Grace Vale sat stiffly in the back of her father's car, her hands folded in her lap, nails pressing into her palm. The engine hummed, the city lights flashing past the tinted windows.
Beside her, Robert Vale adjusted the cuffs of his expensive suit, his expression unreadable, his voice even colder.
"You understand why you're doing this, don't you?"
Grace's throat felt tight. She knew this was never a question—only a reminder. A warning.
"Yes, Father," she said quietly.
He barely glanced at her. "Then I don't want to hear any complaints. Vivienne Laurent's inner circle is difficult to enter, but if you manage to stay in her good graces, the rest will follow. You will get close to Cassian. You will secure our family's future."
Her hands curled into fists.
Cassian Laurent. The son of the most powerful business tycoon in the country. Arrogant, entitled, and her future husband—if her father had his way.
"You should be grateful." Her father's voice was smooth, cruel. "You think I want to marry you off? You think I enjoy forcing you into a world above your station? You should be thanking me, Grace."
Grace closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling.
This wasn't about her. It was never about her.
This was about power. About control. About her father's endless thirst for something more.
"You'll do what is expected of you," Robert continued. "Because if you don't…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Her mother's fragile face flashed in her mind—too pale, too weak, yet still smiling at her from the hospital bed. The beeping monitors. The quiet suffering.
And the knowledge that her survival depended on Grace obeying.
So Grace didn't argue. She didn't fight.
She sat there, silent, until the car finally slowed in front of the Laurent estate.
The gates opened.
The world she wanted nothing to do with swallowed her whole
The Laurent mansion was a palace, gleaming and untouchable, much like the people inside it.
The moment Grace had walked through the doors, she had been examined, measured, and judged.
The grand chandelier above cast a golden glow across the opulent hall, the soft hum of conversation blending with the delicate chime of crystal glasses. Grace Vale sat stiffly in an ornate chair, her hands folded in her lap, trying to ignore the weight of the gazes on her. This wasn't her world. It never had been, no matter how much her father wished it so.
"Smile, Grace," her father had murmured before pushing her into this pit of vipers. "You need to make them like you. This is the only way."
She had wanted to protest, but she knew better. The ice in her father's eyes left no room for negotiation. His threats were never empty. Her mother's fragile health hung over her like a guillotine, the unspoken understanding that any misstep would bring about ruin.
And so, here she was, suffocating in a designer dress, surrounded by girls who were born in silk and gold, their laughter laced with venom. At the head of the table sat Vivienne Laurent, the heiress of Laurent Enterprises and the self-proclaimed queen of this social circle. She was beautiful in the way a blade was—sharp, dazzling, and capable of inflicting deep wounds without ever staining her hands.
"Grace, you've been awfully quiet," Vivienne purred, her manicured fingers swirling the stem of her wine glass. "I do hope you're not too overwhelmed. It must be difficult adjusting to our… standards."
The others giggled, their gazes flickering toward her like a predator sizing up its prey. Grace fought the urge to clench her fists. She wasn't here to make friends, but she couldn't afford to make enemies either. Not when she had no escape.
"I'm just taking everything in," she replied evenly, forcing a neutral smile.
Vivienne's smirk widened. "Good. You'll learn soon enough. After all, in our world, there's no room for weakness."
The night stretched on, filled with whispered gossip, backhanded compliments, and subtle power plays. Grace was careful, calculated, ensuring she neither stood out nor faded into obscurity. But beneath her composed exterior, a storm raged. These girls were hollow, living in a world where cruelty was currency, and kindness was a flaw.
And she was expected to become one of them.
When Grace returned home that night, her father was waiting in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand. He didn't look up as she entered, his attention focused on the city lights beyond the window.
"Well?"
She swallowed. "It went fine."
"Fine isn't enough, Grace." His voice was calm, but the warning was clear. "Vivienne Laurent is the key. Befriend her, earn her trust. This is bigger than you. You understand that, don't you?"
Her nails dug into her palm. "Yes, Father."
He finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "Good. Because tomorrow, you'll be spending more time with them. Make yourself indispensable."
Indispensable.
The word sat heavily in her chest. How much of herself would she have to carve away to fit into this world?