I woke up the next day, my head banging like crazy. Every beat, every pulse felt sharper than the one before, hammering against my skull. I opened my eyes earlier than I normally do, but my body felt too weak to even move. My legs refused to carry me, my arms felt heavy. I stayed lying there on my bed, pressing my forehead into the pillow, trying to remember why I even woke up so early. My mind wandered for a second, blank, foggy, until it hit me—the diary.
My heart jumped. My chest tightened. I had almost forgotten it in the haze of sleep, grief, and confusion. I dashed out of bed, stumbling slightly as my bare feet touched the cold floor. Panic and anticipation battled inside me. Why wasn't I holding it last night? What had happened while I slept?
Then I saw it. Lying there quietly on the dresser. Relief washed over me, hot and sudden. I bent down and picked it up eagerly, pressing it tightly against my chest. "This might be the key," I muttered to myself, voice low, almost shaking. My fingers traced the edges of its leather cover, as if touching it could connect me back to Mark, back to him, back to truth.
I quickly opened it. My eyes scanned the pages, heart racing, hoping, expecting… nothing. Empty. Just a few lines, a few words professing love for me. But they weren't Mark's words. Not his handwriting. Not his style. Someone else had been here. Someone had left this fake diary for me to find. Anger rolled in my stomach, thick and burning. "Someone was here," I muttered, jaw tight, chest tight. But who? Who would dare?
I ran out of my room like a mad person, panic rising in my chest, screaming, "Nanny Berry!" My voice was raw, sharp, filled with fear and rage. I needed someone, anyone, to explain this, to tell me I wasn't losing my mind, to ground me. My hands found Nanny Berry's shoulders. I shook her gently, desperately, anger and confusion steaming from my eyes.
"Calm down, Alexa," she said softly, her hands on mine, steadying me. But before she could finish, Peter ran toward us, urgency etched across his face. "Madam Alexa, you are wanted at the table downstairs," he said, voice sharp but controlled.
I froze. The day hit me suddenly. Today. The day Mark's assets would be distributed. The will. His fortune, everything he had built. My chest tightened with anticipation and nerves. I had completely forgotten in the storm of rage and confusion. My body shivered slightly, my palms moist, but I forced myself to release Nanny Berry's shoulders.
"We'll continue later, Nanny," I said, voice low but firm, trying to steady myself. My mind whirled, heart hammering, chest aching, but I needed to focus. I dashed into my room, slamming the door behind me, and quickly ran into the shower.
The water hit me, hot and fierce, cascading over my shoulders, down my back, and over my face. I sighed heavily, letting the heat soak into me, trying to wash away the fog, the panic, the anger. It didn't make me feel better. It made me sharper, clearer, the clarity cutting through the exhaustion like knives. I pressed my palms against the cold tiles, gripping them as if they could hold me upright. My chest rose and fell rapidly, water mixing with sweat and residual tears. I closed my eyes and let the moment stretch, focusing only on the water, the heat, the sensation of being alive, just alive, still breathing.
The shower ended too soon. I stepped out, skin flushed, muscles trembling slightly, and wrapped myself in a towel. My hair damp, my body still warm, I headed for my wardrobe. I chose the classy black dress Mark had bought me last birthday. Its smooth fabric felt like armor against the world, stiff and elegant, familiar and comforting at the same time.
I stood behind the mirror, hands brushing over the fabric, taking a deep breath. I imagined Mark standing there, sliding a gold necklace around my neck, adjusting it carefully, fingers brushing my collarbone, warm and tender. "There… there," he would say, leaning close, kissing my neck softly, whispering, "You look stunning, darling." The image was so vivid I almost reached out to touch it. But then it disappeared, leaving only me, standing alone in the quiet room.
I opened my eyes, pressed a hand to my lips, and rubbed my red lipstick carefully, straightening the dress, smoothing down the folds. My hair fell straight and sleek, reflecting the pale morning light. I muttered to myself, "Today is a very important day," my voice steady but soft, almost to convince myself. My reflection looked back at me—strong, composed, and ready, even if inside I felt like a storm ready to break.
The diary lay on the dresser, a silent reminder of the danger, of someone who had entered my room, of lies and secrets that were still waiting to be uncovered. My fingers twitched, remembering the pages that were not his, that someone had written. Anger, suspicion, grief—they all mixed together in a heavy, twisting knot in my stomach.
I took one last deep breath, pressing my hands to my chest to steady the rapid beat of my heart. Every sense was alert. Every nerve alive. I felt the weight of the day, the weight of the family, the press, the lawyers, and the hidden eyes of anyone watching me. I imagined all the whispers, all the judgments, all the people waiting for me to stumble, to falter, to show weakness.
I pressed my shoulders back. Chin lifted. My lips curved slightly into a faint, cold smile, the kind that promised calm while fire roared underneath. I imagined Mark beside me again, smiling softly, approving, proud, and then I imagined the anger I held for whoever had touched my diary, whoever had lied to me. It only made me sharper, stronger, more determined.
With one final glance at the mirror, I adjusted the dress one more time, smoothed my hair, and straightened my posture. Red lips, sharp eyes, strong back, ready for the world. Every detail was perfect. Every detail was me.
I could almost hear him whispering in my ear, words I would never hear in real life again, but I felt them in my chest, in my pulse, in the rhythm of my steps.
And then, I catwalked out of my room.