I went to the kitchen, told the chef they wanted jasmine tea, and prepared everything myself. I arranged the tray carefully—porcelain cups, polished edges, everything perfect on the outside. Inside, I was barely holding myself together.
When I carried the tray out and set it down, my hand trembled. One cup slipped.
It hit the floor and shattered instantly.
The sound cut through the room.
His mother inhaled sharply, then turned on me with a glare.
“You’ve always been so careless,” she snapped. “Even something this simple—tea—you can’t manage it. Just like your life. Bitter and useless.”
I stared at the broken pieces on the floor, then slowly straightened my back.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Not for the cup. Not for the mistake.
For the version of me that once believed I could be accepted here.
That version died with Gabriel.
They didn’t stay long after that.
Vincenzo’s parents stood up, their expressions tight with disdain. His mother adjusted her gloves with slow precision, like she was wiping off something unpleasant.
“I’ll make sure Vincenzo knows how far you’ve fallen,” she said coldly. “Maybe this time he’ll finally see it. You never belonged here. You never were worth his time.”