Fiona ended up buying the red dress for herself, despite the way it clung too tightly around her waist, and the glittering black dress for Lana, who twirled happily with it draped over her arm. Together, they moved from one shop to another, Lana picking out earrings, bracelets, and hair clips for Fiona as if she were arranging a doll for display. Fiona followed her with tired steps, her legs aching from the recent blood loss, her body feeling strangely heavy, but the thrill of preparing for her bachelorette party kept her going.
Every now and then she found herself smiling, small and soft, because Lana looked so excited. Fiona bought whatever Lana pointed at, laughing inwardly at her friend's silly mistake of forgetting her card. How typical of Lana, always rushing, always forgetting things. Fiona didn't mind; she liked seeing her friend happy. It made her feel useful, needed, important in her own small way.
As they walked through the mall filled with perfume and soft music, Fiona's thoughts drifted to the parts of her life that made her proud, parts no one could take from her. She had always been good with plants, spending years studying herbs and their healing properties under her grandmother's gentle guidance. And oh chemicals—she loved chemicals. She loved the way formulas could change a texture, a scent, a feeling on the skin. She often dreamed of becoming a dermatologist one day, or maybe owning her own skincare brand with her name embossed on elegant bottles. Even if she wasn't beautiful enough for the world's standards, her brain was sharp, her knowledge deep, and she loved that about herself.
Her grandmother had pampered her endlessly with food, always pressing warm, full plates into her hands with love shining in her eyes. Fiona smiled whenever she remembered that. She didn't blame her grandmother for her weight. If anything, she blamed her own soft heart. She loved food too much, and emotional overeating was a habit she struggled with. Whenever she felt lonely or worthless, the comfort of a warm meal wrapped around her like a blanket.
But now she had a goal.
"I'll lose twenty kilograms in three months," she whispered to herself as she tried on a pair of silver heels Lana handed her. "I can do it. I just have to try harder."
She had already lost ten kilograms for her wedding, pushing herself through gym sessions, sweating until her skin tingled and her lungs burned. She wanted to walk down the aisle looking slimmer, prettier, worthy of Jackson. Worthy of love.
Still, a quiet sadness occasionally made its way into her chest. No matter how smart she was, no matter how kind, no matter how hard she worked, she wasn't famous like Natasha. She wasn't adored. She wasn't anyone's first choice.
But today she wanted to feel special.
By the time they left the last store, Fiona was carrying heavy bags that pulled against her already sore arms, but a warm glow still spread through her tired body. Her vision felt slightly hazy from exhaustion, and her legs ached with every step, yet she didn't care.
She had a dress. She had heels. She had jewelry. She had a friend laughing beside her. And in just a few hours, she would see Jackson, the man she was going to marry.
Her heart fluttered softly.
But after hours of shopping, Fiona felt her legs shaking lightly beneath her. Her bags pulled down on her arms until her muscles throbbed. Still, she smiled shyly at Lana as they reached the exit of the mall, clutching her shopping bags like small pieces of happiness.
"Let's grab lunch?" Fiona asked softly, hopeful for a little more time together. She imagined sitting with Lana at their favorite café, sharing fries, giggling over dress choices, enjoying a rare moment where she felt like a normal twenty-one-year-old bride-to-be.
But Lana's phone buzzed.
Her expression shifted instantly, becoming lighter and brighter as she checked the screen.
"Oh! My boyfriend's already here," Lana said, brushing her curls as if preparing to meet him. "Fiiio, he'll get annoyed if I'm late. I'll see you later, okay?"
She hugged Fiona quickly, barely squeezing, and hurried off toward the parking lot where a sleek dark car waited.
Fiona watched her back for a moment, standing still beside the mall entrance as the wind tugged softly at her wrinkled orange dress. A tiny sting touched her heart, but she shook it away gently. It was fine. Lana had her own life. Fiona was used to walking alone, used to quiet endings.
With a soft sigh, she pulled out her phone, booked a cab, and waited until it arrived.
The ride home was quiet. Fiona rested her head against the window, her bags pressed against her side, her body growing heavier with every passing minute. When the cab turned toward the Blake Mansion, the gate sensors blinked open automatically.
The Blake Mansion rose tall and elegant, its clean modern lines catching the daylight softly. Smooth white walls and large glass panels made it look bright and open, almost like a home carved from light. From far away it seemed calm, but when standing close it carried a subtle and intimidating power. It was beautiful in a way that made people stop and stare.
Two luxury cars waited under the wide front overhang, their white bodies polished so perfectly they caught the color of the sky, smooth and glossy like marble touched by sunlight.
But the beauty ended at the door.
Fiona stepped inside and immediately felt a familiar emptiness settle around her like cold air.
No one was there except for the distant footsteps of servants rushing past with towels and documents, offering her polite nods but no greetings. Their attention was elsewhere, pulled toward the hospital where the real daughter, Natasha Blake, lay recovering.
Her mother was there. Her father was there. Her younger brother, Kian, was there too.
Every heartbeat, every worry, every thought in the family flowed only in Natasha's direction.
Fiona's arms tightened around her shopping bags for a moment. Then she quietly walked through the silent hallway, her steps soft against the marble floor, the smell of polished wood and fresh lilies filling the air.
Her room was on the first floor, a simple space compared to the lavish rooms upstairs, but she loved it because it was hers. A place where she felt safe. She pushed the door open, dropped her bags gently inside, and sat on the edge of her bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her tired body, and she exhaled long and slow, letting her eyes soften as she stared up at the ceiling.
Her arms were still sore from the blood loss. Her legs ached from walking. Her chest felt heavy with everything she tried not to feel. She turned on her side, adjusting her dress as she curled gently into the blanket.
"Just a little rest," she whispered to herself, feeling sore and dizzy.
The sound of her own voice made the room feel less empty.