Chapter 7

After confirming with a professional restorer that the emerald bracelet could still be salvaged, Minerva finally came back to herself. She was admitted to the hospital for tests and kept under observation for two days. During that time, Yolanda sent her a flood of taunting texts and photos—pictures of Frederick showering her with designer bags, kneeling on the floor to massage her feet, kissing her like he couldn't breathe without her. Minerva didn't respond to a single one. Once discharged, she ran into Algernon and Maxine, who had just returned from a business trip. They brought back armfuls of gifts for Minerva, but flew into a rage the moment they realized Frederick wasn't home. Before they could erupt into a full-on rant, Minerva quickly cut in. She told them she knew where he was and offered to go pick him up. Thus, she made her way to Nightfall Club and found the private room where Frederick was. She was just about to walk in when a voice from inside made her freeze. "Fred, you're not seriously thinking of marrying Yolanda, are you?" Over the murmur of voices and the clink of glasses, Frederick's drawling, indifferent tone cut through. "Of course not. She's just a tool to provoke Minerva. That's all she's ever been. "My heart's always belonged to Minerva. Always has, always will." "Fred, you're seriously loyal. If a girl like Yolanda came onto me like that, I'd have fallen for her in no time. But you've been faking it for this long and still kept your head straight? Mad respect." "Exactly. Minerva's lucky as hell to have a guy like you, Fred. Loyal and devoted, you're one in a million." As the chorus of flattery grew louder, Minerva's hands clenched at her sides. Her fingers dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks. A cold dread crept through Minerva's chest, tight and suffocating. A bitter, almost mocking smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but her eyes were wide with disbelief. For months, Frederick had been using Yolanda to deliberately and methodically provoke Minerva. Just the thought of it seemed absurd in her mind. She couldn't make sense of it. She couldn't understand why he would go to such lengths, staging all of this without any apparent reason. But then his buddies inside handed her the answer she hadn't even been looking for. "Fred's been bending over backward for Minerva, giving her his whole damn heart. So why doesn't she appreciate it? She was talking in a group chat about how she doesn't want to get married and just wants to enjoy life instead. What the hell does that even mean?" "She's just keeping Fred on the hook. Everyone knows Fred's been planning a proposal forever. She's banking on the fact that he'll never walk away, so she's free to do whatever she wants." "If Astrid hadn't leaked Minerva's messages, Fred would still be planning the wedding like a fool. All I'm saying is, if Minerva had half the love Fred has for her, they'd be married by now." Hearing the conversation, Minerva's mind blanked. She thought, "A group chat? Something about me saying I didn't want to get married?" She frantically searched her memory, trying to make sense of it all—only to hear Frederick's cold voice cut through the room, silencing his friends who were still trying to defend him. "Enough. I don't want to hear any more of this. Whatever's between me and Minerva is not for any of you to judge." "Alright, alright. We won't bring up your precious Ms. Sowle again. Let's talk about Yolanda instead. Having a firecracker of a woman around must be exciting, right?" "She's alright. I feel nothing for her," Frederick replied indifferently. His dispassionate tone only made the others laugh harder. "Come on, Fred. You don't have to lie to us. Every time Yolanda touches you, you look like you're about to explode. I bet you've blown through a hundred pairs of pants by now!" "Exactly! And you're still trying to be faithful to Minerva? Love's one thing, and sex is another. She already turned her back on you. So what if you sleep with a few other women?" Frederick's brow furrowed tightly. "When I say I feel nothing, I mean it. You guys should know better than anyone. There's only one person I've ever cared about, and that's Minerva. "Every time I got worked up... it was always because of her. She'd be right there, walking around in those dresses, just being herself." Only then did the room quiet down as realization sank in. Minerva stood frozen outside, her body feeling weightless, as if the floor had disappeared beneath her. Nothing felt real. She suddenly remembered that night at the hotel—how worked up he had gotten. There was also that time in the car when his breathing turned shallow and uneven. She had been there every time. Her mind was still hazy, but her fingers moved on instinct. She scrolled through her phone until she found the group chat with her old college roommates from a month ago. One of them had asked, "What's your ideal age to get married?" "24." "26." Minerva had answered, "30." That one word had triggered a flurry of chaos in the chat. "Wait, what? Didn't Frederick say he'd marry you as soon as you were old enough? Why wait till you're 30? What's he supposed to do in the meantime?" "Oh, please. Let him deal with it. Minerva's gorgeous. She's got guys lining up for her around the block. It's not like she needs Frederick." "Exactly! If you ask me, settling down while young is overrated. We should be enjoying our freedom while we can—flirting, having fun, breaking a few hearts. That's the thrill of life, isn't it?" "Okay, hear me out. Why not just date every guy in your circle who's into you? Go full femme fatale mode. Let them worship you while you forget what mornings even look like." Minerva remembered she had been in the shower while all that nonsense was blowing up. By the time she returned and saw the influx of messages, she had replied with a single line. "My ideal is to get married at 30. But if it's Federick… I'd marry him at 20."