The phone rang sharply in Alex’s study, breaking the quiet hum of the late afternoon. He picked it up, and Sen’s familiar voice greeted him on the other end.

“Uncle, I wanted to check if April made it back home safely,” Sen said, his tone laced with concern.

Alex furrowed his brow. “She came with you to the cruise, right? Why wouldn’t she be home?”

“Well…” Sen hesitated. “She left early. I tried calling her, but she’s not answering.”

Alex paused, sensing something was off. “Wait a moment, I’ll find out.” He motioned for his butler, who quickly confirmed that April was indeed home.

“She’s here,” Alex said into the phone, though unease still gnawed at him.

“Oh, that’s good then,” Sen replied, though his relief sounded muted. He ended the call after a few pleasantries, but Alex remained seated, his thoughts troubled. Something wasn’t right. He stood and headed to April’s room, his heavy steps echoing through the hallway.

Alex knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He called her name, his voice firm but without anger. Still, silence greeted him. He sighed, assuming she was angry and didn’t want to talk. Deciding to give her space, he resolved to check on her later.

Inside the locked bathroom, April sat on the shower floor, her legs pulled to her chest as water cascaded over her. The broken shards of the mirror lay on the tiles beside her, glinting under the harsh light. She picked up the sharpest piece, its edge glittering dangerously.

A bitter smile crept onto her face as she tightened her grip on the shard. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the jagged edge to the inside of her thigh, her skin breaking beneath the pressure. Blood welled up instantly, dark and vivid against the pallor of her skin, mixing with the rushing water before swirling down the drain.

She didn’t make a sound, her jaw tight and her lips pressed together. The pain, sharp and immediate, was oddly comforting. It drowned out everything else—the suffocating weight of rejection, the ache of unrequited love, the bitterness of being unseen. She made another cut, the glass biting into her flesh like a cruel but familiar friend.

April stared at the two fresh wounds, her vision blurring as her eyes filled with unshed tears. Her breathing slowed, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool tile wall. Her body, drained of energy and emotions, succumbed to a haze, and she drifted into unconsciousness, the shower still pouring over her.

An hour later, April stirred, the cold water jolting her back to reality. Her fingers tingled, her legs stinging as the cuts throbbed in the chilly spray. She dragged herself out of the shower, barely noticing the smears of blood left behind. Wrapping a towel loosely around herself, she walked to her bed and collapsed onto it, her wet hair soaking the pillow beneath her.

That evening, Kelly, worried about her eldest daughter, asked one of the maids to bring April some dinner. Alex disagreed, believing it best to leave April alone to cool off. “She’s not in a good mood,” he argued.

“She still needs to eat,” Kelly insisted, but Alex didn’t budge.

The maid knocked softly on April’s door, her voice tentative. “Miss April, I’ve brought your dinner.”

“Go away!” April yelled hoarsely from inside, her voice muffled by the door. “I’m not hungry.”

The maid hesitated but ultimately retreated, leaving the tray behind.

Inside her room, April sat by the window, her knees pulled to her chest. Her hair clung to her damp skin, and the towel she had wrapped around herself earlier lay discarded on the floor. The events of the day replayed in her mind like a cruel loop. Sen’s words, his calm explanation, his declaration that he only loved her as a friend—they echoed endlessly in her head.

“I’ll always be your friend.”

The phrase twisted like a knife in her chest, her breath catching every time it resurfaced. She stared out at the darkened sky, her expression blank, her body numb.

Hours passed before exhaustion claimed her, pulling her into a restless, dreamless sleep. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of her breathing and the faint whistle of the wind outside, carrying the weight of unspoken pain.