Chapter Two

Sylvie’s POV 

“If you don’t want to die, leave him now. Darian isn't who you think he is.”

The words were scrawled in a jagged, aggressive handwriting as if the writer had been in a frantic hurry. I stared at it, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My breath hitched, as I stared at the paper. Who would write this? Why would someone try to come between us now?

I looked toward the kitchen door. I could hear the low, melodic hum of Darian’s voice as he moved about. We were days away from the wedding. 

"It’s a prank. It has to be a prank.” I muttered the words softly to myself, the sound of my own voice shaking me.

The kitchen door swung open. In a blind panic, I shoved the note behind my back, my fingers crumpling the paper. I forced a smile that felt like it was cracking my face as Darian walked toward me.

"Here you go, baby girl," he said, his voice a warm caress. He handed me the glass, his fingers lingering against mine.

"Thank you." My hand trembled as I took the water. I quickly set the glass on the side table, keeping my other hand firmly hidden behind the sofa cushion where I had tucked the note. I swallowed the pill, but the lump in my throat remained.

I couldn't help but stare at him. I looked at the sharp, aristocratic line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his smile, and the way his eyes, usually so cold to the rest of the business world, softened whenever they landed on me. 

Darian isn't who you think he is. The sentence echoed in my skull. What could he possibly be hiding? He was a philanthropist, a CEO, the man who had pulled me out of grief after my parents' death.

“Why are you looking at me?” He said, smiling and kissing my forehead. 

“Nothing, I'm just amazed at how you are my man and we are getting married soon.” I replied.

He laughed, “What are you going to have for dinner? Cause I have to go to the office in the next five minutes.”

“Why? I thought you were going to spend the night at home, then we’ll go straight to see your mom in the morning?” I pouted, looking at him with my puppy blue eyes.

“C’mon don't give me that look baby girl, I received a call while I was in the kitchen and it's an important merger with a new client and I can't miss this.” 

“But…”

"I’ll let you know tomorrow if I’m picking you up or if you’ll need to take the car and meet me at the restaurant with my mother. Okay?"

“Okay, I hear you,” I muttered as he turned to pick up his jacket. “But I'm not happy at all,” I tell him, making sure my unhappiness shows. 

“Sorry babygirl, I'm gonna make it up to you. I promise. See you tomorrow.” He kissed my forehead before leaving.

After he left, the silence became suffocating. I was halfway up the stairs with the crumpled paper when my phone buzzed. The vibration nearly made me jump out of my skin. It was Evelyn, my co-worker and someone I would consider a friend.

"Hey, girl!" Evelyn’s chirpy voice grated on my already tense nerves. "Just checking in on the wedding! What’s left on the list?"

"Evelyn... My head hurts. I just need to sleep," I muttered.

"Sleep? Sylvie, it’s barely eight o'clock! Why are you in bed? I thought you’d be curled up with Darian right now. You guys should be soaking in these last few nights before the wedding jitters really kick in."

 I closed the bedroom door and climbed on my bed, “It's not something I want to talk about now.”

“What did the doctor say? Did he give you meds? Taken them?” Her voice began to take on the hovering, overbearing tone of a worried mother, but the sound of her voice was like a lullaby and her words started to blur. Soon the weight of the note, and the throbbing in my skull finally pulled me under into a dark, restless slumber.

The next morning, the sun felt too bright. I sat up, my head still throbbing, and dropped to my knees by the bed. "Please Lord," I whispered, "give me strength today."

As if on cue, my phone chimed. Darian.

"Hi, good morning, how are you?" I asked the moment I picked up, my voice still thick with sleep.

"Good morning, Bambi. I'm exhausted, but the partnership went through," he rasped. He sounded tired, but there was a note of triumph in his voice. "How are you feeling, baby? Headache gone?"

"I'm fine," I said, forcing a breath.

“I won't be able to catch up with you to see my mom, I'm just leaving the office now, I have another meeting to attend.” He said while yawning.

"Alright, no problem. I have to hurry so I don't keep your mom waiting."

"Alright babe, GOOD luck. I’ll call you later to know how it's going," he said before hanging up.

I showered, did my skin care, and chose a structured, cream-colored suit gown which was a gift from Darian one week ago. I needed to feel beautiful like a normal girl, even if I felt like I was crumbling inside. I then curled my blonde hair into a bun and soon I was ready to go.

