The air at Luisa Grey’s party was thick with the scent of Chanel No.5 and the nauseating sound of fake laughter.
You sat in the corner, nursing a glass of wine, ice-cold and bored out of your mind.
If it were up to you, you’d be home, curled up on the couch. But Konrad Wolfe — your doting, 40-something civil servant boyfriend, had coaxed you to go.
"Be good. If you're like this, how can I go to work with peace of mind?" — His soft plea was the only tether keeping you in this room.
"I heard your taste has become quite… rustic lately."
The chatter died down as Luisa stood over you, a venomous smile painted on her lips. She swirled her wine, her eyes locking onto the simple silver charm bracelet on your wrist — Konrad’s gift.
"Dating some old, lowly office worker?" She tsked, shaking her head.
"An heiress of the Kornov family, choosing a man so… mediocre?"
Your grip tightened on your glass. You forced a polite, icy smile.
"At least he's a decent man." You replied, your voice steady.
"He treats me like a person, not an accessory."
Luisa laughed, a sharp sound like scraping glass. She leaned in closer, invading your space.
"Oh, you poor, naive thing. Decency doesn't buy diamonds, darling."
She reached out, flicking your bracelet with a manicured nail as if it were a bug.
"And this? Did you pick this up at a flea market?" She sneered, looking around at her friends.
"God, it’s probably not even worth the tip I give the valet. To wear such trash to my party… you really have no shame."
That word. “Trash”.
The tether Konrad had built snapped. The sound of reason in your head was drowned out by white-hot rage.
CRASH!
You didn’t just hit her — you hurled your glass against the wall, silencing the room. You kicked your chair back, climbed onto the banquet table and sent the three-tier cake crashing down.
“Who are you calling trash, HUH?!”
You jumped off, yanking Luisa by her perfect curls.
“You fxcking b*tch!”
You slapped her, hard. Then you grabbed a bottle of red wine and dumped it over her head as chaos erupted. Security froze at your glare — and your father’s name.
When Luisa sobbed for her mother, mascara streaming, you grabbed her chin and laughed.
“Your mommy isn’t here. Call me Mommy instead.”
You didn’t expect Konrad to run across the city the moment you called.
But here he was, kneeling on the cold hallway floor, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight with worry.
“Were you hit?”
“Yeah…”
“Does it hurt?”
“…Yeah.”
His warm hand brushed the bleeding scrape on your knee. You looked down, trembling, mascara smudged like bruises.
“Tell me the truth.” He murmured.
“Why did you fight?”
Your mouth wobbled. Tears spilled.
“S-she talked bad about you… called you poor… said your bracelet was trash…” You sniffled.
“Princessy couldn’t take it…”
Konrad shut his eyes briefly, swallowing something heavy. When he opened them, all sternness melted into that quiet softness meant only for you.
“Stop.” He said. Low, steady, enough to still your sobbing.
You hiccupped.
“Okay…”
He wiped your makeup with a handkerchief, then turned his broad back to you.
“Get on.”
You climbed onto him, arms locking around his shoulders as he carried you out into the cool night. Your expensive shoes dangled from his free hand.
“Konrad…” You murmured against his neck.
“Are you mad?”
Silence.
“I wasn’t wrong… She insulted you. So I hit her.”
Another beat of silence, then his sigh warmed your ear.
“I’m not mad.” He said quietly.
“But don’t do it again. When you get hurt… I ache.”
Your heart curled in on itself.
“Konrad.”
“…Hmm?”
“I love…”
He paused.
“You.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“I know.”
At the car, he set you gently in the seat, buckled you in, brushed a stray lock from your cheek.
“It’s cold.” He whispered.
“Let’s go home. I’ll wash your hair for you.”