Dragging herself up, Alice crossed to her wardrobe with dresses, yanking it open.
Dresses, gowns, silks, fabrics in muted colors stared back at her. Nothing looked right. She needed sothing perfect. Not too loud, not too desperate. Sothing that would make her blend in but also unseen.
The room swayed as she moved, but she steadied herself against the door fra, breathing through the dizziness. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
"Co on," she whispered under her breath. "Focus."
She rifled through the clothes, fingers shaking, pulling out one dress, then another, rejecting each one with mounting frustration.
Too plain. Too revealing. Too boring.
Her head was fogging up badly now, her skin hot enough to burn soone else. And yet, beneath the fever, there was still that need humming low in her chest — for control, for beauty.
Finally, her hand landed on a deep erald satin dress. Simple, yet elegant. The neckline dipped just enough, and the thin straps frad her shoulders perfectly. It would have to do.
She dragged herself to the mirror, holding the dress up against her burning skin. Her reflection stared back, almost startling her. She looked like a ghost. And no, it wasn’t the concealer, because she believed she at least knew the basics of applying the concealer to cover her freckles in a natural way like she had been taught before coming here.
She frowned at her reflection.
Her fever made her bones ache, but underneath it thrumd sothing deeper — uglier. That faint, stubborn need.
He called you ugly when you cried.
The words crawled back up her throat, uninvited.
She didn’t want to give him that again. She didn’t want to be weak or ugly or small tonight — not in front of him, not in front of anyone.
And if tonight was the night she died — after Hardy, after whatever ca next — then she’d die looking her best. No sha. No pity. No ugly.
She would have to get herself ready. Whether she was ill or not, she needed to look pretty.
Her fingertips trembled as she zipped the dress up, each motion requiring far more energy than it should. She paused once she was done, gripping the vanity table to steady herself.
Her phone buzzed again — she reached for it in a hurry.
For a split second, she thought it was Priscilla again, finally being rciful.
It wasn’t.
It was just a reminder from... Gavin.
"Arriving in 45 minutes."
She didn’t know why her heartbeat sped up, but it did.
45 minutes.
She got to work.
Foundation.
Eyeliner — steady, though her hands trembled.
A muted lipstick.
A blush and contour.
Earrings that caught the light just enough.
She looked at her full reflection again after doing the touch-ups. She didn’t look bad, but she also didn’t look that good.
Alice forced herself to sit again, taking slow, deliberate sips from a glass of water nearby. She needed to cool down. Needed to look alive.
Survive tonight, she told herself. You can break down after.
Oh! Her wedding ring.
She was not forgetting that tonight.
By the ti she made it downstairs, the world was already spinning again.
Her steps were careful, asured. She clutched the railing like it was the only thing keeping her upright. As the elevator opened on the ground floor, Van appeared from one of the side corridors, sliding his phone into his pocket.
He glanced at her.
"You’re ready?" he asked, brows raised.
His eyes briefly scanned her dress — not lasciviously, just with that sa detached indifference he always carried.
She wondered why he was even talking to her when he always was not bothered by her and simply clown his way through everything.
"If you want, you could ride with ," he offered, voice casual, almost bored.
Okay... now, what?
Alice smiled politely, her voice soft.
"Thank you, but... I already have plans on how to go."
Van shrugged like it hardly mattered. "Suit yourself. And just be ready when you et Mother later. She knows you skipped duties tonight. It would get ssy," Without waiting for any further response, he strolled away, out of the apartnt, the front door sliding open.
She let out a slow breath, steadying herself.
Elisa wasn’t her problem right now. She would deal with that when it ca.
She stepped outside too, a few paces behind Van. The evening air was sharp against her flushed skin, but not enough to cool her fever. And then she saw it.
The black car already pulled up.
And beside it — him.
Hades stood waiting, hands loosely at his sides, his entire posture exuding silent authority. Even at rest, he looked coiled — dangerous. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the ink curling along his chest and throat, his tattoos sharp against pale skin. The soft glow of the porch lights traced over the hard lines of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.
Thankfully, he wasn’t smoking this ti.
But he didn’t need the cigarette to look terrifying.
