Chapter 8: Storm at Midnight
The rain came softly at first.
Florida sat on the edge of her bed, watching droplets tap against the windowpane. The rest of the house was asleep — or pretending to be.
She couldn't sleep.
Her fingers twitched restlessly in her lap. She thought of the wall. Of the voices. Of the words she wasn't meant to hear.
"Just part of the contract." "She's irrelevant."
She stood quietly, slipped her feet into the thin house slippers, and stepped out into the hallway.
The house stretched around her like a museum — beautiful, cold, untouchable.
She wandered slowly, half-dreaming. The corridor curved toward a sitting room dimly lit with golden sconces and firelight.
She heard voices.
She stopped.
Liza's voice was unmistakable — smooth and smug.
"I'm just saying, she looks uncomfortable all the time. Not used to this kind of house, I guess."
A soft laugh.
"She doesn't have our kind of background," one of the older women said.
"Or style," another added. "Did you see her dress at dinner? Looked like something from a secondhand store."
Florida stood still at the doorway, breath shallow.
"I keep wondering why Bryant even went through with it," someone said.
"I can tell you why," Liza replied coolly. "Debt. Obligation. Definitely not love."
More laughter.
"She barely talks. I wouldn't be surprised if he sends her back quietly next year."
Florida turned to leave — but the carpet shifted under her feet. The soft thud drew their attention.
They turned.
The room fell quiet.
"Well," said one of the women dryly, "she's here."
Liza offered a gentle smile. "Oh no, don't worry. She's not eavesdropping. Just… lost."
The older man in the corner chuckled. "It's easy to get lost when you don't belong."
Florida bowed her head. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just looking for—"
"Looking for what?" another woman cut in. "The servants' kitchen is down the other wing."
Florida stood still. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. Her face remained calm, but her shoulders tightened.
"She's not very expressive, is she?" Liza said softly. "I suppose that makes it easier."
That was when the door opened.
Bryant walked in, dressed in black, a glass of whiskey in hand.
The air shifted instantly.
He looked from Florida to the room, slowly taking in the faces.
His expression didn't change, but his gaze sharpened.
Then, without pause, he walked straight to Florida and slipped an arm around her waist.
"My wife couldn't sleep without me," he said lightly, voice smooth.
There was a pause.
Someone forced a laugh.
Bryant looked down at her and leaned in.
"Smile," he murmured.
Florida blinked, then gave a small, shaky smile.
He brushed his lips against her cheek, warm and quick, before turning to the room.
"She prefers the rain," he said casually. "It helps her think. Artistic, you know."
Liza's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
Bryant turned toward the door. "We'll leave you to your… discussion."
He guided Florida out of the room with a light hand at her back.
Once in the hallway, his touch dropped.
He didn't look at her.
"Next time, don't wander into places you don't belong," he said quietly.
Florida nodded, her eyes lowered.
She whispered, "Yes."
He walked off without waiting.
Florida stood alone in the hall, the soft thunder of rain behind her, her cheek still warm from a kiss that wasn't real.
In front of them, he touched her. Behind the walls, he erased her.
End of Chapter 8