C23, PT. 4

As Colette walked out, she heard the chatter of voices and the strains of the live orchestra before the door closed again. She looked at her reflection in the gilded mirror. She was pale as death and now wore Colette’s pink gloss instead of the bold red she sported at the beginning of the night. The curls that once framed her face were now straight and damp. She didn’t have the energy to brush away the wet strands plastered to her cheek. The bright lighting showed hazel eyes dilated with shock. She blinked, trying to wipe away the glassy devastation, but it remained. She eyed her face objectively, a mirror image of her mother. How many of those derisive glances she received from her father’s cronies tonight were because they knew she sold her body as payment to Roth and were sure they would get a turn?

There was a hesitant knock on the door. “Is everything okay in there? Can I come in?”

She swallowed before she called, “Yes.”

The door swung open. A woman she hadn’t met gave her a puzzled look. “They said somebody was ill in here?”

She bared her teeth in what she hoped was an acceptable smile. “Everything’s fine.”

As the woman nodded and headed to a stall, she took one last look at her wan reflection before she headed for the door. This was no time to cry or break down. Later. When she was alone in a dark room, she would lament the why’s of her life, but not now. She’d caused enough gossip for one night. If Roth heard rumors that she was pregnant on top of everything else, there would be hell to pay. Would he think she started it so he’d feel pressured to stay married to her?

 The women who had been standing at the vanity when she entered the bathroom in spectacular fashion were sitting on a nearby bench, clearly waiting for her to emerge. They fell silent when she appeared. She didn’t spare them a glance as she swept past. The effort it took to hold her head up and take one step and then another, was excruciating. She looked down to see if there was a knife sticking out of her gut, but it was just her imagination.

When she reached the ballroom, she searched for Roth. It didn’t take long since he was one of the tallest men in the room. She started in his direction, moving unsteadily through the crowd. Her surroundings had a hazy, dreamlike quality to them. She wasn’t aware of the music or if anyone called her name. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of crashing waves in her mind.

The crowd parted, giving her a direct path to Roth. Even in the midst of her turmoil, she noticed the woman at his side was standing a little too close. They weren’t touching, but their proximity suggested they were familiar with one another. Were they? It would be in her favor if someone captured his attention. As Warren pointed out, there were countless beauties for him to choose from, especially in this crowd. There would always be women hanging on the arms of the rich and powerful, batting their eyelashes in the hopes that they could entice and trap… Women like her mother.

The broad with her low cut dress, too perfect pout, and ample cleavage on display touched Roth’s arm. He glanced at her. She mouthed something, forcing him to lean down to hear her. He shook his head before he straightened and looked back at the man with the handlebar mustache. The woman tried to play off her embarrassment that Roth hadn’t bothered to engage further. Jasmine would have been happy to explain that when it came to business, there was no competition.

What better revenge is there than dressing the woman who ruined you like a slut, using her father’s reputation to establish yourself, and casting her aside once you’ve squeezed everything you can out of her? Even I can appreciate the poetic justice in that.

Roth admitted that he wanted to use her connections and knowledge of society for his benefit, but he didn’t bring her here to publicly shame her, did he? Had he requested a revealing dress to draw as many eyes to them as possible to capitalize not just on their history, but her mother’s infamous one as well? Was he setting her up for another scandal that he could use to his advantage later? Punishing her had been his initial goal when he remarried her. He said he changed his mind, but… Had he?

All emotion leeched out of her, leaving her so empty that savage hunger pangs knocked around in her stomach. She felt as if she had been drenched in cold muck. She took a step back and bumped into someone. She heard a man mutter something and said a dull, “Sorry,” but didn’t bother to see who it was.

She should leave. She couldn’t perform when her identity had been stripped to its core. She was just a means to an end for him that he didn’t want to get attached to. That’s why he killed what was burgeoning between them and reverted back to a cold, detached bastard.

He cared for her on some level. A man who talked her out of her panic attack and stepped between her and Cecil wasn’t the heartless monster Warren admired. But he intervened for his own interests. He threatened Cecil because he was interfering with Hennessy & Co, therefore affecting Roth’s other businesses. As for her… His comeback wouldn’t be complete without her at his side, so he took the time to calm her so she would play her part to the best of her ability. The affectionate act he put on throughout the evening would disappear the moment the show was over.

Her eyes filled with tears. She was so far gone that one actually trickled down her cheek. Her life was a lie. Fake marriage, fake husband. Absent, resentful father who never wanted her and tried to get rid of her. Despite Maximus’ feelings toward Elena, he gave her a similar upbringing to her sisters, only to have her cause so much public discourse years later. If Maximus refused to provide for Elena, would her mother have aborted her? Had no one ever wanted her for herself?

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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