Beatrice POV
The cold air of the hotel corridor felt like a physical slap against my face. I ran, my heels clicking frantically against the plush carpet. My breath came in shallow, jagged gasps. My skin still felt sensitized, humming with a terrifying memory of heat and hands that weren't mine, yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.
I didn't stop until I hit the street. The city's fog was damp and gray, sticking to my hair like a shroud. I flagged down a taxi, my hands shaking so violently I could barely pull the door open.
"Oakhills," I rasped. "Please. Fast."
As the car lurched into the morning traffic, I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. My mind was a chaotic blur of fragments. I remembered the sweet, metallic taste of the drink Charlotte gave me. I remembered the elevator. And then... The face a man.
I didn't know his name, but I remembered his eyes. They had been like chips of frozen sea at first. But then, as he touched me, I felt a surge of warmth.
I looked down at my dress, It was wrinkled. A sob caught in my throat, but I choked it back. I couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet.
....
As I reached home I open the door.
The bell above the door of my father's shop chimed with a cheerful ring that felt like a mockery. The scent of steam and old fabric hit me, usually a comfort, but now it felt like it was suffocating me.
"Bea? Is that you?" my father called from the back.
"It's me, Dad," I called back, my voice sounding thin and brittle. "I... I stayed at a friend's. I'm going to change."
I hurried up the narrow stairs to the apartment above the shop. I expected to find Charlotte asleep, but she was sitting at the small kitchen table, with a cup of coffee in her hands. She was already dressed, her makeup perfect, looking like she hadn't spent the night drugging her only sister.
She looked up, and for a split second, I saw
guilt in her eyes. Then, the mask slid back into place.
"You're home late," she said, her voice casual. "Did you have fun? You seemed pretty out of it after that second drink."
I walked over to the table, my shadow falling over her. The hope I had felt the night before didn't just die. It was incinerated.
"You drugged me, Charlotte."
She didn't even flinch. She just took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about. You've always been a lightweight, Bea. You probably just overdid it."
"I woke up in a stranger's room," I whispered, the words feeling like glass in my mouth. "I woke up in a bed I didn't belong in because you led me there. Why? Why would you do this to me?"
Charlotte slammed her cup down, the coffee splashing onto the white tablecloth. She stood up, her face twisting into something ugly and sharp.
"Because I'm tired of being the other Kingston daughter!" she hissed. "I'm tired of Dad looking at you like you're some kind of genius because you can sew a straight line. I'm tired of you sacrificing everything for me just so you can play the martyr. I wanted you to see what the real world is like, Beatrice. I wanted you to have a night you couldn't just 'fix' with a needle and thread."
"You sold me," I said, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "You checked the guest list, didn't you? You found a room you thought would ruin me."
"I found a room that belonged to someone important," Charlotte smirked, though her eyes remained cold. "I figured if you were going to lose that precious innocence of yours, it might as well be to someone who could actually afford a hotel like the Grand Baltic."
I looked at her and realized I didn't know this person. This wasn't the sister I had protected.
"Get out," I said quietly.
"What?"
"Get out of this house. Go to your finals. Go to the life I'm paying for. And don't you ever speak to me unless Dad is in the room."
Charlotte laughed, "Fine. Enjoy your memories, Bea. I'm sure whoever was in that room has already forgotten you even exist. Men like that don't look back."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out, the door slamming behind her.
I stood in the center of the kitchen, the silence of the apartment ringing in my ears. She was right about one thing. He would forget me. A man who stayed in the penthouse of the Grand Baltic lived in a world of glass and steel, a world where girls like me were just footnotes.
I walked to the sink and splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the sensation of his touch. But as I reached for a towel, I caught my reflection in the window.
There was a small, faint bruise on my neck just above my collarbone.
I touched it, and for a second fragments from last night played in my mind.
But as I looked at the crimson coat hanging in the corner of the room, the one I had finished just yesterday, I knew one thing for certain.
The stitches had been pulled, and the fabric of my world was unraveling.