CHAPTER 25
Title: Bruise and Bloom
POV: Florida Smith
The red mark had turned a deep purple by morning.
Florida traced it gently in the mirror — a ghost of Bryant's hand, curled around her throat like a branded promise. Her collarbone ached from the doorframe. Her silence still echoed off the bedroom walls.
But she didn't cry.
Not even once.
She moved slowly that morning, brushing her hair in long, even strokes, pulling her night robe tighter across her frame. The silence of the mansion pressed in again — that perfect, polished quiet that never asked, never answered.
A knock sounded at her door.
Soft. Hesitant.
"Ma'am?" a voice said quietly.
Florida didn't speak, but the door creaked open an inch. Mina stepped inside.
Her eyes widened the moment she saw her.
"Oh my God—" she rushed forward, hand fluttering near Florida's jaw, but stopping just before touching. "He did this to you?"
Florida said nothing.
She just kept brushing her hair, slow and methodical.
Mina moved to her side, quietly pulling a small tin from her apron pocket. "It's ointment. My grandmother used to make it. It'll help with the bruising."
Florida finally paused.
Mina unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers inside. Her touch was light, reverent almost, as she dabbed the balm across Florida's skin.
"I didn't mean to listen last night," she said softly. "I was walking past your room. I—I heard him shouting."
Florida's lips twitched at the edge. Not quite a smile. Not quite a frown.
"You didn't hear much," she said flatly.
Mina looked up.
"I heard enough."
The two girls sat in silence for a while. The balm cooled her skin. The shame, the fury, the ache of being accused — it didn't disappear, but it dulled around the edges.
"You don't have to stay quiet," Mina whispered, almost trembling with the weight of it. "Just because you're his wife."
Florida met her gaze in the mirror.
"I'm not quiet because I'm afraid."
Mina blinked.
"Then why?"
"Because I'm planning."
The room went still.
Mina studied her for a long moment, then nodded. Not with pity. With respect.
"Well," she said softly, screwing the lid back on, "just let me know if you ever need help with… whatever you're planning."
Florida's throat tightened — not from pain this time, but from something unfamiliar. Something warmer.
She gave Mina the faintest nod.
"Thank you."
Later that day, she opened her sketchbook again.
Not to draw.
To remove something.
A single sheet.
The structured evening gown — the one Noir Texture had loved.
She folded it, tucked it into an envelope, and sealed it shut.
Next to it, she placed a small note in clean handwriting:
"See you next Friday."
"– FLD."
She stared at it for a moment before hiding it beneath the lining of her suitcase.
Bruises faded.
But designs lasted.
End of Chapter 25