Kara wiped her tears, stood up from the floor, and took a deep breath. Her reflection still stared back at her—exhausted, volatile, but trying. Always trying.
But trying didn't ease the fire burning in her chest.
She needed to let it out.
Another drama at home would only bring more shame to her father. Alden had already done enough—protecting her, shielding her from the consequences of her actions, hiring new help to create a fresh start for her. She couldn't bring another scandal into the house. Not now.
So, she made a decision.
Kara grabbed her phone and dialed quickly.
"Hey," she said, her voice suddenly light, even charming. "Drinks at the club tonight. My treat."
Her friends—those who still answered her calls—were quick to accept. Drama or not, no one turned down an invitation to Kara's club. Exclusive. Lavish. Her personal escape, filled with intoxicating music, dim lights, and no consequences.
Two hours later, she stepped into the private lounge of the club like a queen returning to her court. The loud bass thudded in the background, and the scent of expensive perfume and liquor hung in the air like a veil.
Her friends were already there—dressed to impress, laughing too loudly, drinking too much. They greeted her with playful cheers and empty compliments.
"Kara! We thought you'd bail!"
"I wouldn't miss my own party," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
She signaled the bartender for top-shelf tequila, vodka, everything. If she couldn't silence her pain, she could at least drown it.
As the drinks flowed and the music pulsed, Kara laughed—too loud, too forced. Her friends buzzed around her, some genuinely happy to be there, others just feeding off her name and wealth.
But behind her laughter was an edge. Every sip numbed her thoughts, dulled the sting of betrayal, quieted the voice that told her she was spiraling.
She watched them all through half-lidded eyes—smiling, gossiping, dancing. None of them really cared about her. Not the girl who screamed into pillows. Not the girl who missed her mother. Not the girl who was barely holding on.
The private lounge pulsed around them—neon reflections dancing off crystal glassware, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floor. Kara sat on her velvet banquette, laughter still on her lips, as a young server approached, balancing a silver tray of ice-cold cocktails.
"Here you go, Miss Kara—another round," the waiter said softly, her hand steady but her eyes downcast.
At Kara's table, the mood shifted. Maya snatched a glass from the tray and held it aloft. "Ooh, look at you in your fancy uniform—aren't you just adorable?" she cooed, voice dripping with false sweetness.
Before the girl could replace the tray, Sasha leaned forward. "Let's see what's underneath, sweetheart. Bet you've got secrets to hide." She circled the young woman like a shark, eyes gleaming in the club lights.
The waiter's breath caught. "I—I should go," she whispered, turning to retreat.
"Not so fast," Tasha chimed in. "We're celebrating, honey. And you're our entertainment." She tugged at the hem of the girl's blouse. "Come on, show Kara—and us—how grateful you are."
The tray clattered to the floor as the waiter backed away, panic flickering across her face. Tears pricked her eyelids, but she forced them down. She tried to cover herself with trembling hands. "Please—this isn't necessary," she stammered.
Kara's laughter caught in her throat. She sat frozen, watching her friends jeer:"Strip! We want to see you let loose!""Don't be shy—we pay your wages tonight!"
The waiter's cheeks burned bright red. Music and revelers blurred around her. Hands shook as she reached for her buttons, desperation in every movement. Then she stopped—frozen at the edge of total humiliation.
Something inside Kara cracked. The heat of her anger—the one she had chased away with drinks—flared anew, directed now at her friends, at herself. She stood abruptly, glass tumbling from her hand, the liquid splashing across her own shoes.
"Enough!" Kara's voice cut through the cacophony. It was low, icy—commanding attention.
Maya recoiled. "What—Kara, we're just having fun—"
"No," Kara said, stepping between her friends and the trembling waiter. "This stops. Now." Her heart pounded, shame and rage colliding in her chest. "Leave her alone."
The girls stared, stunned into silence. The waiter's eyes met Kara's—wide, terrified, pleading.
Kara knelt slowly beside her, voice gentler. "I'm so sorry," she said, her own tears finally breaking free. "This was my fault. I invited them—and I should have stopped them."
The young woman's shoulders shook as she finally let the tears fall. Kara reached out, gathering the tray and the fallen drinks. "I'll get you a cab," she whispered. "And I'll cover your shift tonight. You won't have to come back here."
At the edge of the lounge, Alden's face loomed in Kara's mind—his faith in her, Malcolm's words, Ethan's promise. Every promise she'd made to change pressed on her with unbearable weight.
She stood, extending a trembling hand to the waiter. "Come on," she murmured. "Let me help you up."
Kara's hand hovered over the young woman's arm—an offering of support—but in that instant she recoiled. Instead of helping her up, Kara's grip tightened and with a sharp shove she sent the girl crashing to the floor. Glass and ice scattered around them.
The waiter's face hit the marble with a dull smack. She curled inward, tears and fear washing over her as she tried to scramble away. Kara stood over her, panting, chest heaving.
"Don't you dare look at me like that," Kara hissed, voice low but fierce. "I don't want your thanks. I don't want your pity."
The other girls froze, guilt and shock in their eyes. They whispered apologies, but Kara barely registered them. Everything in her screamed: I am not a charity case!
Her gaze darkened as she looked past the trembling server to the glittering bar beyond—at her own reflection in the polished chrome, at the memory of Alden's gentle eyes when he had first taken them in as children. She hated how his kindness made her feel small, indebted. That look of pity that she was powerless to escape.
A fierce, scorching fury rose in her chest, hotter than any alcohol. She took a step back, drawing herself tall.
"Leave," she ordered, voice trembling with contempt. "All of you, get out of my sight."
Her so-called friends recoiled, glancing at each other as though suddenly realizing the monster they'd cheered on. They slipped away, murmuring half-hearted farewells.
Kara didn't help the waiter up. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched out of the private lounge, her heels clicking a harsh rhythm across the floor. Behind her, the young woman lay crumpled, cradling her cheek, confusion and hurt mingled with relief that the ordeal was over.
Outside, the cool night air hit Kara like a slap. She inhaled sharply, trying to quell the storm inside. Pain, shame, and rage churned together.