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Chapter 7: Glass Walls
The sound of her heels echoed faintly as Florida walked down the hall.
Dinner was over. The doors had closed. The performance was done.
Now came the silence.
She reached the bedroom door slowly. Her hand paused on the handle.
It still didn't feel like hers.
Inside, the room was dim and quiet. Her sketchbook sat under the pillow, untouched.
She removed her shoes and folded her dress carefully. The quiet was heavy.
Then—voices.
She heard them through the wall.
Soft. Distant. Muffled.
She stepped closer.
The wall shared with Bryant's study was thin. She hadn't noticed before.
Now, she could hear his voice — low, sharp. And hers.
Liza.
She leaned slightly closer.
"You can't keep pretending forever," Liza said, her tone tight.
"We had a deal," Bryant replied, flatly.
"And what about us?" she snapped. "Do I just sit and watch you feed her strawberries now?"
"Lower your voice."
Florida blinked.
Something inside her twisted. Not jealousy — just a quiet, familiar ache.
She pressed her hand against the cold wall.
Liza's voice came again.
"She looks like a pet project," she said. "Small. Scared. You like her like that?"
A pause.
Then Bryant's voice.
"She's irrelevant. Just part of the contract."
Another pause.
"I only touch her when someone's watching."
Florida slowly pulled her hand back from the wall.
The air in her room felt thinner now.
She sat on the bed quietly, her fingers curling into the blanket. She didn't cry.
She didn't even flinch.
She just stared at the wall.
> "A contract."
"Irrelevant."
She repeated the words silently in her head.
Then she lay down slowly, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Through glass walls, everyone had seen a perfect couple tonight.
But inside, she knew.
This wasn't love.
This wasn't marriage.
This was a cage.
And she was invisible inside it.
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End of Chapter 7
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