CHAPTER 41: EXPECTATION VS REALITY

Tracy ran.

Not "walked fast," not "rushed"—she ran, like a woman fleeing a crime scene. Her heels clacked loudly in her hand with every step, her messy curls bouncing, her dress slipping down one shoulder as she sprinted through the hotel corridor.

Her heart hammered.

Oh God. Oh GOD. I slept with him. I actually slept with that pervert!

She shook her head so hard her earrings nearly flew off.

Up ahead, the hallway forked, and she skidded around the corner

Then froze so suddenly she almost fell backwards.

Merida was walking straight toward her.

Merida. Hunter’s mother. The woman who could ruin her entire life with one raised eyebrow, especially if she will learn of what happened last night

"No no no no—" Tracy whispered in a panic.

Before Merida could lift her gaze, Tracy ducked back around the corner and took a sharp left, practically throwing herself into another hallway.

She could feel Merida’s footsteps getting closer.

She could practically hear her stern voice questioning everyone.

Tracy’s lungs burned, but she pushed herself down the staircase, gripping the railing to keep from tumbling face-first.

Okay. Just get out. Just get out of the building. Then figure out how to fake your own death later.

She reached the lobby

And immediately pressed herself behind a column like a cartoon character.

Because there, at the front desk, stood Hunter.

Tracy turned into stone.

He was leaning against the counter, signing something, speaking in his deep voice, dressed like the cover of a magazine. Why did he always look so composed? Why wasn’t he dying of embarrassment like she was?

"What is he doing here? Why is he EVERYWHERE today?, infact why are all the Gray everywhere" she whispered, peeking from behind the pillar.

She slid down and crawled behind the receptionist counter, pressing herself against the cool wall. Her hair stuck to her sweaty face, her legs trembled. Every moment felt like the final round of stealth mode in a video game she was losing.

At the counter, Hunter placed his credit card on the table.

As he waited, his eyes drifted downward—

To a piece of fabric peeking out from under the counter.

A familiar fabric.

A dress he recognized from last night.

Tracy’s dress.

Hunter’s eyelid twitched. His jaw flexed.

He knew.

He definitely knew.

His phone rang.

He answered it, stepping back a few feet. "Yes, Mother?"

Tracy peeked out from the side, saw him turn away, and gathered every ounce of courage she had.

Now or never.

She bolted.

Across the lobby, straight toward the big glass sliding doors. Her hair flew behind her. Sunlight poured in like the gates of heaven.

But Hunter wasn’t fooled.

As he listened to his mother’s voice on the phone, he lifted his eyes, not toward Tracy, but toward the reflection in the glass doors. He watched her sprint like a fugitive.

His voice stayed calm.

"No, I’m not with Tracy right now... And I have no clue where she is."

But his eyes?

His eyes said: Really? You’re running from me? Now im curious of where you were last night

Outside, Tracy waved both arms wildly at the road.

A taxi screeched to a stop, nearly giving her a heart attack.

She dove inside and slammed the door.

"Just go! Go, go, go!"

The driver blinked. "Uh... okay?"

But he pulled away fast, because clearly she was either insane or being chased.

Tracy slumped back into the seat, finally breathing. She let her heels drop to the floor and wiped her sweaty forehead.

Her pulse slowly calmed.

Her panic eased.

Then she remembered.

Slowly, she reached into her purse and pulled out the tiny mirror.

She lifted it to her face.

Messy smeared lipstick, mascara shadowed under her eyes.

She sighed

Then lowered the mirror to her neck.

Her mouth fell open.

Hickeys. Everywhere.

Dark, shameless, bold hickeys splattered across her collarbone and throat like someone had attacked her with a vacuum.

She looked like she had been mauled by a very affectionate vampire, a perverted one to be more precise

"Oh. My. Heels."

She slammed the mirror down, face burning.

Then, very slowly... she raised it again, one eye squeezed shut like maybe, maybe, they would disappear if she didn’t look directly.

She opened one eye.

Nope.

They were still there.

Just as aggressive.

She dragged her hands down her face. "Why did he have to take the damn drug?! Why did I drink anything last night?! Why is my life like this?!"

The memories of last night flashed across her mind:

Timothy’s flushed face.

Her sitting on his lap.

Clothes hitting the floor.

Her saying something stupid like "Fine, then prove it."

She groaned loudly, kicking the back of the seat.

The driver flinched and looked at her through the rearview mirror.

Her hair was wild. Makeup smeared. Hickeys on full display.

She looked like someone who had barely escaped a disaster.

"...Boyfriend trouble?" the driver guessed.

"Something like that, no , quite the opposite " Tracy muttered, sinking low into the seat.

