Walking out into the hallway, I could hear the sharp-edged whispers of society's women slicing through the air. Their eyes followed me with thinly veiled mockery, their painted smiles twitching with amusement. They all knew about the lake incident.
"Isadora, darling," a shrill voice called out.
Cecelia.
A socialite whose greatest joy in life was finding new ways to humiliate me. She stood at the center of her little circle of vipers, draped in sequins and smugness.
"I heard about what happened to you," she said, her voice syrupy and cruel. "Oh dear, I do hope you realize that Ethan Hayes won't waste his time on a classless girl who follows him around like a lost puppy."
The women behind her burst into cold laughter.
To their surprise, I joined them.
I laughed,soft, amused, effortless. Then I tilted my head and smiled.
"Come now, Lia," I said calmly. "What right do you have to say that to me when you're sleeping with a quarter of the married men in this room?"
Her face twisted through three shades of red, crimson, scarlet, fury.
The hallway fell silent.
And just like that, the whispers stopped.
I turned to leave, satisfied.
But of course, she arrived.
"Isadora!" Fiona's voice rang out like a bell sweet, clear, and just loud enough to draw attention. She glided toward us, her silver gown shimmering under the chandelier lights, her smile soft and trembling with just the right amount of worry.
"I'm so sorry," she said to the group, placing a hand on my arm like a leash. "My sister's still recovering. The doctors said the coma might cause… confusion. Emotional outbursts. Memory lapses."
She turned to me, eyes wide with faux concern. "Isa, darling, why don't you apologize to Cecelia? You didn't mean that, did you?"
I blinked at her slowly. My lips parted, but no words came out at first. I looked around — at the women watching, at Cecelia's smug recovery, at Fiona's gentle, pitying smile.
Then I laughed. Softly. Sadly.
"I must be confused," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was the one who was hurt."
Fiona's smile twitched.
"I thought I was the one who almost died," I continued, eyes glistening. "But maybe I imagined that too."
"Isa—" she began.
"No, it's alright," I said, stepping back. "You're right. I must be remembering it wrong. I always do, don't I?"
The crowd shifted, unease rippling through them.
That's when Ethan appeared, his voice sharp and impatient.
"What's going on here?"
He moved to Fiona's side immediately, his hand resting on her back like she was the one who needed protection.
"She's lashing out again," Fiona said softly. "I tried to calm her down."
Ethan turned to me, his eyes cold. "You need to apologize."
I blinked. "First it was Cecelia, now Fiona?—what exactly did I do wrong"
"Yes," he snapped. "She's been nothing but kind to you. And you humiliate her? In front of everyone?"
"I didn't mean to," I said, my voice trembling. "I just… I thought—"
"You thought what?" he cut in. "That you could act like this and still expect me to want you?"
The words hit like a slap. I flinched, just enough for the crowd to see.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't realize… I didn't know kindness had conditions."
He stepped closer. "Then let me make it clear. Apologize to Fiona. Right now. Or we're done."
I looked at Fiona, who was dabbing at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief, her lower lip trembling.
"I'm sorry," I said, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to upset you,but it feels like I always do that must be why Ethan is always on your side." I said on a softer tone as if understanding his biased decisions.
Fiona blinked, surprised. "Oh… it's alright. I know you're not yourself."
I smiled faintly. "No. I suppose I'm not."
I turned to Ethan, my voice still soft, still broken. "You always did choose her."
He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. Just… you always looked at her like she was the one you wanted. Even when I was the one standing next to you."
The crowd stilled.
"I guess I just forgot," I said, eyes shining. "Must be the memory lapses."
A sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Enough."
All heads turned.
My mother stood at the edge of the hallway, her expression thunderous. Her gown was regal, her presence undeniable. She walked toward us with the grace of a queen and the fury of a mother.
"I see the circus has started early," she said. "How convenient."
Ethan straightened. "Mrs. Hayes, I—"
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't you dare speak to me like we were ever on good terms."
The crowd hushed again, drawn to the unfolding drama like moths to flame.
"You've humiliated my daughter," she said, her voice rising. "In front of our guests. In front of this entire room. You've strung her along for years, and now you stand here defending her sister like she's your wife."
Fiona's face crumpled. "mum, please—"
"Be quiet, I've tolerated you too much over the years that's why you've turned into a veil creature" my mother said, not even looking at her. "You've done enough."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "This is between me and Isadora."
"No," she said. "This is between you and this family. You've played both my daughters against each other long enough. So I'll ask you plainly, Ethan — which one is it?"
The room held its breath.
I stepped forward, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mother… please don't."
She turned to me, startled. "Isa—"
I shook my head, eyes shining. "Don't make him say it."
"Why not?" she demanded. "You deserve to know."
"I already do," I said softly. "He'll choose Fiona."
The words hung in the air like a confession.
Fiona gasped. Ethan looked stunned.
I smiled, small, sad, and full of something deeper than pain.
"He always has."
And just like that, the room turned. Not against me but toward them. Toward the golden boy and the glittering sister. Toward the truth they'd tried so hard to bury.
I turned away, my mother's hand still outstretched behind me, and walked toward the ballroom doors.
Let them choose each other.
I was done begging to be chosen.