Chapter 6: I Write My Story Myself
"Excuse me, I want to use the restroom," Frances said softly, standing from her seat at the long dining table.
Before she could take a step, Raymond raised a hand. His voice came low and steady. "Wait. Let my sister help you."
It wasn't a request.
Frances paused, her legs trembling slightly beneath her. She stayed rooted, not because she couldn't move, but because she feared what might happen if she did. She didn't know much about Raymond, but she had seen enough to understand one thing—he was dangerous. That night, when he ordered his men to shoot without hesitation… the image still haunted her every time she looked into his eyes.
"You're still too weak," he added without looking up. "Paris will assist you."
Paris stood gracefully. "Come, I'll walk with you," she said kindly.
Frances followed, her steps slow. Paris supported her gently, her touch warm and sisterly.
"My brother's been worried since yesterday," Paris said as they reached the restroom. "He said you fainted, and your body felt fragile. He even wanted to call a doctor, but I thought you might panic if you woke up in a strange place. I told him to let you rest."
She smiled warmly. Frances nodded in silence.
As they walked back to the dining room, Paris continued, "The ox bone soup was made especially for you. Try to drink more—it's good for strength. Helps the bones."
There was genuine care in her voice. And Frances could see it—these siblings weren't cold-hearted. They were showing her kindness. But even with all that, she could never forget the world she came from.
She could never forget her vow.
"This doesn't change anything," she told herself. "It won't make me forgive. It won't stop me from seeking revenge."
---
Meanwhile, in a high-end boutique...
"I want your latest designs. The most expensive dress you have. My husband is paying—so don't waste time," Charlotte snapped, lounging like royalty in a plush velvet seat.
"Yes, ma'am!" the workers chorused, rushing in different directions to find the perfect wedding dress for their demanding client.
Behind her, a makeup artist stood quietly, brushing and pinning Charlotte's hair into place. Earlier, the girl had advised her to wait until the dress was chosen before doing makeup, but Charlotte had insisted.
"If I have to dress up five times today, you'll do it five times. That's what I'm paying you for," she said coldly.
Moments later, the boutique's glass doors opened. Two women stepped in—Gladys and Messy.
Charlotte had invited them.
They were no friends of Frances. That made them useful.
"Oh, you're here," Charlotte said, smirking. "Did you enjoy the ride? My husband arranged everything. Don't worry, he's in control."
Gladys, already awed by the luxury surrounding her, smiled. "We did! This place is beautiful. I can't wait to have my own wedding someday."
Charlotte gave her a long, amused glance. "You think you'll afford this? Even in the future?" she sneered. "Stop dreaming. Maybe I'll help you—if I feel generous."
Gladys lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
Messy, however, clenched her fists. She wanted to respond but Gladys quickly gave her a warning look. They exchanged a silent glance—one that said, not now.
After nearly an hour, a team of workers returned with a gown fit for a queen. It was a shimmering white off-shoulder dress, slit at the side, with delicate silver petals cascading from the bodice to the hem.
The two women gasped in admiration.
"Broe really loves you," Gladys said with a forced smile. "This dress is everything."
But beneath their praise, jealousy simmered.
---
Later that evening...
Paris had left quietly, sensing her brother needed time alone with Frances. It was rare to see him even slightly interested in anyone. She didn't want to interrupt something… that might be special.
Raymond sat in his study, pretending to focus on his laptop. But his mind kept returning to the girl resting upstairs.
When Frances woke and asked for him, Butler French pointed her to the study.
She stood in front of the door for a moment, then knocked lightly.
"Knock, knock… it's me. Can I come in?"
"Come in," Raymond's voice responded flatly from inside.
Frances stepped in, her movements reserved, graceful. "I just wanted to say thank you… for everything. For saving me. I really appreciate it."
Raymond didn't look up. "Okay. Is that all?"
Her fingers curled around the edge of her dress. "Yes… and, I wanted to let you know—I'll be leaving today."
Silence.
A long one.
Something shifted in Raymond's expression, though he still didn't lift his eyes from the screen. It felt like something inside him dropped. A crack in the surface.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "Frances Lin."
"Okay. You can leave," he said, his tone unreadable.
Frances stood there, stunned. Was that it?
No question about what happened? Where she was going? What she needed?
He just let her go?
Anger bubbled quietly inside her—not because he stopped her—but because he didn't seem to care.
What kind of man is this?
What kind of person saves someone and then walks away like it meant nothing?
He was a mystery. Cold. Distant. And yet… there was something else beneath it all.
She couldn't name it yet.
But it was there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Just like her story—unfinished, but burning quietly.