Chapter 5 This Wasn't The Man I Ones Knew

Alice POV

The next morning, I woke up with a weight in my chest that words couldn't describe. My body still carried the ghost of last night-the cold press of Vincent's hands, the burning humiliation of his attempt to force me, the hollow sting when he walked away as if my rejection meant nothing.

I lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. My fingers trembled slightly as I traced the flatness there, whispering softly, almost to myself, "Everything will be okay. For you, my little one, everything will be okay."

I had no idea if I believed it. But the words gave me strength.

Dragging myself up, I padded towards the door, rubbing the sleep from my swollen eyes. I was halfway to the kitchen when I nearly collided with Vincent in the hallway.

For a second, my heart lurched.

He was there, tall as ever, his presence sharp enough to cut through my fragile calm. He smelled faintly of his cologne, though fainter than usual, as if he hadn't bothered refreshing it. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his eyes bloodshot, but his expression... blank.

He didn't even pause. Didn't glance at me. Didn't acknowledge me. He just walked past, brushing my shoulder slightly, like I was air.

Something inside me twisted.

I pressed my lips together and forced myself to keep walking, ignoring the ache in my chest. Fine. If he wanted to pretend I didn't exist, then I'd do the same.

In the kitchen, I busied myself with breakfast. My hands moved mechanically, cracking eggs into the pan, stirring, flipping, plating. The sizzle of the pan filled the silence. I thought cooking would distract me, but instead, every stir of the spoon reminded me of the emptiness of the house.

The shrill ring of my phone jolted me.

I reached for it quickly, glancing at the screen. Morgan.

I exhaled in relief, answering immediately. "Hello?"

"Cinnamon!" Her voice was as lively as ever, carrying her signature mix of affection and mischief. "Finally! I thought you'd gone back into hiding. Why did you leave so early last night?"

I hesitated, forcing a laugh. "I was tired. I... couldn't stay till the end."

There was silence on the other end for a beat, then Morgan's voice dropped into a suspicious tone. "Hmm. That's strange. Because my cousin hasn't stopped talking about you since last night."

I choked on my sip of coffee, coughing violently. "What?"

"Oh, don't act innocent with me," she teased, amusement dripping from her words. "Adrian asked me for your number. I told him no, but then he... well, he bribed me."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Morgan..."

She giggled. "Hey, don't get mad at me! Do you know what he offered? The latest sports car on track. Do you know how much that costs? Of course I gave in."

"Morgan, you're twenty-four, not eighteen. How can you still be bribed with a car?"

"Forever young, baby!" she sang dramatically, her voice breaking into an awful, exaggerated note. "I wanna be forever young..."

I burst out laughing despite myself. "You sound like a dying frog."

"Correction: a princess frog." She giggled.

"You're hopeless," I chuckled, shaking my head.

Her laughter softened. "But seriously, Cinnamon... are you okay? You didn't look too good last night."

For a moment, her concern almost broke me. Almost made me confess everything-about Vincent, about the contract, about the life I was trapped in. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile she couldn't see.

"I'm fine. Really."

"Hmm. If you say so." She didn't sound convinced, but she let it slide. "Anyway, Adrian said-"

"Morgan, don't start," I warned, cutting her off.

She laughed again, loud and free, and I found myself smiling despite the heaviness in my chest. That was the thing about Morgan-she could make even the darkest days feel a little brighter.

We talked a little longer before hanging up. I carried my breakfast to the table, settling down to eat in silence.

But when I entered the living room, I froze.

Vincent was there, lounging on the sofa, dressed casually in a gray shirt and black pants. His legs were crossed, one arm draped lazily along the backrest. His beard had grown in, giving him a rugged edge, but it only reminded me that he hadn't cared enough to shave.

His gaze flicked briefly to me before dropping back to his phone.

I clenched my jaw, determined not to let him see how much his indifference cut me.

I sat down at the far end of the couch, balancing my plate on my knees. I hadn't even taken a bite when his voice finally broke the silence.

"I heard you plan to start working with JB Company."

The fork slipped slightly from my fingers, clinking against the plate. My heart skipped. JB Company. Adrian's company.

How did he know?

I set the plate down carefully, masking my panic. "And why do you care?" I asked, my tone clipped.

He didn't even look at me. "I don't. I only care about the Markson family name."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Of course. That's all that matters to you."

"Don't go out there disgracing it," he said coldly.

I snapped my head up, eyes blazing. "Disgracing it? Don't worry. No one even knows I'm the young mistress of your precious family. You should be worried about Lillian, not me."

At her name, his expression darkened instantly. His jaw clenched, his hand curling into a fist on the armrest. His eyes shot to mine, sharp and dangerous.

"You don't have the right to mention her name," he warned, his voice low, controlled, deadly.

My lips trembled, but I forced the words out anyway. "You're right. I don't have any rights, do I? My only regret is ever signing that marriage contract with you."

The air between us crackled with tension.

His eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl. "You aren't worth Lillian. So know your place. If not, our marriage won't be the only thing you regret."

Then he stood abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket, and strode out of the room.

The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving me sitting there, trembling, choking back sobs.

He always had the last word. Always.

I crouched down, burying my face in my hands, tears spilling freely down my cheeks. My fingers dug into my clothes, clutching tightly as if that would hold me together.

This wasn't the Vincent I knew two years ago.

This man... was a stranger.