my attention.
Gabriel stepped inside, shirtless. His gaze passed over both of us, pausing on Caroline.
“Good morning.” He said, she refused to meet his eyes, but her bottom lip pushed out slightly. Her arms stayed locked across her stomach, like she was holding herself together.
Then, without warning, he crossed the room and scooped her up.
