"Now that," Roseline said lazily, folding her hands on the table, "is what you call obedience. How I wish you had learned it earlier, before I had to turn the tables."
Her mocking tone was deliberate, each word sharpened to provoke and Ester felt her blood surge.
The more she looked at Roseline—at the composed posture, the unshaken gaze, the effortless cruelty—the clearer her true face beca. This wasn’t confidence born of righteousness. This was the calm of soone who believed herself untouchable.
"You can hide behind the lie you told, Roseline," Ester said, her voice low but steady, jaw clenched so hard it ached. "But rember one thing—truth can’t be buried forever. One day, every sche you’ve built your life on will be exposed."
Her breath ca out slow, controlled.
Ester had already co to terms with her fate. Prison. Ruin. Loss.
But Roseline’s lies? They were living things—rotting from the inside.
Roseline chuckled softly, unimpressed. "Is that so, Ester?" she asked, tilting her head. "Didn’t you do the sa? Trying your best to threaten into giving in to your demands?"
Her eyes sharpened. "I only showed you a mirror. Now we’re even."
There was no guilt in her voice. No hesitation.
Only indifference.
As if ruining another life were nothing more than a necessary inconvenience.
Ester laughed then—not loud, not hysterical, but quiet and unsettling.
"I might have overlooked who you really were," she said slowly. "But gas like yours? The ones you’ve been playing for years?" Her lips curved faintly. "They never end well."
Roseline’s smile thinned. "You talk too much for soone with no power."
Ester leaned forward slightly, chains clinking softly. "Power doesn’t decide how stories end. mory does."
Roseline’s eyes flickered—just for a fraction of a second.
Ester saw it. "Rember this," she continued, voice gaining weight, each word pressing down like a blade.
"The day Kathrine rembers everything you did—everything you erased, everything you twisted—your world will collapse in a single breath."
Her eyes blazed with restrained fury, yet her smile turned sharp, almost wicked and it was enough.
Roseline’s composed expression finally cracked.
"That won’t happen," Roseline said coldly, sitting straighter, her tone hardening. "She won’t rember anything. I made sure of it."
The words were ant to intimidate, to end the conversation and remind Ester of her place. Instead she smiled wider. A slow, knowing smirk.
"You wish," she said softly.
Roseline frowned. "What did you say?"
"I said—you wish," Ester repeated, calm now. Too calm. "People like you always think control ans permanence. That once you silence sothing, it stays silent."
She leaned back, chains taut, eyes never leaving Roseline’s face.
"But mories aren’t objects," Ester continued. "They’re instincts. They surface when the mind feels safe enough... or angry enough."
Roseline’s fingers tightened against the table.
"You’re trying to scare ," she said. "It won’t work."
Ester laughed quietly. "No. I’m reminding you."
"Of what?"
"That you didn’t erase the truth," Ester replied. "You only delayed it."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Roseline stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "You’re delusional," she snapped. "Clinging to fantasies because you’ve lost everything."
Ester tilted her head, unfazed. "Maybe."
Then her gaze sharpened, voice dropping to a whisper that carried far more weight than shouting ever could.
"But tell sothing, Roseline—if you’re so confident... why did you bother coming here at all?"
Roseline froze as the question landed. For the first ti, Ester saw uncertainty flicker behind Roseline’s eyes.
Because Roseline hadn’t co to mock her. She had co to confirm sothing.
Ester straightened. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts," she said quietly. "Because when the truth resurfaces and it will—you won’t even see the knife coming."
Roseline turned sharply toward the door, her composure shaken just enough to be noticeable.
As she left, Ester’s smirk faded—but her eyes burned brighter than ever.
She had lost her freedom. But Roseline? She had just lost her certainty.
***
[Shawn’s Place]
"Why can’t you just move in?" Shawn said casually, leaning against the counter before wrapping his arms around Betty from behind. "There’s more than enough room for one more person in my house."
Betty, who was busy brewing coffee, laughed as his arms tightened around her waist. The second he buried his face into the crook of her neck, she burst into giggles.
"Shawn—that’s ticklish!" she protested, squirming slightly.
He humd, clearly enjoying himself. "Then maybe I should do it more," he teased, lips brushing her skin. "You roaming around my place and doing my stuff is making reconsider your position."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Mm-hm," he said thoughtfully. "Upgrading you from girlfriend to wife sounds reasonable."
Betty froze.