She closed her eyes, wishing the earth would open and swallow her whole.

Because not only did she sleep with Timothy

Hunter already suspected something.

And Merida was looking for her.

And she had no idea what she would tell anyone.

Her problems were only getting started.

Tracy didn’t even remember unlocking her house door. She barely remembered throwing her purse onto the couch or kicking off her heels. All she knew was that she needed the shower now.

She rushed straight to the bathroom, stripping off her dress before she even reached the mirror. She turned the water to its hottest setting and stepped under it, letting the burning spray hit her skin.

She scrubbed.

She scrubbed like she was trying to erase the entire night from existence , the taste of that expensive wine , the feeling of Timothy’s hands on her, the way her own voice sounded when she moaned his name.

Her stomach twisted violently.

"Agh, why did this happen..." she whispered, pressing her forehead to the cool tile.

She stayed under the water until her skin turned red and her knees felt weak. When she got out, her hair dripping, she wrapped herself in a towel and reluctantly faced the mirror.

The steam began to fade.

Her reflection appeared, damp and exhausted.

She tilted her head...

Her eyes widened in horror.

The hickeys were still visible , even darker now that the blood had risen to her skin again. Dark purples, deep reds, small marks, large marks , it looked like someone had been feasting on her neck.

"Oh great. Wonderful. Just fantastic," she whispered sarcastically.

She grabbed her foundation and began dabbing it furiously onto her neck.

One layer.

Two layers.

Three.

Still visible.

She cursed under her breath and grabbed a higher coverage tube, slapping it on desperately.

She leaned closer to the mirror, squinting. "Okay... okay... this one is almost"

The bedroom door suddenly opened.

Tracy froze.

Her heart stopped.

Her mother stepped into the room.

Tracy shot upright so fast she nearly knocked over her makeup bottle and forced an unnatural smile on her face.

"M-Mother!"

Her mother’s gaze swept over her , wet hair, towel half slipping, makeup scattered everywhere. Suspicion flickered in her eyes, but she said nothing about it.

Instead, she crossed her arms.

"I heard you were missing the whole night. Both you and Hunter."

She tilted her head. "I suppose that’s... a good sign. Isn’t it?"

Tracy blinked.

"Hunter... was missing too?" she asked quietly.

Her mother arched a brow. "Of course. Isn’t that why I assumed the two of you were together?" Her voice sharpened. "You were not with him?"

Tracy swallowed hard.

"No! Definitely not!" she answered too quickly. "Hunter was... um... busy. He left without saying anything. He always does that."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

She couldn’t tell her mother she had spent the night locked in a room with Timothy Gray.

Her mother stared at her for a long, heavy moment.

Then her expression hardened.

"So you failed," she said flatly.

Tracy’s breath caught.

"Mother—"

"The drug I gave you." Her mother’s voice dripped with disappointment. "Did you at least use it?"

Tracy froze.

She couldn’t say "Timothy drank it by accident and then I slept with him."

She couldn’t say "Your plan backfired so bad I want to bury myself."

So she said nothing.

Her silence was enough.

Her mother’s lips thinned. "I see."

The tone was cutting. Cold. Final.

"So you failed that too, Tracy. A rare opportunity, handed to you, and you wasted it."

Tracy flinched like she had been slapped.

Her mother stepped closer, inspecting her like she was merchandise on display.

"If you cannot tame a man now, what will you do in a marriage? In a business alliance?" she said sharply.

Tracy looked down, fingers trembling slightly at her sides.

"Mother, I am trying..."

"Then try harder," her mother snapped. "Your looks, your voice, your charm , all the features I gifted you, cultivated for you , you are letting them rot."

She took a deep breath, her eyes cold, a businesswoman first and a mother last.

"Do not forget: your father’s business relies on this marriage. Our reputation relies on you. And here you are, playing around, disappearing with no results."

Her voice lowered to a warning.

"I expect better from my daughter.

If you are truly my daughter, Tracy Meadows."

And with that, she turned and left the room, her heels clicking like a judge delivering a sentence.

The door shut behind her.

The silence that followed felt suffocating.

Tracy stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. Her chest tightened. Her throat burned.

Her mother’s words echoed in her head like a cruel mantra.

Failed.

Wasted.

Try harder.

If you are truly my daughter...

Her vision blurred.

She finally inhaled, but the breath came out shaky and broken.

She slapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob clawing its way up her throat.

"Why..." she whispered, tears finally breaking past her lashes.

"Why is everything going wrong..."

Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor.

All alone in her room, wrapped in a towel and covered in bruises she wished she could erase . Tracy Meadows broke down quietly, her body trembling in the silence her mother left behind.