Page 53 of Wicked God
The silence on the other end is deafening. I can picture her expression: brows knitted, lips pressed tight, hurt etched across her features.
“But what? When did this even happen? Why am I the last to know?” Her voice shrinks. She pauses, letting each word land. “We tell each other everything, Liv. Everything.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” My free hand twists the beading on my dress. “It’s been chaotic. The Hawthorns move at their own pace, and Alex insisted on announcing it at tonight’s gala. I planned to call you tomorrow and explain everything properly.”
“Tomorrow,” she repeats with a hollow laugh. “After everyone else already knows.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair? What’s not fair is finding out my sister’s marrying into one of the most powerful families in the country through some headline. What’s unfair is realizing I don’t know who you are anymore.”
Her words cut deep, and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I was overwhelmed. I never expected to meet someone like Alex, and I wanted to keep it private for a while. I didn’t want to complicate things.”
“It sounds like you two really care about each other,” Tiffany says softly. “I get it. I’m just taken aback. I needed to hear it from you first.”
I nod, voice tight. “I know.”
“Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls?”
I swallow. “Yes… partly. I didn’t know how to tell you, Tiff. I have no good excuse.”
“I see.” Another pause, and I hold my breath. “Look, I’m happy for you, Liv. Truly. But I need time to process this.”
Her kindness twists like a knife in my chest. I lean against the wall’s cool surface. “I promise I’ll explain everything in person. There’s more to it than I can say over the phone.”
“Okay,” she says, voice gentle. “Just give me some time, alright?”
“Of course. I love you, Tiffany.”
She hesitates. “I love you too, Olivia.”
The call ends abruptly. I stare at the dark screen, willing it to light up again, but it stays blank in my hand. A single tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly brush it away, afraid of ruining my makeup.
I need to pull myself together before I return to the party. The last thing I want is the photographers catching Alexander Hawthorne’s new fiancée with mascara tracks down her cheeks.
I push off the wall and inhale deeply, scanning the corridor for the nearest powder room. When I spot a door bearing an ornate gold plaque, I slip inside.
The room is empty, thank god.
I lean against the cool marble counter and let my shoulders finally drop as I meet my reflection in the gilded mirror.
The powder room is ludicrously opulent: cream marble everywhere, gleaming gold fixtures, crystal vases filled with fresh orchids, and hand-embroidered towels stacked in perfect pyramids. Even the soap dispenser looks museum-worthy. This is the world Alex was raised in, and the one I stumbled into by sheer luck at twelve, where extravagance is the norm and nothing less will do.
But my reflection tells a different story. My eyes are rimmed with red; my carefully applied eyeshadow has smeared at the corners. A stray lock has escaped my updo, and my red lipstick is half-gone from nervous lip-biting. I look exactly what I am: an outsider desperate to belong.
I reach into my clutch, pull out a compact, and dust translucent powder over my blotchy cheeks.
Have I traded my sister for this gilded life? The thought makes my hand tremble as I reach for my red lipstick.
The door swings open with a soft swish, and I straighten, forcing my features into a neutral mask. In the mirror, I watch a statuesque woman enter—dark hair cascading in perfect waves, an emerald gown catching the light with every step. There’s something achingly familiar about her, though I’m certain we’ve never met.
She takes the sink beside mine without a glance, flips open a small gold compact, and I become painfully aware of my hurried touch-ups, my anxiety laid bare. At last, her eyes flick to mine in the mirror, appraising, then her red lips curve into a polished smile.
“Oh, that lipstick is divine. It complements your complexion beautifully.”
I blink, surprised. “Thank you. It’s a new shade I’m trying.”
“Absolutely stunning.” She reaches for the tube. “May I?” I hand it over wordlessly.
