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The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing Adelaide behind them.
Monet stood still in the marble hall, her heels anchored to the floor even as the air around her felt like it had been sucked out of the room.
It wasn't just the goodbye that stung—it was the way she said it.
Like it never mattered. Like she never mattered.
Monet clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly to keep the moisture burning behind her eyes from falling. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not for someone who looked through her like she was a stranger wearing the same skin.
The silence of the De Haan estate wrapped around her like a shroud as she turned back into the drawing room, where Camille sat with a glass of wine and a crystal bowl of pomegranate seeds. Always poised. Always waiting.
"Ah," Camille said mildly, not looking up from her phone. "That went better than expected."
Monet didn't answer. She sank into the velvet settee with too much force, the cushions sighing beneath her. Her back was rigid. Her hands shook slightly in her lap.
Camille glanced up, noting it.
"She looked stunning," she said. "I see her mother's trained her well."
Monet's voice cracked when she spoke. "She's not herself."
"She's exactly who she's always been, darling. You're just seeing it clearly now."
Monet laughed once—dry, bitter. "No. That wasn't clarity. That was ice."
Camille leaned back, crossing her ankles. "And what did you expect? You hurt her. You know you did."
"I know," Monet muttered. "But I didn't expect her to come back like that. So... empty. Like it was all just business now."
"She's protecting herself," Camille said evenly. "Just like you do."
Monet looked away.
"I didn't mean to hurt her," she said after a long pause. "But I didn't sleep with that girl to spite her. I was angry. Confused. And Addie—she ghosted me. She walked out and didn't say a word."
"And so you lit a match under what little trust you had left," Camille said, voice cool. "Congratulations."
Monet's eyes narrowed. "Why are you defending her?"
"I'm not," Camille said, swirling her wine. "But I know what it's like to love someone who decides they're done with you before you've even caught your breath."
That shut Monet up.
She looked down at her lap. "I don't know how to fix this."
Camille tilted her head. "Then stop trying to fix it and ask yourself what you actually want."
