As Evelyn stared at the mirror, the girl staring back wasn't Evelyn Carter.
Not the one the world knew.
Not the obedient daughter.
Not the broken bride.
This woman had blood in her teeth and fire behind her eyes.
But even fire needs air.
She collapsed to her knees in the middle of the room, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the weight she had refused to show. Her lips pressed tight, holding back the sobs.
For twenty-five years, she had tried to earn their love.
For twenty-five years, she had hoped that if she worked hard enough, smiled politely enough, played perfect long enough, she would finally be enough.
And today, she found out she never was.
Eleanor entered quietly, standing in the doorway without speaking.
Evelyn didn't look up. She couldn't.
Eleanor walked over, knelt beside her, and wrapped her arms around her tightly.
Only then did Evelyn allow herself to fall apart.
Evelyn's chest felt tight, her breath coming shallow as she climbed the familiar staircase. Her body moved like a ghost, skin still humming from the slap of betrayal, from the chaos she'd just walked through—Daniel and Liliana tangled in the most vile kind of intimacy, and her father's cold confirmation that he had known all along.
But this... this was the one place she still hoped.
She stopped outside the grand bedroom door, the one with the frosted glass that diffused the golden light inside like a dream she could never quite touch. Her mother's sanctuary. The place where no one raised their voice, no one dared disturb the calm.
Evelyn raised a trembling hand and knocked.
Silence.
She opened the door anyway.
Genevieve sat at her vanity, dressed immaculately in a pale blue silk gown, the pearls at her neck perfectly aligned, not a strand of her ash-blonde hair out of place. Her spine was rigid, her posture that of royalty, and her hands were folded calmly in her lap.
She didn't turn around.
"Mother," Evelyn's voice cracked.
Genevieve met her eyes in the mirror, calm and unreadable.
"I need to talk to you," Evelyn said, stepping into the room. The door closed behind her with a click that sounded like the end of something.
Genevieve said nothing.
Evelyn's voice rose, more raw than she wanted it to be. "Did you know?"
Her mother blinked slowly. "Know what?"
"That Daniel and Liliana were..." Her throat tightened. "That they were sleeping together. That everyone knew. That I was the only one being made a fool of in my own wedding dress."
Genevieve inhaled, her expression barely changing. "Evelyn. This is not the time for dramatics."
A laugh escaped Evelyn, sharp and bitter. "Dramatics? You think this is about theatrics? I walked in on my fiancé—your soon-to-be son-in-law—in bed with my sister. Thirty minutes before the ceremony."
Her mother's eyes flicked back to her reflection in the mirror. "It's over now. You handled it... publicly. You made your point."
Evelyn stepped closer, the grief rising in her chest like a tidal wave. "I was humiliated. Betrayed. And no one—no one—stood up for me. Not Dad. Not Liliana. Not even you."
Genevieve finally turned around, her expression still composed, but something flickered in her eyes—discomfort, maybe. Or annoyance.
"You're a Carter," she said softly. "You were raised to be strong. Not to grovel."
"I'm not groveling," Evelyn said through gritted teeth. "I'm begging. Just once. For you to look at me like your daughter and not your failure."
Genevieve stood, folding her arms. "You want sympathy? Is that it?"
Evelyn's lip trembled. "I want my mother."
The room hung in silence.
Genevieve's mouth pressed into a tight line, and for a moment, Evelyn thought she might reach out. That maybe the mask would crack, and the woman who used to hum lullabies to her as a child would emerge from the frost.
But then her mother looked past her—toward the window, toward the garden—and said nothing.
"Say something," Evelyn whispered, voice hoarse. "Tell me I didn't deserve this. Tell me Liliana was wrong. That Daniel is trash. That I'm not crazy."
Her mother's gaze never moved.
Tears blurred Evelyn's vision, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of Genevieve. "You're just going to stand there?" she said. "After everything? You're just going to pretend none of it matters?"
Genevieve's jaw tightened. "Of course it matters. But how you respond is what defines you, Evelyn. Not this... emotional display."
"Is that what you think this is?" Evelyn choked out. "A display?"
Her mother turned her back to her again, smoothing a crease in her dress. "You were always too emotional. You let your heart lead. That was never going to work in this world."
Evelyn felt her heart shatter cleanly, as though her mother had reached in and snapped it in half with calm precision. "So this is my fault."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Genevieve looked over her shoulder, her face like marble. "Sometimes strength means accepting the silence. Not asking for comfort where there is none to give."
Evelyn stared at her, a painful laugh bubbling up. "God. No wonder Dad turned away so easily. You trained yourself to be numb, and you trained me to be silent."
Genevieve's voice was low and clipped. "You've said enough."
"No," Evelyn stepped forward. "Not yet. I spent my whole life trying to earn your approval. I skipped parties to study, I aced every exam, I stayed polite when Liliana stole from me and lied about me. I smiled through it all—just hoping maybe one day you'd actually see me."
Genevieve's knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the vanity.
"But you never did," Evelyn continued. "Not really. You looked right through me, like I was some obligation. A piece of porcelain to dress up for parties and tuck away when the lights went out."
Genevieve didn't turn.