I looked at the seriousness on his face, and for a second my mind stalled.
Davina showing up late at night to lecture me.
It had happened far more than three times.
At first, she knew she had Oliver wrapped around her finger and didn't bother hiding it.
I never argued with her, so she'd use the late hour as her excuse and simply stay the night.
Later she started staying past midnight, standing over me as I knelt for some supposed breach of etiquette.
She'd even drink from Oliver's glass right in front of me, just to provoke.
Afterward she'd brush it off with a casual "Oh, I grabbed the wrong one," and that was that.
The most recent time, she leaned into him on purpose.
Half a glass of water spilled right down the front of her, plain as anything.
Oliver didn't even glance at me. He went straight to the bedroom and came back with the most expensive set of pajamas he owned.
His voice when he handed them over carried that easy indulgence:
"These should be about your size."
"Make do with them for now. I'll have new ones ordered for you."
One thing after another, all so natural—as if it had always been his job.
I stood there, limbs going cold, drawing one long breath until my eyes stung red.
"Alright, you know what you did wrong. Fix it, and don't beat yourself up."
He glanced at me, his tone turning cold.
"Instead of sulking, spend that energy learning from Instructor Henson. Learn what it actually looks like to be a considerate girlfriend."
"And stop with that resentful look. It's unpleasant for everyone."
My head snapped up. A laugh scraped out of my throat.
"Learn from her?"
"How to linger at someone else's house in the middle of the night, or how to seduce another woman's boyfriend?"
Oliver froze for a beat, irritation flashing behind his eyes.
"What nonsense are you spouting?"
"I mean you should learn from how willing Instructor Henson is to put thought into things for me."
"Those love-confession cakes that are popular online right now? She made me one the other day. I liked it."
"This year, you're making me one too."
He paused, his gaze settling on me, steady and unblinking.
"Didn't you say birthdays should be spent with the person who matters most?"
"So Instructor Henson and I will eat the cake you make. Consider that you celebrating with me."
The moment the words left his mouth, my hand flew to cover my mouth, choking down the wave of nausea.
"Bringing this up now—you don't find that the least bit ironic?"
I still remembered. Every detail.
Four years ago, Oliver with his arm around another woman, not caring who saw.
His friends egging him on, and him smashing the cream cake I'd baked myself onto the floor, face dark, dropping a single line:
"Don't bring out something this unfit for the table again."
Every stare in the room hit me at once, hard as thrown stones.
No one breathed. No one spoke.
Only Davina, holding out a tissue with a smile:
"It's not worth getting this upset over. Send her to me for some etiquette training. I'll give you back a whole new woman in six months."
That day, my tears weren't even dry before I was put on a plane.
Behind me, Oliver's friends and their weightless laughter:
"That woman's been spoiled completely out of control. Not an ounce of manners."
"You know what she gave Young Mr. Vance for his birthday? Guess."
"A little cake she made herself. Tacky, cheap-looking, and an embarrassment to the entire Vance family name."
He paused. "Honestly, step it up. Who knows how long she'll hold his interest."
"She's being groomed as the future lady of the house, sure, but if she can't get with the program, that engagement is done sooner or later."
That night, I was held down in a bathtub filled with frosting for three full hours.
They watched me thrash and laughed, ignoring the contact allergy tearing my body apart.
My vision kept going black, my hands swelling, every breath harder than the last.
With the last scrap of strength in me, I keyed in the number I knew by heart.
