The sunlight outside struck her eyes like a cruel blade, sharp and merciless compared to the muted, cloistered shadows of the mansion she had just left behind. Belle blinked against the harsh brightness, her lashes fluttering, but it didn’t soften the sting—it felt almost symbolic, as though the world itself had turned too raw, too vivid, for her fragile heart to endure.
She stood hesitantly by the sleek, black car waiting before her. Its polished surface caught the morning light and gleamed like a mirror, reflecting a reality she could hardly claim as her own. It was too flawless, too untouchable, a machine of power that seemed designed to intimidate rather than to carry. Looking at it felt like gazing at something torn straight from the silver screen—glamorous, untouchable—while she rem
