Michael parked his Jeep in the lot, silently watched by Kanye, his driver. Without a word, he got out, leaving Kanye behind to take the smaller Toyota and drive off. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Michael made his way through the luminous hallway and into Susanne’s room.

Meanwhile, Grace was rinsing her hair after a warm shower. The night had been cold and exhausting, and she longed for some relaxation. Dressed in Susanne’s red, silky nightgown, she stood before the mirror, gently applying her face cleanser when she noticed Michael's reflection behind her.

“Come here. I need to talk to you about something important,” he said, his voice low but insistent.

Grace sighed. She was tired, her face still damp from the shower, water dripping down her curls. Her bare, makeup-free face radiated a natural beauty that struck Michael. He paused, taken aback by how different she looked—raw and unadorned, a stark contrast to the polished version he was used to seeing.

“We can talk tomorrow,” she replied softly. “I’m about to sleep.” She brushed past him, trying to avoid his gaze, but stopped a few feet away, wiping a stray drop of water from her face. Michael stood frozen, staring. It was the first time he’d seen her like this—without makeup, jewelry, or even earrings. In that moment, her unfiltered beauty captivated him, and he struggled to gather his thoughts.

As Grace glanced at him, she frowned slightly. Is he seeing something different in me? she wondered, trying to avoid any direct eye contact.

Michael cleared his throat, his hand nervously grazing his jawline.

“Are you okay?” she asked, noticing the dazed look on his face. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. “I wanted to ask if you’d come with me tomorrow to drop Camilla at the airport... just to clear the air.”

Grace frowned, feeling irritation rise. “Is that necessary? Why should I go?” she asked, her tone cool but edged with suspicion.

“I got into an argument with Cryst earlier. Please, don’t ask what it was about,” he mumbled, trying not to stumble over his words. “I just... I need you to call her tonight. Before you go to bed.”

Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “And why should I do that?” she scoffed. “She’s your sister, not mine. I didn’t argue with her.”

Michael’s face tightened. “Just do this for me, okay? And tomorrow... don’t bring up anything about the argument. Please.” His voice dropped lower, almost pleading.

Grace crossed her arms. “The most important thing between a couple is trust. I trust you, Michael, but why don’t you trust me?” she shot back, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t be hanging around with Camilla so much if you did.”

He swallowed hard. “It’s not about that. I trust you.”

“Do you, though?” Grace countered. “Because from where I stand, it doesn’t seem that way.”

Michael sighed, his frustration evident. “Just don’t forget to call Cryst, okay? She needs to feel cared for.”

Grace rolled her eyes toward the chandelier overhead. “Fine. I’ll call her later,” she muttered, already tired of the conversation.

Without another word, Michael turned and left the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, Grace’s frown deepened, the tension between them lingering like a shadow in the room.

Cryst stumbled toward Ore, clutching a pack of Guinness as if it were her last lifeline. “Come on, I found this in the store! Let’s drink it all,” she slurred, her words thick with the weight of alcohol. She staggered to where Ore sat at the table in her restaurant, which was surrounded by books strewn haphazardly across the shelves.

Ore sighed, eyeing her with concern. “No, Cryst. It’s almost midnight. You’ve had enough.” He reached for the can in her hand, but before he could stop her, Cryst ripped open the pack, her hands shaking. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she protested, her voice wavering. She cracked open a can and tipped her head back, pouring the bitter liquid down her throat, defiant. As she swayed unsteadily, Ore stood and grabbed her arm, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall.

Frustration colored his tone as he looked at her. “Why am I even here with you? I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m leaving the minute it’s midnight.”

Cryst’s lips twisted into a smirk, a dark, mysterious curve that mirrored the turmoil inside her. She leaned in, eyes glinting. “Why not stay? What, are you afraid I’ll take advantage of you because I’m drunk?”

Ore recoiled slightly, grimacing at the strong smell of alcohol on her breath. “No, that’s not it."

"I’ve been around drunk people my whole life. My dad used to take me to big clubs when I was a kid. His friends—politicians mostly—would sit around drinking and talking about their problems, their failed businesses and their families. Sometimes they’d laugh, sometimes they’d cry. It was all a mess. Drinking isn’t new to me,” she said, trying to remain calm.

“But I have to drive home tonight. So I’m not drinking with you.”

“Fine, fine,” Cryst muttered, waving her hands in surrender as if it didn’t matter. “Go home, then. Leave me to drown in this depression, alone.”

Ore clenched his jaw, his patience thinning. “Why don’t you find something to actually do with your life, Cryst? You’ve got this restaurant, but you barely spend any time here. Focus. Be determined. Go out with friends or family! Didn’t you say you were going to Miami a few weeks ago? Why didn’t you go?”

Cryst leaned heavily against the bookshelf, the can still clutched in her hand. Her eyes clouded as she whispered bitterly, “Because I was tricked by a witch. An evil witch. She ruined everything.”

Watching her gulp down more alcohol, Ore rushed to her side and yanked the can from her grip. “Enough, Cryst! No more drinking.”

“I’m not drunk,” she insisted, her voice weaker now, though still defiant.

Ore gently grabbed her wrist. “Come on, let me take you home.”

“No, I don’t want to go home.” Cryst pulled away, her body unsteady as she stumbled against a wooden chair. “Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and heavy, and Ore sighed deeply, his concern deepening. “I have never felt so lonely… so rejected… all because of her,” Cryst continued, her voice cracking. “She’s made me feel like an outsider in my own life.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Ore said, wiping a hand over his face. He didn’t want to hear about her family drama, but seeing her like this was heartbreaking. “I’ll get you some water and paracetamol.”

He walked into her office, searching through her drawers until he found a bottle of water and a pack of paracetamol. By the time he returned to the table, Cryst had collapsed, her head resting heavily against it. Her deep, even snores told Ore that she had finally drifted off to sleep.

“Cryst?” he whispered, crouching beside her. “Are you asleep?”

Only her soft snoring replied. Ore let out a long breath, nodding in sympathy. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, noticing how cold her arms felt against his hand. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

Meanwhile, across town, Grace was just getting ready to sleep. She flipped through a beauty magazine, waiting for her hair to dry, but thoughts of Michael nagged at her. The memory of their last argument replayed in her head like a broken record.

“That man,” she muttered to herself. “Why do I have to check on his sister? It’s not like she’s a child.”

Closing the magazine with an irritated sigh, she reached for her phone and dialed Cryst’s number, her fingers tapping impatiently against the bedside table as she waited for the call to connect.

Back at the restaurant, Ore glanced down at Cryst’s phone as it vibrated on the table. The name "Susanne" flashed across the screen. He hesitated for a moment, considering whether to answer, but decided against it. He silenced the phone, letting it buzz quietly next to Cryst’s sleeping form.

On the other end of the line, Grace her eyes as the ringing stopped. “God, Cryst, if you’re not going to answer, fine by me.” She tossed her phone aside and settled into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and muttering under her breath, “You’re on your own.”

As Susanne drifted into sleep, the night deepened, and Ore remained seated beside Cryst, watching over her in the quiet restaurant. His thoughts lingered on her words, the pain behind her sharp edges, and for the first time, he truly saw how broken she was beneath her tough exterior.