Chapter 16
1391 Words
Scarlet
Then Leo’s small voice broke through the silence. “Aunt Scarlet?”
I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “It’s okay, buddy,” I said quietly.
Lysander was already moving, his jaw tight, eyes sharp. “Hey—whose idea was that?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter like a blade.
The kids stammered, one of them blurting, “It was just for the art booth! We didn’t mean—”
He held up a hand, taking a steady breath before crouching down to their level. “Accidents happen,” he said, calm but firm. “Next time, make sure it’s not near someone’s head, alright?”
They nodded quickly and scurried off.
He turned to me then, his gaze softer now. “You okay?”
I nodded once. “Yeah. Just cold.”
He took a handkerchief from his pocket, stepping closer than he probably should’ve, and gently dabbed at my hair and face. His touch was careful, his eyes flicking up to meet mine for half a second longer than necessary.
“Better?” he asked.
“Not really,” I whispered, but a small smile tugged at my lips.
Leo looked between us, his frown easing. “You look funny,” he said, giggling again. “Like a blue superhero!”
I laughed despite myself. “Great. My new look.”Lysander chuckled too, the tension melting
Lysander’s hand brushed against mine — steady, warm. “Come on,” he said quietly, turning to one of the ushers nearby. “Where’s the restroom?”
The young woman blinked at him, a little starstruck. “Down that hallway, sir. To the left.”
“I’m fine,” I said, pulling slightly at his hand. “I can go alone.”
He glanced down at me, calm but firm. “You’re pale, Scarlet. Humor me.”
I wanted to argue. Instead, I let him lead me down the corridor, the sound of distant music and laughter fading behind us. His hand didn’t loosen.
When we reached the restroom door, I tried again. “Ladies only,” I said, half-smiling before I could stop myself. The smile felt wrong — too soft, too easy — but it came anyway. I hated that.
Lysander smirked faintly, a quiet kind of amusement in his eyes. “Then I’ll wait right here,” he said, stepping back.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of rose soap. My reflection in the mirror stopped me — my makeup smudged, a dark stain marking the front of my dress. Perfect day, ruined.
I grabbed a paper towel, dabbing carefully, watching the mess fade in small circles.
“Do you need help?” Lysander’s voice drifted through the door, muffled but close.
“No,” I said, forcing calm. “I’ll be out soon.”
Silence followed, the kind that hums under the skin.
I leaned on the counter and looked up again. There was a thin crack in the mirror, running from the top corner to the middle — a jagged line, almost invisible until the light caught it.
For a second, everything around me went quiet. That line — the angle of it — it looked too familiar. Like the broken windshield five years ago. The night the car went over the cliff. The world turning upside down. The sound of metal and glass shattering.
My chest tightened. I reached out, as if touching the glass would steady me.
My hand slipped.
The vase beside the sink toppled.
It hit the floor with a hard crash, scattering glass and water across the tiles. I flinched, trying to grab it, but a shard caught my hand.
Pain shot through me — sharp, fast. I gasped.
The door flew open.
“Scarlet?” Lysander was already there, crossing the floor in two strides. His eyes went straight to the blood on my hand.
“I— it’s fine, I just—”
He didn’t listen. He took my hand gently, pulling me away from the glass. The touch was firm but careful.
Then, before I could say anything, he brought my fingers to his lips.
His mouth closed around the cut, warm, steady. My breath hitched. The air between us felt charged, thick. I froze, watching the movement of his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes.
“Lysander…” I whispered, barely audible.
He didn’t look up. “You could’ve cut deeper,” he murmured against my skin. “You should be more careful.”
The sound of his voice — low, familiar — twisted something inside me. For a moment, I forgot where we were.
Then, like a cruel snap, the image flashed in my mind — Lysander, shirtless, in bed with Seraphina. The sound of her laugh. The way his hand had been on her waist.
I pulled my hand away, breath uneven. “Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant.
He froze, confused. “Scarlet—”
But I was already moving. The door creaked as I pushed it open and stepped out, my heels clicking too fast against the marble floor.
Behind me, I could still feel his eyes — quiet, searching — as I walked away.
When I stepped back onto the set, every head turned. Conversations dipped. The sound of cameras, chatter, and laughter thinned into a quiet hum. I could feel their eyes — curious, judging, whispering. My hand still stung from the cut, a dull throb pulsing beneath the bandage Lysander had wrapped around it.
I took a seat, pretending not to notice. Pretending that the world wasn’t caving in one awkward moment at a time. Today had been a disaster from the start, and it wasn’t done with me yet.
I tried to stand — to slip out quietly, disappear for air — when a sharp shove hit my shoulder.
I stumbled back into the chair.
“What the—” I turned.
Seraphina.
Her eyes burned, red at the edges, her lipstick a fresh, angry scar across her mouth. “You b***h,” she spat, voice loud enough to draw every camera assistant’s attention. “What the hell were you doing with my fiancé and his son?”
A muscle in my jaw twitched. I blinked once, then twice, before a dry laugh escaped me — small, humorless. “Fiancé?” I tilted my head, smiling faintly. “That’s adorable. I didn’t realize one night stands came with engagement rings now.”
Gasps floated around us.
Her face hardened. “Don’t play smart with me. You’ve been trying to get between us from day one—”
“Between you?” I cut her off, voice smooth. “Honey, I wouldn’t stand between you two if the ground split open. I’d hand you a shovel and wish you luck burying what’s left of your dignity.”
Her nostrils flared. “You—”
“What’s next?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “You’re going to call me a homewrecker? Newsflash — there’s no home to wreck when he’s sleeping with half the cast.”
The slap came fast — or it would have.
Lysander’s hand caught her wrist midair.
“Enough,” his voice was low, sharp. The kind that froze a room. He yanked her hand down, his eyes blazing. “What the hell is your problem, Seraphina? What are you even doing here? You said you weren’t coming today.”
She wrenched her arm, glaring at him. “What am I doing here? What are you doing with her? Are you sleeping with that b***h now?”
A ripple ran through the crowd — quiet gasps, murmurs, the sound of someone’s phone camera clicking.
Lysander’s jaw tightened. “You’re unbelievable,” he said flatly.
He turned to me, ignoring the chaos around us, and took my hand. “Come on, Scarlet.” His grip was firm, grounding.
Leo, small and wide-eyed, trailed beside us as we walked past the staring crew.
I caught Seraphina’s eye as I passed. She stood frozen, fury twisting her perfect features. I gave her a small, almost sweet smile — the kind that burned more than words.
And then I walked out.
Leaving her standing there, shaking with rage — exactly where she belonged.
- Writer
