Chapter 4
I spent the next few days in the hospital, hooked up to wires and machines that beeped at regular intervals. I stared at the ceiling for hours. Blank. Numb. But when I couldn’t take the silence anymore, I reached for my phone.”
Notifications blinked to life. Celeste had posted.”
Her Instagram was flooded–photos of luxury shopping bags, reels of her sipping champagne on a private jet. The caption: “Flying out for something special #Royal Auction #Princess Diana”
I blinked, stunned. The next video showed her standing in front of a glass case, dramatically clutching her chest as an auctioneer described a brooch once worn by Princess Diana.”
Behind her? Brent. I watched the clip again. Brent. With Celeste. At a royal auction. Smiling. Whispering something that made her laugh like they were the only people in the world.
Meanwhile, I was lying in a hospital bed with stitches down my side and a pulse monitor beeping beside me like a ticking reminder of everything I had lost.”
Another post. This time, a photo of the two of them holding hands–not romantically, but intimate nonetheless. The caption burned.
“My brother is the kindest man alive. Some people could never understand our bond. You protect me. Always. #Grateful #FamilyFirst”
My jaw tightened. I had chosen Brent over everything–my freedom, my friends, even myself. I had stayed loyal. Patient. Hopeful.
And now? He was giving all of himself to Celeste, while I rotted in silence.
Still, I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t give them that.”
I only needed my visa. Once it came through, I’d be gone. Out of this marriage. Out of their twisted lives.”
A few days later, I was discharged.
To my surprise, Brent picked me up.”
Celeste was already in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, voice loud and chipper. “Oh my god, Layla, you should’ve seen it. The auction was to die for. There were so many exclusive pieces. But that brooch–ugh, perfection. Brent almost got into a bidding war just for me.”
My stomach twisted. Brent handed me a small plastic bag as I slid into the passenger seat.
Inside was a keychain. Cheap. Souvenir–type. One of those airport ones with ‘Zurich‘ written across a tin plate.
“I thought you liked collecting these,” he said without looking at me.
I stared at it. He had just bought Celeste an antique brooch worth tens of thousands. And I got… a keychain.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t even fake a smile.
The rest of the ride was quiet–except for Celeste, who kept chattering about her plans to redesign Diana’s gown for her final school project. “Brent’s going to help me get a studio,” she added smugly. “Isn’t that sweet?“>
When we pulled into the driveway, Brent turned to me casually. “Celeste will be staying with us for a few days.“>
I said nothing. Just got out of the car and walked straight to my room.
The second the door closed, I collapsed on the bed and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to feel, I just wanted sleep. But when I woke up a few hours later, something felt… off.
My head was lighter. My scalp was cold. I bolted to the mirror–and screamed.]
My hair. My long, dark, carefully grown hair… was gone. Chopped in jagged pieces. Uneven. Butchered,
Heart pounding, I stumbled out of my room, down the stairs, searching for answers. And there she was.
Celeste, in the living room, surrounded by strands of hair–my hair–draped over mannequin heads.
She was stitching them into a wig.
“For school,” she said cheerfully, barely glancing up. “Real hair wigs are expensive. Thought I’d try something organic. Yours is perfect–so thick, so glossy.”
I snapped. The rage I’d buried all this time surged to the surface like a tidal wave. I marched forward and slapped her across the face.