There was sothing oddly cold about him tonight. But even that did not stop her perverted mind from replaying the scenes from her dream.
Van paused briefly, throwing a glance at Hades and then at Alice.
"Married life. Isn’t it beautiful?" he said dryly, before unlocking his car.
The two. "..."
Van didn’t linger there and just got in his car and drove off without waiting for a response.
The words hung awkwardly in the air.
But she couldn’t just keep standing there so she approached.
Hades’ brow furrowed the mont his gaze fully landed on her. His eyes flicked over her slowly, like he was trying to read sothing.
Alice’s pulse kicked up.
She hated how just standing near him made her feel... strange. Like she was scared, yet, not scared. Like he would hurt her but also not.
There was a kind of useless trust hiding there which she would never understand.
Hades didn’t speak yet. His jaw tensed once, and for a terrifying second she wondered if he would do or say sothing unpleasant.
Instead, he simply opened the car door for her.
Without a word.
Alice swallowed, lifting her dress slightly as she stepped forward, forcing her legs to move even though they felt like lead. Her fever pulsed behind her eyes, but she managed to lower herself into the passenger seat gracefully enough.
Hades shut the door quietly, walked around, and slid in beside her.
The car rolled forward.
The silence, as usual, was suffocating.
Block D was obviously not far. In 5 minutes, there should have arrived there. But it felt like it was going to be a long ride.
Alice stared out the window, trying to control her breathing. Only so silence passed before his voice finally broke the silence, low and smooth.
"You’re sick."
It wasn’t a question.
He had noticed.
She forced a weak smile, still not turning to face him.
"It’s just a little fever. Nothing serious."
A beat of silence.
"Then why did you co out?" His tone remained even, but there was sothing sharp buried underneath — disapproval, maybe. Annoyance. Or worse: concern masked as irritation.
Alice’s throat was dry. She swallowed.
The only reason she was seriously going there tonight was because of Hardy. But how was she supposed to tell him that? ’Hey! So Hardy knows that I am a fake and oh! You also don’t know that too. But yeah, he asked to join the dinner tonight and I am too scared and worried that he may do sothing if I do not show up and since I am dying of curiosity, I need to et him.’
Yeah. Right.
So instead, "You asked to." She finally looked at him. His eyes was fixed on the road.
Technically, he had asked her to. So that wasn’t a lie. Maybe partial.
That earned a small, humorless exhale from him — almost like a scoff.
"Do you always follow instructions that easily?" he asked, voice clipped. "Especially when you’re obviously unwell."
Was he worried about—
Nah. She shook her head.
"I didn’t want to... cause any inconvenience."
Her voice sounded too soft, even to her own ears. Like a weak excuse. And at that point, she realized maybe her decision to join tonight and look her best wasn’t all due to Hardy.
The truth sat unspoken in her chest — that stupid humiliating truth. That after waking up from that dream — that kind of dream — she was even more desperate to look composed. To not embarrass herself further.
The dream had left her flushed, restless, and angry at herself all day. His hands on her. His mouth on her. His body pressing her down—
Stop.
Her face heated again, this ti not from the fever.
She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing her thoughts away. But as if mocking her restraint, she felt his gaze sharpen once more.
"You’re flushed," he observed coolly, his gaze on her now.
His expression was unreadable, distant. Detached. Like none of this mattered to him.
But sothing flickered faintly behind his eyes. Sothing almost... irritated.
Was he annoyed at her?
She couldn’t tell.
But it felt like whenever he locked gaze with her, his facial muscles hardened.
But she didn’t know that Hades himself had woken from the sa kind of dream. One that had left him angry — mostly at himself. He wasn’t supposed to think of her like that. He didn’t like her. He didn’t like anyone and especially her! He didn’t know the reason why she bothered him so much, but he also didn’t care to know it.
He had kept his distance, drawn his lines, yet his subconscious had so easily betrayed him.
Seeing her now, flushed and vulnerable in that dress, only made it worse. Like his mind was mocking his supposed control.
He turned his gaze forward again, jaw tightening.
The irritation bubbled over. Because why the hell was he bothered about the fact that she looked sick?
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