The villa gates opened with a soft electronic sigh, as if even the house was tired of her.
Mia stumbled up the marble steps. Blood still crusted between her fingers. One heel missing. The torn dress clung to her like wet paper. Every breath tasted of copper and rain.
The front door flew open before she could knock.
Her mother stood in the golden light of the foyer, silk robe perfectly tied, hair still in perfect evening curls from the gala the night before. A phone was already pressed to her ear.
"Cancel the car," she snapped into it. "She's here. Barely."
She hung up. Her eyes raked over Mia — the blood, the bruises, the wild hair — and landed on the torn shoulder of the dress like it was the only thing that mattered.
"Mon Dieu, Mia. Look at you."
Mia tried to speak. Her throat was raw. "Maman, I—"
"Two hours until the *Vogue* interview. Two. And you show up like this?" Her mother's voice rose, sharp and practiced. "Do you have any idea what this looks like? The driver is waiting downstairs. The stylist is already crying in the guest room. And you — you smell like a back alley."
She stepped closer, grabbed Mia's chin with two manicured fingers, tilted her face to the light.
"Blood? Really? On your *hands*?" A disgusted little laugh. "You couldn't even wash before coming home? We pay people for that."
Mia's knees wanted to buckle. She locked them.
"I… something happened."
"Something always happens with you lately." Her mother released her chin like it burned. "Triple E called three times. They want the new single mastered by tomorrow. The fans are already posting theories about why you missed the after-party. And you — you decide tonight is the night to play runaway princess in some dirty street?"
She turned on her heel, already moving toward the grand staircase.
"Shower. Now. Cold water. I don't care if it hurts. The makeup team will fix the rest. And for God's sake, smile when you come down. The interviewer asked about your 'vulnerability phase.' We need tears, but pretty ones. Not this… mess."
Mia stood frozen in the foyer, blood flaking off her knuckles onto the white marble.
Her mother paused halfway up the stairs, looking back with the same polished smile she gave to cameras.
"Honestly, darling. Sometimes I wonder if you even want this life anymore."
She disappeared down the hall.
The house was silent again except for the distant hum of the air-conditioning and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock.
Mia looked at her hands.
They were still shaking.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, something else was smiling.
Not afraid.
Not tired.
Just… waiting.
For the next time someone touched what wasn't theirs.