Page 138 of Porcelain Lies

“Oh. Is everything okay?” I ask, noting how Diana’s fingers tighten slightly on the handle of the jug. I study her controlled movements, the way she avoids direct eye contact while arranging everything. “This is very kind of you, just… unexpected.”

“Sometimes unexpected changes are necessary.” Diana finally meets my gaze, her dark eyes carrying the same intensity as her brother’s. “Especially when certain… concerns arise.”

The weight of unspoken warnings hangs between us. I open my mouth to press further, but Diana smoothly cuts me off by passing a glass of orange juice.

“Shall we eat while it’s hot?”

“Sure.” I pick at the perfectly poached eggs, slanting a look at her. The resemblance to Aleksei is uncanny.

“Imelda has been dismissed,” Diana states out of the blue, adjusting her pearl necklace. “There were… irregularities with her service that couldn’t be overlooked.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Dismissed? But she’s been here for years, hasn’t she?”

“Length of service doesn’t excuse betrayal.” Diana’s eyes narrow slightly. “From now on, I’ll personally oversee your meals. You are not to touch a scrap of food unless I have given it to you.”

“What?” I say sharply. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? What if I want a pack of crisps?”

“You shouldn’t be eating crisps,” she responds. “Don’t even think about trying it. The biomarker device records everything.”

I glance down at the sleek band on my wrist, its constant monitoring suddenly feeling more suffocating.

“Trust me, it’s for your own good,” she says like she’s trying to assure me. She reaches for her OJ and takes a sip, not taking her eyes off me.

“I’m not a child,” I mutter. “I know how to feed myself.”

“This isn’t about your judgment, Stella.” Diana’s tone softens slightly. “It’s about ensuring the best possible environment for the baby. Surely you understand that?”

I do understand — that’s what makes this so frustrating. But does it have to be so extreme?

I take a mouthful of egg. Diana’s hawk-like gaze follows every bite I take. The eggs turn to sawdust in my mouth under her scrutiny. I force myself to chew and swallow mechanically, hyper-aware of her monitoring me.

“The yolks contain essential nutrients,” she points out when I hesitate over the runny center. Her manicured finger taps the edge of my plate. “Eat.”

I comply, but my stomach churns with each supervised mouthful. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft clink of silverware. Diana maintains her rigid posture, back straight as a ballet dancer’s, while I hunch over my plate like a prisoner at mess hall.

“Good.” She nods with clinical satisfaction as I finish the last bite of toast. “I’ll return at lunch.”

Rising gracefully, Diana gathers the dishes onto the tray, and leaves. The door closes behind her with a soft click.

I slump in my chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. It’s only been a few minutes since she left, but the quiet of the room is already pressing in around me.

I wrap my arms around myself, missing Hannah’s easy laughter, the bustle of the office, even the annoyance of rush hour traffic. Anything would be better than this padded prison where even my meals require supervision.

Anything excepthim, that is.

It’s been a while since I saw Aleksei, and although I keep trying to convince myself that I’m relieved, a part of me is not.

“Stupid girl.”Boyana is unforgiving.“You know you want him.”

“Ugh!” I say out loud, shoving my chair from the breakfast table and standing. I hate it when my sister says things I don’t want to hear. But I can’t help myself. My traitorous mind keeps replaying that damn badminton game. Aleksei’s rare smile as he lobbed the shuttlecock. The boy’s delighted shrieks echoing across the lawn.

“This is ridiculous,” I grumble, heading over to the bookshelf and choosing the most boring book from the stack Aleksei provided. A few chapters of neuroscience should kill any lingering romantic notions.

Synapses, neural pathways, adhesion molecules, blah blah blah…

Beside me, the laptop’s red power light blinks 11:56 am. Four minutes until my daily online window. I twist the biomarker bracelet, the smooth metal warm from my agitated fidgeting.

“Screw it.” I push the book aside and turn to my screen, opening up the mailbox. There’s a string of junk mail, some newsletters I subscribe to, and a payment notification for my Kindle subscription. Apart from that,nada. Still nothing from Hannah, or even my brother — though I guess I told them not to contact me. The sense of isolation weighs down on me.

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