The grand hall stretched wide, its airs suffocatingly still, as if every breath had been stolen by the chill emanating from Matthew's presence. An oppressive silence hung heavy, starkly punctuating his simmering rage.

He said nothing.

But he didn’t need to. The tension in the room pulsed like the ripple of an impending storm, an unspoken fury radiating from his stillness. The weight was unbearable, forcing even the proudest souls to avert their gazes.

With deliberate slowness, Matthew retrieved a cigarette from its case, lighting it with a practiced flick. Wisps of gray smoke curled languidly around his features, blurring the sharp intensity of his gaze—though Scarlett felt its unwavering force all the same. Those eyes, shadowed and inscrutable, bored straight into her.

“Get out.”

The single syllable, uttered low and clipped, sliced through the air like a blunt knife.

Frank’s displeased gesture followed shortly, his hand waving toward the door in dismissal. It was clear she no longer belonged here.

But Scarlett neither flinched nor faltered. Her posture remained taut, resilient as steel, as she polished the rough edges of her exit with resolute dignity. She drew herself upright within the oppressive gaze of the family and spoke, her voice steady, each syllable weighted with intention.

“If my presence here is so inconvenient, I will move out immediately. Frank, thank you for the care you’ve shown me these past years.”

Gone was the timid girl of the past, her steps now guided by self-respect and clarity of purpose. She would leave—but she would leave unbowed, detached from fear, divorced from shame. No more would she tread lightly where she did not belong, bending under shadows that sought to break her spirit.

Turning on her heel, Scarlett departed without a backward glance. Yet, she could feel the venomous, razor-sharp gaze slicing into the back of her figure as she went.

*****

By the time she reached the foyer, the storm within her body struck with unforgiving precision. The aftermath of consuming multiple birth control pills was a relentless assault—waves of nausea, a spinning head, and spasms in her stomach rendering her pale and brittle.

The ground beneath her blurred and tilted. A disjointed heartbeat accompanied her across a few steps before darkness pulled her under.

When Scarlett’s consciousness resurfaced, she was lying on her bed. Her mother, Emily, sat close by with red-rimmed eyes wrapped in both worry and fatigue. Upon seeing her awaken, Emily’s response was swift and full of pent-up emotion. Her hand lashed out, though the slap she landed was feather-light—a frustrated gesture more than one of punishment.

“Do you want to scare me to death?!” Emily cried, her voice trembling in its reprimand. “Do you think those pills are something you can just use on a whim?”

“Mom, if I don’t…” Scarlett’s voice scraped out, weak and threadbare. “If I don’t take them, I’ll never escape the Hartman family’s grasp—not in this lifetime.”

A heavy, bitter silence settled between them before Emily finally spoke, her voice dusted with resignation. “You… you’ve always had such rotten luck. I told you so many times—if you’d just gotten close to some wealthy young men when you had the chance, you could’ve secured an easy life by now.”

“Easy?” Scarlett repeated softly, a dry, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Like yours?”

The bitter truth of their reality caused Emily to falter, cheeks tightening as unspoken words died on her lips.

The door creaked open, breaking their uneasy pause. Julian stepped into the room, carrying a bowl of congee balanced carefully in his hands.

“Scarlett’s awake! Drink this,” he offered kindly, his voice a reprieve against the swirling tension. “It’ll help settle your stomach.”

Scarlett’s gratitude lingered on her tongue, though it froze as she noticed Julian's ear—the skin torn and bruised, evidence of a violent blow.

The realization struck swiftly. It could only have been Frank. The patriarch treated their corner of the family with perpetual disdain, scoffing particularly at his second son—a man he deemed simple-minded for marrying a woman with a child from a previous marriage.

“Uncle Matthew,” Scarlett began softly, guilt creeping into her fragile tone. “I’ve brought so much trouble to you. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“Stop that nonsense!” Emily interrupted sharply, bristling with disapproval.

Julian’s hand settled on her shoulder, reassuring yet burdened. His smile carried traces of weariness rather than comfort. “The doctor said you need to keep taking your medication. Emily, can you fetch some warm water for Scarlett?”

Without hesitation, her mother abandoned the room to fulfill the request.

Julian sighed faintly, settling himself on the bedside chair. “Scarlett… do you truly have to leave?”

Scarlett’s resolve remained firm, though her voice softened as she spoke. “Uncle, I’m grown now. Staying here only drags you and my mother into unnecessary trouble. I can take care of myself.”

Emotion flashed briefly across his face. “It’s my fault for being so powerless,” he murmured, before extracting a sleek card and slipping it under her pillow.

“No arguing,” he added when her brows furrowed in protest. “A girl living on her own isn’t easy. You’ll find plenty of reasons to use it. The PIN’s your birthday. Remember, if anything happens, call me or your mom immediately.”

“Thank you, Julian,” she whispered, her sincerity laid bare in those few words.

He paused, his gaze drifting somewhere unfocused yet puzzled. “It’s strange… Matthew's behavior today was bizarre. Completely out of character.”

Unease licked at her thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“When Emily screamed for help, he rushed out—grabbed you in his arms and stormed off. If my Dad hadn’t ordered him to send you back, you’d still be in his quarters.”

Incredulity tightened in her chest. She gripped the edge of her blanket, knuckles white. “What?”

“Calm down. He said it was better than you dying in the Hartman family’s home and adding to our scandal.”

Scarlett exhaled shakily, forcing herself into composure. Yes—this was Matthew. Always calculating, always sharp-edged, never more than clinically cruel.

Still, fragments of the previous night drifted in surreal flashes through her mind—a haze made vivid only by adrenaline spike and humiliation. It felt distant now, disconnected.

Hours later, her belongings were packed. She moved swiftly and deliberately, avoiding Emily and the swell of messy emotions that departure would undoubtedly draw from her mother.

The darkening sky greeted her as she stepped past the gates. Fearful glances from maids and servants accompanied her down the corridors, their cowardice shielding them from whatever disgrace may lie intertwined with her downfall.

Finally outside, the cool kiss of autumn greeted her hurried pace. She could have wept at the sensation—it was freedom, bittersweet and fleeting.

Hartman family's estate sprawled like a fortress, isolated in its grandeur. A pristine park surrounded the mansion grounds, its exclusivity prescient in its design—a private reprieve untouched by communal interruptions like subway lines or bustling buses.

Scarlett pushed onward, calculating the twenty-minute walk to the nearest plaza. Her footsteps fell against dim-lit paths cut softly by streetlights. The world beyond the estate felt surreal, even with the anxiety pressing taut in her chest.

Halfway to her destination, the sound of a car horn pierced the evening air, shattering the soft rhythm of her solitude. Reflexively, she stepped aside to let it pass, only to find the luxury vehicle pull up alongside her.

From the driver’s seat, Matthew’s assistant, Ethan, leaned out of the window with the tailored politeness of someone trained to handle messy affairs.

“Miss Hartman,” he called, a hint of resolution in his tone. “Please, step into the car.”

Her bewilderment froze her briefly. Behind the assistant, a hand adorned with a jade thumb ring tapped impatiently against bent knees—its owner reclining in the shadows of the backseat. This presence was unmistakable.

Matthew.