The coffee machine hissed in the background as she slowly turned in his arms, eyes wide with shock.
"Shawn!" she gaped. "I’m only nineteen. Way too young to be your wife. For now, girlfriend is more than enough."
She crossed her arms and pouted, cheeks puffed out dramatically.
Shawn chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender. "Relax. I’m teasing."
But behind the laughter, sothing softer lingered in his eyes.
He didn’t say it out loud—but he did imagine it sotis. A future where Betty wasn’t just teasing him in his kitchen but actually belonged there. Still, he knew better than to rush her. That day would only co when she was ready.
And until then? Girlfriend was perfect.
Shawn leaned down, intent on sealing the mont with a kiss but his gaze shifted past her shoulder and he paused.
"...Why are there three cups?" he asked slowly.
Betty blinked. "Three?"
Shawn gently turned her around and pointed toward the counter.
Two cups sat near the coffee machine.
A third one—already filled—rested slightly apart, as if soone was joining them.
"It’s just the two of us," Shawn said, brows knitting together. "Unless I’m missing sothing."
"Oh—about that!" Betty squealed suddenly, clapping her hands together as if a forgotten thought had just struck her. "By the way, I forgot to tell—"
Her words died mid-sentence.
The doorbell rang.
The sharp chi echoed through the apartnt, instantly stealing both of their attention.
Shawn glanced toward the door, then back at Betty. "That must be the landlord," he said casually, already moving away from the counter. "He said he’d stop by today."
Betty nodded absentmindedly, but sothing about her expression felt... off. She hovered in place, lips parting as if she wanted to say sothing else—sothing important—but the timing slipped away from her.
Shawn reached the door and unlocked it.
Before he could pull it open fully, a familiar voice burst out behind him, loud and excited.
"Big sis is coming over!"
Shawn froze mid-motion.
"...Big sis?" he echoed, turning his head slightly.
But Betty had already rushed past him, practically bouncing on her toes. "I was just about to say—"
The door opened.
And the rest of her words vanished.
Anna stood there.
Her hair was loosely tied back, face pale but composed, one hand gripping the doorfra far more tightly than necessary. She looked... fine at first glance.
Until she shifted her weight.
Her legs wobbled visibly, knees trembling as if they were barely holding her upright.
Betty’s eyes went impossibly wide.
"BIG SIS—!" she shrieked. "What happened to your legs?!"
Anna flinched at the volu.
Shawn’s brows snapped together instantly as his gaze dropped to Anna’s unsteady stance. In one stride, he stepped forward, instinctively reaching out.
"Easy," he said, steadying her by the arm before she could protest.
Anna let out a slow breath, clearly embarrassed. "It’s not what it looks like."
Betty stared at her, horrified. "You can barely stand!"
"I can stand," Anna argued weakly—then promptly proved Betty’s point when her knees buckled again.
Shawn caught her fully this ti. "You definitely can’t," he said flatly.
Anna sighed. "Okay. Maybe I slightly overestimated my abilities."
"Slightly?" Betty squeaked. "You look like a baby deer learning how to walk!"
Anna shot her a look. "Traitor."
Betty rushed closer, hovering anxiously. "Did soone hurt you? Did you fall? Did Daniel let this happen?"
Anna grimaced. "Daniel didn’t let anything happen. This is... self-inflicted."
Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Gym?"
Anna glanced away. "...Gym."
Betty gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "You went to the gym?!"
Shawn could tell just by the way Anna was walking.
The slight stiffness. The careful placent of each step. The way she tried—and failed—to hide the wince every ti her weight shifted.
He’d been there before.
Pushed his limits. Paid for it the next day.
But he was smart enough not to say it out loud.
"Please," Anna groaned, waving a hand weakly as Betty hovered on one side and Shawn steadied her from the other, "don’t remind of my life decisions. I never thought regret would arrive this fast."
Betty snorted. "You say that like you didn’t voluntarily sign up for this suffering."
"I was ambitious," Anna muttered. "Ambition is a scam."
They guided her inside slowly, Anna stubbornly insisting on walking by herself for exactly three steps before her legs betrayed her again.
"Okay—nope," she hissed. "That was rude."
The second she finally sank onto the couch, she let out a long, dramatic breath.
"Oh wow," she murmured, slumping back. "I think I just regained circulation. Or consciousness. Possibly both."
Her whole body relaxed like she’d just finished running a marathon—twice.
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