Epiphany

Chapter 56 : The Weight of Regret

Author's P.O.V.

The hallway is dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of the wall sconces. It's well past midnight, the mansion tucked into a heavy slumber. But not everyone is asleep.

(Sconces means small light fixtures that are mounted to walls)

(A/n: I heard this word recently so I thought to use this word in the chapter 😂)

Meloni stumbles her way down the corridor, barefoot, her heels long abandoned somewhere between the living room and the stairs. A half-empty bottle of something expensive dangles from her fingers, swaying with every unbalanced step she takes.

Her eyes are red, her lipstick slightly smudged, hair disheveled, and lips curved into a half-evil, half-dazed smile.

“Mmh... rich brats... acting like they own everything...” she mutters under her breath, slurring with every word, “She... she thinks she’s some queen now... Olivia freakin’ Hernandez... with her stupid legs and her stupid pout... tch...”

She nearly walks straight into a vase but manages to swerve, giggling to herself like it’s all some cosmic joke.

As she passes by a partially open door, her drunken haze pauses. Her bleary eyes squint, trying to make sense of the figure inside. Olivia.

She’s half out of bed, reaching for a bottle of water on the side table, clearly struggling. Her legs remain limp on the bed, and her entire weight balances dangerously on her arms.

Meloni watches her with narrowed, glassy eyes.

The scene replays in her foggy mind — Olivia talking back earlier, everyone siding with her, praising her, protecting her. How dare she?

A petty, drunken spite takes root.

“L-look at the princess now... crawling like a worm,” she chuckles to herself under her breath, “Think you’re better than me, huh? Lemme help you, princess...”

And then, with the bottle still in hand and a dangerous smirk on her lips, Meloni tiptoes into the room, quiet as a shadow despite her drunkenness.

She raises her hand dramatically and with a harsh grunt, shoves Olivia from behind.

A terrified yelp echoes through the room.

Olivia’s body jolts forward, her hands slipping off the sheets, weightless and helpless as she plummets from the edge of the bed.

But she doesn’t hit the ground.

Strong arms wrap around her mid-fall—muscular, warm, grounding. The scent that fills her senses is familiar, like cedarwood. Her body trembles as she clutches onto the chest she’s cradled against, her eyes clenched shut, breath shallow.

She can’t speak. She’s too shaken.

Meloni squints toward them, frowning as the silhouette stands straight, shielding Olivia.