Chapter 15 - The Girl Who Should Disappear
1125 Words
Florence pushed open the heavy wooden door of her parents' house.
The familiar smell of polished wood and old furniture filled the hallway. Normally it would have brought a sense of comfort. Tonight it only tightened the knot already sitting in her chest.
Voices came from the living room.
She already knew who it was before she even stepped inside.
Marcus.
And Veronica.
Florence quietly stepped into the room.
Marcus was sitting on the sofa, leaning back in a relaxed posture as if he owned the entire house. Beside him sat Veronica, her legs crossed elegantly, one arm draped across the back of the couch as if she already belonged there.
They looked comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Marcus glanced at his sister briefly.
Florence gave a small polite nod.
“Hello.”
Marcus nodded back.
“Florence.”
Veronica didn’t bother greeting her.
Instead she looked Florence up and down with the slow, calculating gaze of someone examining something unpleasant.
Florence walked past them toward the kitchen.
She carried a small paper bag in her hands.
Inside was the bottle of wine their mother had asked her to bring for dinner.
Ennis had been very specific about it.
Not the cheaper wine.
Not the usual one.
The expensive one.
The one meant to impress Veronica.
Because Veronica came from an influential family.
Because Veronica might marry Marcus.
Because Veronica mattered.
Florence barely reached the edge of the carpet when it happened.
A foot moved.
Quick.
Precise.
Veronica’s foot.
Florence didn’t even see it until it was too late.
Her balance vanished.
She stumbled forward.
The bag slipped from her hands.
Florence hit the floor hard.
Glass shattered.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
Dark red wine spread across the cream-colored carpet like blood.
For a second the entire room froze.
Then Ennis rushed in from the kitchen.
Her eyes immediately landed on the broken glass.
On the spreading stain.
On Florence.
“What did you do?!” Ennis shouted.
Florence pushed herself up slowly.
“I—”
“You broke the wine?!”
Ennis stepped closer, her face turning red with anger.
“That bottle was for dinner with Veronica!”
Florence opened her mouth.
But the words never came.
Because Veronica was laughing.
Not loudly.
Not openly.
But enough.
A quiet, amused laugh behind her hand.
Marcus shifted slightly on the sofa.
For a brief moment his eyes moved toward Veronica.
He clearly understood what had happened.
But he said nothing.
Florence felt something twist in her chest.
Not pain.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Something hollow.
She carefully picked up the broken pieces of glass.
The smell of wine filled the air.
“Look what you did,” Ennis snapped.
“The carpet!”
Florence gathered the shards and stood up slowly.
“I’ll clean it.”
“You’d better.”
Florence carried the broken glass into the kitchen.
She dropped it into the trash.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear.
From humiliation.
She returned to the living room and rolled the stained carpet.
The wine had soaked deep into the fabric.
It would leave a mark.
Ennis glared at her.
“You’re not leaving that there.”
“I’m taking it outside.”
Florence dragged the heavy carpet through the door and into the yard.
The night air was cool.
She spread the carpet across the stone ground.
Then she went back inside and grabbed a box of salt and a rag.
Kneeling down on the cold stone, Florence poured salt onto the wine stain.
The crystals soaked up the liquid quickly.
She began scrubbing.
Hard.
The rough fabric scraped against her hands.
She didn’t stop.
Inside the house she could hear voices.
Laughter.
Veronica’s voice floated through the open door.
Soft.
Confident.
Like someone who had already claimed the place as her own.
Florence scrubbed harder.
The wine stain slowly began to fade.
Not disappear.
Just fade.
Footsteps approached.
Florence didn’t look up.
She already knew who it was.
Veronica.
A shadow fell across her.
Veronica stepped closer.
Florence didn’t look up from the carpet. She could already feel the tension in the air behind her.
Then suddenly a sharp pressure crushed her hand.
A heel.
Veronica’s heel.
Florence bit the inside of her cheek but did not cry out.
Veronica leaned slightly forward, her shadow falling over Florence.
“Pathetic.”
Florence slowly lifted her eyes.
Veronica’s gaze was cold, almost amused.
“I will never marry Marcus while you are his sister,” she said quietly.
Florence’s fingers tightened around the cloth.
“If you truly care about his future,” Veronica continued, her voice soft and poisonous, “you should disappear.”
For a moment Florence’s wolf stirred.
Anger flashed through her chest.
But it died just as quickly.
Because Florence remembered.
She remembered the last time she answered Veronica.
The courtyard.
The neighbors watching.
Veronica grabbing her by the hair and dragging her across the ground like a rag doll while Florence struggled helplessly beneath her strength.
Veronica was a much stronger wolf.
Everyone knew it.
Even Marcus had only watched that day.
So Florence slowly pulled her hand away from beneath Veronica’s heel.
She lowered her head again.
And continued cleaning the wine stain.
Veronica laughed softly.
“That’s right.”
“Know your place.”
She turned and walked back into the house.
Florence kept scrubbing the carpet, her hands shaking slightly.
Not from weakness.
From humiliation.
Florence kept scrubbing.
The wine stain had almost disappeared now.
Her fingers hurt.
Her knees ached against the stone.
But she kept working.
Minutes passed.
Then the door opened again.
Florence hoped—
For just a second—
That it might be Marcus.
That he might finally say something.
Instead it was Ennis.
Her mother stood at the doorway watching her.
Florence slowly looked up.
Ennis’s face twisted with disgust.
“Even when someone rubs your face in the dirt,” she said coldly, “you can’t even answer to protect your dignity.”
Florence felt the words like a slap.
“Pathetic.”
Ennis turned away.
“Disgusting.”
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned to the yard.
Florence stared at the carpet.
Her hands trembled.
Something inside her finally broke.
She threw the rag aside.
The salt scattered across the ground.
Florence covered her face with both hands.
Her shoulders shook.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quiet, exhausted sobs.
The kind that came when no one was there to hear them.
Above her the moon shone pale and distant.
Florence lifted her tear-filled eyes toward it.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Moon Goddess…”
Her throat tightened.
“Please…”
The words struggled to come out.
“Let me truly disappear.”
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