Lauren paused, then turned with a polished smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Happy married life."
Heather almost laughed. "I wish it was."
Lauren tilted her head, face arranged in mock sympathy. "Why? Did Caius cheat again?"
Heather didn’t answer right away. It was almost amusing, the way Lauren still tried to provoke her, and they were not even teenagers again.
She thought she knew everything. And thought she still had that kind of access.
"I doubt it," Heather said, her voice flat.
Lauren’s smile sharpened. "Give it time. One pretty face, I bet is all it takes. And he’ll serve you divorce papers again."
Heather smiled. A real one, this time. "If he does, I’ll sign them with a smile," she winked. "If you assume I married for love. You assumed wrong."
Something flickered in Lauren’s eyes—interest, and her mask dropped just a little.
"You don’t love Caius?"
"No," Heather said simply, glancing away."Is this why you called me here?"
Lauren’s smile faltered for just a second—small, but there if you were looking. She blinked once, slowly, because she wasn’t sure what to say next.
She wasn’t used to being met with calm indifference.
She reached over the bar and picked up one of the tumblers. Her fingers curled around the glass of champagne.
She turned and offered it out.
"Truce?" she said lightly, tilting the glass forward.
Heather looked at the bubbles, then at her sister.
Lauren. The same woman who once tried to kill her Alex. The same one who shoved her down the stairs without thinking twice.
And now she was offering her a drink?
Heather didn’t reach.
Lauren’s smile tightened, just for a second. "Oh come on. I’m not trying to poison you. It’s just a drink."
Heather still didn’t reach.
Lauren looked at the glass again, because she was remembering what was in it.
Lauren exhaled and withdrew the glass, bringing it back to her own lips. She didn’t drink from it—just held it near her mouth, and that alone proved something.
"I’m trying to make things right," she said softly. "I thought we could just... talk. Like we used to."
Heather’s eyes didn’t leave hers. "We stopped talking twenty years ago," she said. "And nothing you do will make anything right."
Lauren nodded, but the smile on her face was pasted on with something cheaper than glue. It didn’t touch her eyes or even try to.
Heather moved through the crowd again, dodging glances and half-hearted waves until she found Penny and Manager Sheng still at the bar.
Penny was sipping her drink with one eye on the room, the other narrowed toward Heather.
"Well?" Penny asked, lowering her glass. "Did she apologize?"
Heather shook her head once. "No."
"I told you!" Penny turned to Sheng like she’d just won a bet. "I told you she wasn’t going to say sorry. She doesn’t even know what remorse looks like."
Sheng, seated between the two women, sighed and stood. He didn’t look at either of them directly.
"I’m going to check the security downstairs," he muttered. "Make sure everything’s running tight."
Heather raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head. "Just being cautious."
Heather and Penny watched him walk away. "You always want to poke him, don’t you?" Heather said leaning in.
"It’s fun to see how he always reacts." Penny grinned.
A waiter approached them holding a tray with a single glass resting on it.
"For Miss Heather," he said.
Heather frowned. "From who?"
"Manager Sheng." He said before bowing slightly, and offering the glass.
Heather’s throat felt dry, she hadn’t had a drink since she arrived. And she hadn’t eaten much since morning.
Whatever was in the glass smelled faintly sweet — not sharp like alcohol, but soft and floral.
Penny turned to look at her. "You gonna drink that?"
"It’s from manager Sheng." Heather took a small sip. It tasted good.
She took another, just enough to coat her tongue. It didn’t burn, it slid down like water.
But almost instantly, the world shifted. Not violently, or like being spun. More like the floor had quietly tilted when she wasn’t looking, and her body hadn’t caught up.
She blinked once. Then blinked again. Her eyes were spinning and her hand went to her forehead.
"You okay?" Penny asked, frowning now.
Heather nodded. Then she paused. "No. I think I just need to lie down."
Penny stood from the stool and placed a hand gently on Heather’s back. "I’ll call one of the staff. They’ve got private lounges upstairs."
Heather didn’t say anything.
A woman appeared moments later, one of the hostesses. She was tall and wore black.
Her face was calm and nurturing. She guided Heather away from the bar with a soft voice and a hand at her back.
As they walked through the corridor, Heather caught glimpses of herself in the wall-length windows. Her reflection looked strange.
The person was blurry and so many people followed her. She blinked trying to check if what she saw was normal.
"You coming?" The woman called ahead. She noticed Heather walking awkwardly in her heel, then she rushed quickly and placed a guiding hand around her waist.
The room they entered was dimly lit. There was a v shaped velvet chair, and a soft lamp.
The lighting too was warm that it melted into her skin. She dropped into one of the chairs without thinking, letting her head fall against the back cushion.
Her arms went limp. Her legs, too. She could still move, but it felt like there was water in her veins instead of blood.
So she closed her eyes, just for a brief second.
Something wet clung to the side of her mouth. Her cheek was pressed against a surface too soft to be the floor. Velvet, maybe. And it was warm.
Her fingers twitched, but they didn’t move the way she wanted. They dragged slowly, still, she didn’t feel them.