The realization hit the room like a physical blow: she hadn't been joking. Their gazes shifted, now a cocktail of disgust and fear.
I had to get out of there. I snatched my bag and stalked out the door.
Sitting in my car, my carefully constructed composure shattered. I slumped over the steering wheel, utterly exhausted, my eyes burning.
Lorenzo and I were fine. Then Bianca came along.
Whenever he could slip away from family business, Lorenzo would join me in my art studio. A woman claiming to admire my talent began visiting frequently. That woman was Bianca.
Trying to be welcoming, Lorenzo started inviting her to our private gatherings. She would always flash a brilliant smile and praise him. "The perfect heir. Flora is so lucky to have you."
Gradually, we became… friendly. Or so I thought. She would use the excuse of visiting me just so Lorenzo would have to pick her up. Seeing me, she'd pull me into an enthusiastic hug, then playfully scold him, "You weren't even going to come see her! I had to drag you here! You really need to keep a better eye on your girl!"
Lorenzo would just smile, ruffle her hair, and give an indulgent nod. A prickle of unease would crawl up my spine, but I could never name the source.
Soon, her praise for Lorenzo came with barbs aimed at me. "Flora, you're so lost in your own little world. You don't understand the rules of a family like ours. A girl needs to leverage her value. With your… background, you should be clinging to a man like Lorenzo."
My status as a hostage already left me insecure. Bianca's words chipped away at what little pride I had left, planting a seed of deep unease.
Lorenzo noticed my change in mood, but he just said I was being too sensitive.
Not long after, following a family dinner, I gave Lorenzo a sketch I'd designed for him—a family crest tattoo, a symbol of our love. After finishing my duties, I hurried to his study, eager to surprise him.
"Flora's design is nothing compared to your ideas," Lorenzo's voice drifted from behind the door. "Her taste is so… pedestrian. This sketch is childish. You were right—someone living on our family's charity, a glorified hostage, will never truly belong in our world."
I froze. My hand fell from the doorknob. I couldn't believe he'd use my status—my shame—as a joke for her.
Bianca's voice was a mix of feigned surprise and barely concealed glee. "You tore it up? I thought it was sweet."
He grunted a dismissive "Mm." The sound pierced my heart like a needle. "She just likes to play with these childish things. I don't like it. Forget it, let's go celebrate our new alliance."
His words were a blade, gutting me, leaving me humiliated and exposed.
