#7.

The mirror was a liar. It reflected a woman draped in silk and shimmering powder, but Grace felt like she was looking at a ghost. The makeup artist worked with precision, her brushes sweeping across Grace’s skin, masking the exhaustion and the quiet terror that had settled into her bones. "Are you sure this is the right decision, Grace?" Rose asked, leaning against the vanity. Her reflection was troubled, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of awe and deep seated worry. "We could just go. We could travel, find somewhere they’ll never look. You don't have to do this." Grace looked at her friend through the glass, her lips trembling. "I hate every second of this, Rose. But where would we go? Tate said they’re already at my doorstep. I’m out of options." Rose sighed, her hand resting on Grace’s shoulder. "What about Liam? What are you going to tell him?" The mention of his name was like a blow. Grace’s chest tightened, a dull ache spreading behind her ribs. "I’ve tried to call him so many times today. I just... I can't bring myself to say the words." "You have to," Rose urged, her voice low and steady. "Call him now. Before you stand in front of that man and take a vow you don't mean. You owe him that much, Grace." With trembling fingers, Grace reached for her phone. The ringing tone felt like a countdown. When Liam picked up, his voice was a burst of warmth that nearly broke her. "Grace? Hey, babe! I was starting to wonder where you’d disappeared to." Grace forced a small, tragic smile that he couldn't see. "Liam... I need to tell you something. Something very important." "Everything okay? You sound different," he said, his tone shifting to one of genuine concern. "Liam, you are a wonderful man," she began, her voice cracking. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure his face—the kindness she thought she knew. "I hope you find someone who is truly worthy of you. Someone who can give you the life you deserve. But... we can’t go forward with the things we planned. We can’t have a future together." There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "What? Grace, what are you talking about? What’s wrong? Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you." A sob escaped her throat, raw. She pulled the phone away, pressing her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. She took a ragged breath, blinking back the tears that threatened to ruin the artist’s work. "We just can't be together, Liam," she said, her voice a hollow shell of itself. "I’m so sorry. I wish you well. I really do." "Grace! Grace, wait—" She hung up before his shout could reach her heart. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the vanity. Grace broke then, the tears flowing freely, hot and bitter. Rose moved instantly, wrapping her arms around her friend, pulling her close. "Shh, don't cry, don't cry," Rose whispered, though her own eyes were bright. "You’ll smear the makeup. We’ll figure this out, Grace. I promise, we’ll find a way through this." Grace nodded against Rose’s shoulder, trying to reclaim some shred of her fierce spirit. After a few minutes, she pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. The makeup artist moved back in, her expression professionally neutral as she repaired the damage. When the last pin was placed and the last layer of silk adjusted, Grace stood. The dress was simple but radiated a expensive luxury. It felt like armor, cold and beautiful. ***** Tate stood in the center of the grand hall, his eyes fixed on his watch. Beside him stood the official, a man who looked distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of the Biker King. He heard the soft rustle of fabric and turned. Grace was walking toward him, her head held high despite the paleness of her cheeks. As she reached his side, Tate felt a strange, unexpected jolt. He had only ever seen her in oversized sweaters and those aged, practical clothes she favored. Seeing her now, he realized the staggering height difference between them, even in her heels, she barely reached his shoulder. But more than that, he realized she was breathtaking. The simple white gown clung to a figure she had spent weeks hiding, and the light caught the color in her hair. He didn't speak. He couldn't. He simply nodded to the official. The ceremony was a blur of words and hollow promises. There was no music, no flowers, and certainly no kiss. When the man declared them husband and wife, it felt less like a union and more like the snapping of a trap. Rose was the only one to break the silence, rushing forward to pull Grace into a fierce hug. "It’s going to be fine," Rose whispered into her ear. "I’ve got you." Grace clung to her, the only familiar thing in a world that had turned upside down. Tate cleared his throat, his voice regaining its usual iron authority. "You should retire to your room, Grace. I’ve had it prepared. Your friend can stay the night if she wishes." He looked at one of his guards and gave a brief signal. "Show them the way." Grace stepped back from Rose, her gaze flickering to Tate. "Thank you," she muttered, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. As she walked toward the stairs, she felt the weight of Tate’s stare. It was a burning, silent pressure against her back, tracking her until she disappeared around the corner. Once they were inside the massive suite, Rose turned the lock with a click. She stood in the center of the room, her eyes wide as she took in the soaring ceilings, the velvet hangings, and the sheer wealth of the space. "I’m not going to lie to you, Grace," Rose said, her voice dropping to a serious, low tone. "This house... it’s a fortress. It’s expensive in a way I’ve never even dreamed of." She walked over to Grace, taking her hands and looking deep into her eyes. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a hard edge. "Listen to me. If I were you, I’d stop mourning what’s gone. You need to start acting right to secure a future for yourself here. This isn't your apartment anymore. It’s high time you leveled up, Grace. You need to secure your position in this house, or it will swallow you whole."