Chapter 33 Premium Period Embarrassment
Serena
I was so caught up in misery and regret that it took me by shock when Mrs Hale stormed into my room and with a stern tone, demanded that I go into the bathroom to shower.
“Why? It's not even evening yet.”
She opened the door wider to reveal five ladies all clutching fancy bags.
“Today is Mr Rivers’ birthday.” She said simply, stepping inside the room and sniffing loudly.
“I'm sure they won't notice my absence if I don't show up.” I groaned, turning over to bury my face in my pillow.
The next thing I knew, two pairs of hands gripped my arms and lifted me clean off the bed like I was a child throwing a tantrum.
“What, put me down! This is harassment!” I screamed, kicking uselessly. How could women who looked this delicate be this strong?
“Keep quiet,” Mrs. Hale hissed. “The guests are already arriving.”
Despite every ounce of fight I had left, they carried me into the bathroom.
Two of the women pinned me gently but firmly in the massive claw-foot tub I'd never used since I arrived, while the third woman turned on the taps.
Warm water cascaded in, scented with something expensive and floral that made my head swim.
I sat still, half in shock, half exhausted, as she washed my hair with the loveliest shampoo I’d ever smelled: jasmine, vanilla, with something darker underneath. Like smoked amber.
Her fingers massaged my scalp in firm, soothing circles. I was starting to feel drowsy from just her hands on my hair.
Another woman sponged my body. She scrubbed every inch thoroughly as if she was trying to wash away my misery. I wished she could.
They dried me off with a thick, heated towel in gentle but efficient movements, like they were polishing something precious and breakable.
Then they led me back to the bedroom, and that was when the full princess treatment kicked into overdrive.
The dress waited on the bed like a living thing.
It was made of pure white satin, and weightless, too. It was almost translucent in the lamplight, flowing like spilled moonlight when they lifted it.
When I slipped it on, the satin clung like cool water, sliding over my curves smoothly.
The fabric was so fine, so unforgivingly thin in places,
The neckline plunged low in front, a daring V that framed my collarbone while the back dipped scandalously low, barely skimming the dimples above my ass.
Was this really a good idea? Me wearing this? I had very little say even in matters relating to the wardrobe. It was a surprise no one was telling me what color of underwear to wear.
I stared at my reflection and nearly broke into tears.
Why was I wearing something this beautiful for a party I didn’t care about?
I was breaking inside, and no one knew. No one cared.
“Serena, we are running out of time,” Mrs. Hale said impatiently.
She sounded… off. Like she was afraid of something or someone.
I couldn’t tell which it was.
She asked me to close my eyes for the makeup. But just before I did, I noticed her hands.
Her pinky fingers were bent at unnatural angles, crooked, scarred, like they’d been broken more than once and never set right.
How hadn't I noticed this earlier?
“Mrs. Hale, what happened?” I gasped.
“Nothing.”
She swept her hand down my face quickly, closing my eyes for me.
“Hold still.”
All through the makeover, I couldn’t stop thinking about those fingers.
Was it a home accident? A fall? Or something darker? Something that happened in this house, under this roof, to someone who’d seen too much?
“You may open your eyes,” she said softly.
Slowly, I did. And fell in love with my own face.
The fierce smoky eyes made me look like a siren who’d crawled out of the deep to drag sailors to their deaths.
“The shoes!” Mrs. Hale whispered urgently to the woman behind her.
She bent behind the bed and retrieved a large black box.
When she lifted the lid, I nearly fainted.
The heels were black patent leather, sky-high stilettos with razor-thin straps that crisscrossed up the ankle. It looked like bondage to me.
The heel itself was a glittering black crystal spike, sharp enough to stab if I fell.
“Serena…” Mrs. Hale warned in a low voice as if she’d read my thoughts.
I swallowed thickly. They held my hands, steadying me as I slipped my feet into them.
The straps bit into my skin. The height forced my calves into tight, elegant lines.
I took one wobbly step, then another.
I looked like I could kill in these. Or maybe kill myself, who knew?
“Let’s go, Serena,” Mrs. Hale said. “Mr. Rivers will blow up the whole house if the high table is not complete.”
“Okay, okay.”
She led me through parts of the house I’d never seen before. I tried to memorize the hidden corridors, the arched doorways and hallways that seemed to go on forever.
Just as I was about to collapse from the heels, we stopped at the back entrance of what looked like a grand hall.
Hundreds of guests milled inside.
Ribbons and balloons floated above tables, every single one printed with Mr. Rivers’ smiling face.
He looked even more sinister with a smile.
Mrs. Hale gave me a gentle push between my shoulder blades.
“Go in,” she said quietly. “Announce yourself.”
Then she turned and left me standing there alone for the wolves to devour.
I took a tentative step forward, my heartbeat increasing with every passing second.
Then I said to myself, ‘Fuck it.’
I shouldn't always be this scared. I could be brave. I could be strong. Just like my father.
So I pretended I was on the red carpet and cat-walked inside the hall.
The chattering died down immediately. I didn’t understand why at first.
I held my head high and kept walking until I found a shadowed corner near a pillar where I could stand without being the absolute center of attention.
It was too late, anyway. Every pair of eyes had already locked on me.
They stared at me with irritated, baffled, expressions. Some were openly disgusted, like I’d tracked mud across the floor.
I refused to look for the Rivers family. What I didn’t see couldn’t hurt me.
A male server glided past with a tray of champagne flutes.
I took one, my fingers steady even though my pulse wasn’t, and sipped slowly, forcing myself to look bored instead of terrified.
“Such a shame,” the woman beside me murmured to her partner. “Even with the stain she’s still downing all that sugar. Everyone knows to avoid sugar on their period.”
Her partner snorted. “Don’t you see her size? She’s probably too addicted to even take a break during her period. It's so disgusting. How does Mrs Rivers cope with this filthy behaviour?”
I choked on my last sip, champagne burning up my nose.
I turned my neck slowly, trying not to draw more attention, and glanced over my shoulder at the back of the dress.
A small, wet patch of red glared back at me.
It was bright and obvious.
Fuck. My period. It had come early, like a nosy uninvited guest, soaking through the white satin in a perfect scarlet bloom right across my lower back and ass.
Because the dress molded to my figure, I'd stained myself even without sitting.
The room hadn’t frozen because of the dress.
They’d frozen because I was bleeding through it.
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