"Don't you know that is my favorite urn, Moreau?" There was no choice. There was a crisis behind the exceptional decision that had been floated as an act of determination. The initial question the woman had felt like a desire to give Moreau a hard-on. That Barbara might have gotten. Vigilance rose on par with the eye contact between them. Moreau knew she had to be careful, but trying to brush off her mother's anger was futile. There was no guarantee that the woman would make the right choice. Moreau could only watch as Barbara suddenly pointed out something. The woman knew all too well how much the object in her hand meant to Moreau. "What do you want to do, Mom?" Moreau asked with a wary tone. Another object in Barbara's hand confirmed something. Scissors. She knew this was going to be the brutal part of the decision to come.
It should not have been a surprise. Barbara's habits were always the same. Giving and convincing everyone of how powerful she was. Moreau almost laughed bitterly at the thought of being too naive to think Barbara had changed a bit. At the woman's request, something that had not even been done yet. However, Barbara deliberately snatched the bracelet from her hand. Something so painful that Moreau winced. Despairing when the woman was unable to wrestle the interlocking chains away, then undoing the clasp was met with the same roughness. One slap was added to make Moreau's face turn away violently. "This is a lesson because you dared to yell at me." Stinging and numbness mixed in the first reaction Moreau could feel. She held her face as she carefully looked at something still left in the woman's hand.
"I apologize for the mess, Miss. You didn't have to do this to protect me. If I get fired, that's probably what I deserve. Not you. It wasn't your things that were taken and damaged." Moreau had never expected Caroline to catch up as soon as the woman had cleared the scattered jars. She didn't look Caroline in the face, but the guilt behind the woman's voice was unmistakable. This wasn't right. The mess started because she was chasing after Troyas. If only Moreau hadn't been enthusiastic enough to take Troyas for a spin. That shocking scene would never have happened. Barbara's urn wouldn't have been giggled at, dropped, broken, messed up, and most importantly, Moreau wouldn't have found her father's gift jacket to be targeted, helpless, and perforated in one spot with a—for her—horrible hole. "It's okay, Caroline. I don't blame you, but can you leave me alone? I don't want to be disturbed."
"Where is your jacket?" That was the second time Abihirt spoke. Moreau's eyebrows knitted together, confused, but her bright blue irises never left the shoulders of the dark suit, waiting for her to do something. At the very least, show him what her father's gift jacket looked like. "You don't want to ruin it again, do you?" asked Moreau, intentionally suspicious. Her level of alertness exploded after she missed an opportunity to prevent Barbara from an unexpected action. No one knew that the man was far more dangerous and, most importantly, tied into a serious relationship with her mother. "No. I don't" One word was spoken firmly. Moreau could not understand it clearly. Which one could she believe, or should she stick to one and hope Abihirt was indeed paying attention? "Why ask for my jacket if there's nothing you're go
"Your habit, Amiga. Always not being careful." Juan's statement seemed deliberately worded so that Anitta would never take her eyes off the scratch on Moreau's leg. Something had gotten out of hand. She'd been thinking too much about how to ask for a half-day pass to fulfill Abihirt's words this morning, and just now... unexpectedly, Moreau had flopped over and was knocked several meters off the ice sheet. Not entirely an obstacle. Things didn't have to be exaggerated. They were facing a slight advantage regarding the break time. For now, Moreau could take a few moments of respite, while Juan needed to help her clean up the remaining dried blood, which would occasionally make Moreau shy away when the pain struck, as if eating at the sensitive nerves in her body. She held Juan's hand. Hoping the man was a little concerned, but the crisis within Juan seemed to hold a certain passion while watching her pain reaction. The man mustered up a feeling of satisfaction, a silent smirk, ex
"Moreau fell and slipped on the ice, Mr. Lincoln. I don't know whether to call her your daughter or your girlfriend, but she hasn't been careful lately. Our coach just scolded her. That's what happened." Damn Juan. It looked like the guy wanted to make his mouth drop open. It was too obvious to state their confusion in the training hall. Moreau glared. It felt like she wanted to give Juan a warning so that the man would understand and stop meddling in matters of interest. However, the most striking action among them was Abihirt extending a hand. It gave Moreau a moment of hesitation to simply accept. She remained silent for a long time, though she eventually hobbled over to get closer. One pure action left a slight nervous impression. Moreau said nothing as she felt Abihirt's gentle touch on her hip. She looked at Juan briefly. The man returned the hollow eye contact, then alternately dropped his attention there. On one arm that was lightly intertwined. Obviously there was no p
Ever since setting foot in the studio. Moreau never took her eyes off the few clothes hanging on the poles and the various devices angled everywhere as a man led her and Abihirt through the various rooms. They would be introduced directly to the owner of the studio, or not really: Abihirt was certainly not involved. Only Moreau, as the man obviously already knew who he was meeting. The bit of information that splashed across the top of her head gave Moreau a slight affirmation that 'perhaps' Abihirt was being too bold in his defiance. She didn't know what the man was thinking, but she shouldn't have allowed them to be linked together with one forbidden person. "So you know Mrs. Smift is my mother's rival in the working world. Why still bring me to this place?"
An obvious question that almost made Moreau blush. She looked at her stepfather and Mrs. Smift in turn, trying hard to maintain a calm expression on her face. "Yes, Mrs. Smift. Nice to meet you." It was said almost in a nervous tone. Moreau still did not understand what Mrs. Smift was looking at her for, so the woman seemed to have been swallowed up by civilization. Perhaps pensive... or something else Moreau dared not confirm. Such a luxurious woman could not possibly be admiring her. An impossible act, which she should have known would not end here for long. "I didn't expect you to look so much prettier than you do." A solemn statement