When I reached the venue, the receptionist looked up at me and froze. Her shaped brows lifted slowly, recognition flickering in her eyes before settling into something sharper. “Well, well well,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “If it isn’t Sylvie Carter.”

My fingers tightened around my bag. “Good morning Emma, it has been a long time. How have you been?”

She laughed mockingly. “You look… different. Still elegant though.” Her eyes scanned my suit with clear appraisal, and that of contempt. “Guess some things don’t fade, even when people disappear from society pages.”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Thorne,” I said calmly.

Her lips twitched into a cruel smirk. “Of course you are. Funny how life works, isn't it? One tragedy and you disappear. Another miracle and you’re marrying into the Thorne dynasty.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a hiss. “You’d better hold onto him tight. Who knows? He might be gone too soon, as well.”

I felt the blood drain from my face at her cruel words, but I met her gaze head-on. “The room number, please. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

She hesitated, her eyes shimmering with spite, before finally pressing the intercom. “Private room 203,” she snapped. I moved slowly taking in the view, it's been long since I came here. Since my parents died.

I walked away without another word, my heels clicking rhythmically against the marble. 201. 202. I focused on the numbers to keep my mind off the note in my bag.

Just as I reached the private room, I barely crossed the threshold when I heard.

CRACK.

Pain detonated across my cheek, sharp and unforgiving. The force knocked my head sideways, my heel sliding back against the marble floor. My ears rang as heat flooded my face. Mrs. Thorne stood before me, her expression eerily composed, as though she had merely corrected a minor error.

“That,” she said coldly, “is for coming late. I have been here for more than 30 minutes.”

I stared at her, stunned, my hand slowly rising to my stinging cheek.

“I will not tolerate,” she continued, stepping closer, “a woman who thinks she can just wake up from bed and chose to come anytime and still walk into my presence with pride after keeping me waiting.”

“But mom, you told me 8:30am and this is just 8:25am,” I said quietly, my voice trembling despite my effort.

Her eyes hardened, turning into shards of flint. "And you're still talking? If I say you are late, Sylvie, then you are late. You do not correct me. Inside this family, you will learn to remember your place. You are a guest at our table by grace, not by right."

“Apologies. Can we start what you called me here for?” I said. “I still need to go and check on the wedding dress.” I pleaded with her. 

She let out a short, humorless sound and then looked at me as if I were something she had found on the bottom of her shoe. 

"You don't even have a choice in the dress anymore. I’ve already contacted the boutique. You can wear whatever remains in the shop for all I care. I am only allowing this farce to continue because my son is inexplicably obsessed with you. I won't have this family put to shame because of your incompetence."

I swallowed, refusing to bow my head.

“And do not,” she added, stepping into my personal space, "I repeat. Do not call me ‘Mom.’ That is a privilege you haven't earned with a mere engagement ring.”

A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the doorway.

“Oh Victoria,” Mrs. Maxwell’s voice chimed in smoothly. “Still slapping sense into people?” She stepped inside, eyes flicking to my reddened cheek, then back to Mrs. Thorne with faint amusement. “But honestly,” she added, “if you wanted to remind her she doesn’t belong, you could’ve just said it.”

Mrs. Maxwell, the wife of Darian’s biggest rival and the mother of the woman Victoria Thorne actually wanted for her son ,a supposed "suitable" match.  

“My dear friend, let's sit and enjoy. Order what you want and put it on my tab,” Victoria said while looking at me with disdain.

“You can sit,” she said to me. “And so FYI, I'm gonna change the flower to something blue and then you're going to wear a little bit of gold in your clothes, so when you're ready...” She went on and on about what should be and should not remain.

Ringgg.

Suddenly, Victoria’s phone rang. Her face transformed instantly, the ice melted into a mask of maternal warmth.

“Hello my wonderful son, how is work going?” She said but I couldn't hear what Darian was telling her and I can't even tell him that his mom treats me this way.

“Oh, she's here. We are having a good time. We decided to go for blue and gold for the wedding ceremony.”

“No no, we are done eating, she can come back and meet you now,” she said while laughing heartily. “You can leave now.” 

“Thank you,” I said standing up to take my leave. I just couldn't wait to leave that place.