Page 88 of I'm sorry, Princess
Chapter Twenty-six
Serena
Looking at my reflection, I force myself to breathe, to pretend that tonight is just another party, just another night where I can play the role, they all expect of me. The mask I wear tonight isn’t just made of foundation and highlighter, it’s built from years of perfection, of obedience, of knowing how to be exactly what they need me to be.
I take the foundation and apply it carefully, blending it over my face, but my fingers linger over the bruise my mother left behind. I press a little harder than I should, punishing the spot that reminds me of her words, of the way she shattered me like I was nothing. Another layer of foundation, another layer of pretending. I dab concealer over the puffiness beneath my eyes, willing the exhaustion, the hurt, the rawness to disappear under the stroke of a brush.
Tonight, I’ll keep my makeup soft, neutral, like I have nothing to hide. I sweep on a nude-toned eyeshadow, letting it blend into the soft shimmer of gold at the edges, my long lashes framing the silent storm in my eyes. My lips, full and trembling, are lined with a brown crayon, and I fill them in with a muted pink matte lipstick. A picture of effortless beauty, a carefully crafted lie.
Next is my hair. Soft curls, the easiest way to look like I tried without really trying. The golden waves cascade down my back, brushing against the curves of my dress. It looks perfect. I look perfect. But perfection is just another illusion.
The bruises are hidden, the pain buried under layers of makeup and fabric that scream confidence I don’t feel. The dress hugs my curves like a second skin, the black beading glistening under the soft glow of my vanity lights. It’s seductive, dangerous, just like the world I seem to be slipping into.
The bodice is sheer, a delicate illusion of bare skin, adorned with scattered black embellishments that fade down into the intricate lace of the skirt. The way it clings to my waist and hips is almost sinful, sculpting me into something ethereal, something powerful. A high slit teases my thigh, revealing just enough to make a man pause and wonder how much more there is to see.
I chose this dress for a reason. If I was going to walk into that party, stand beside my parents, and face him, I needed to look like I was untouchable. Like I was above the chaos swirling in my mind.
I slide my hands down the fabric, smoothing out any invisible creases, feeling the weight of the night ahead pressing against my chest.
Let them watch. Let him watch.
I fasten the delicate black leather strap around my ankle, the soft material hugging my skin like a second layer.The gold padlock charm dangles at the side, cold against my skin, a reminder that even in luxury, I feel trapped. The irony isn't lost on me. A padlock. A fucking padlock.
The razor-thin gold stiletto gleams under the dim light of my vanity, standing tall, dangerous. These are the kind of heels that make men stare, make women whisper. The kind of heels that demand worship. They’re sharp, lethal. Just like I need to be tonight.
I stand, feeling my posture shift, my body aligning with the power these shoes give me. With every step, they’ll hear me coming. With every step, I’ll remind myself that I am still in control. Even if, deep down, I feel like I’m anything but.
I glance at myself in the mirror. The black dress, the soft curls, the perfectly applied lipstick. A woman who looks like she owns the world, even if she doesn’t know where she belongs in it.
I take a deep breath, adjusting the strap one last time.
Sienna steps inside, and for a second, the chaos of the last 24 hours fades into the background. She looks unreal, a goddess wrapped in silk and confidence. Her caramel hair is pulled into a perfectly undone low bun, wisps of honey-toned strands framing her face just enough to make it look effortless, even though I know she put thought into every detail. Her dress is obscene in the best possible way, deep sage green silk that drapes over her curves like it was made just for her. The corset top cinches her waist, pushing up her full, almost unfairly perfect breasts, while the satin fabric flows over her hips and down her long legs like a second skin. She’s glowing, radiant, a walking masterpiece.
Her heels click against the marble floors, making her presence impossible to ignore. She always commands a room, even my dimly lit hallway. But the second she looks at me, I know I can’t pretend. I know she sees it. Themakeup, the careful mask, the barely-there bruising I spent an hour trying to conceal.
She sighs, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t say anything at first. She just walks toward me, slow and deliberate, and wraps her arms around me. And just like that, the dam I spent all day reinforcing threatens to break.
I don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of her. Instead, I inhale her scent, warm rum, something floral and expensive, and let it fill my lungs, grounding me. Sienna always smells like something decadent, something just out of reach.
When she pulls back, her green eyes scan my face with unnerving accuracy, cataloging every detail, every fracture in my carefully constructed facade.
“You look stunning,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely holding steady.
She doesn’t say thank you. She just tilts her head slightly, her expression softening. “And you, my love,” she murmurs, her gaze still searching, “look like you’re about to destroy men.” She smirks, but there’s something else in her eyes. Worry. A silent question.
I force a smile, sharp at the edges. “Maybe just one.”
Her smirk widens, but she doesn’t believe me. “Then let’s get this over with.”
“You know this conversation isn’t over, right?” Sienna says, her voice softer than usual but firm, the way only she can be. She turns her head to look at me as she pulls out of my driveway, her eyes flickering with concern.
“Tomorrow is Sunday, and I’m kidnapping you for the entire day. No arguments. We’ll go to the spa, do some reckless shopping, and then stuff our faces with junk food while watching your favorite romance movie. You’re not spending the day alone, not after today. Not after… everything.”
Her hand finds mine, squeezing it gently. “I’m here, Serena. Please don’t forget that. And don’t try to push me away. You were always there for me, and now it’s my turn. Actually, scratch that, I don’t care if you push me away. I’m staying, whether you like it or not. So get used to it.”
She leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead before wrapping me in a tight hug. I nod against her shoulder, unable to find the right words. But I don’t need to.
I won’t push her away. Never.
