Feather Drifting in the Wind

The wound on Ivy's leg healed slowly. A dull ache pulsed day and night.

When the doctor removed the gauze to check on the healing progress, he frowned and warned her repeatedly.

"You need to watch what you eat. No alcohol, no spicy food, nothing that could cause inflammation. Not even a little. Otherwise, your wound will get infected easily, and the scar will get even worse."

Caesar stood beside her, listening closely and nodding. "I understand, doctor. You can trust me."

Back home, Caesar loosened his tie and called Ivy as she started walking up the stairs slowly.

"There's an important party tonight. Florence is coming, too. It's her first time at an event like that, and she doesn't know the rules. Keep an eye on her."

Ivy didn't stop. Her shoulders stiffened a little. "Sure."

The banquet hall was all sparkling, smelling nice, and full of shiny smiles.

Ivy wore a simple black evening gown and did her best to blend into the background.

Florence wore a bright pink dress and stayed close to Caesar's side, looking around with wide-eyed curiosity.

Whispers stuck to Ivy like flies, buzzing around her without stopping.

"Look. The original and the replacement both showed up."

"It's obvious that Mr. Shepherd is spoiling the younger one lately. He takes her everywhere."

"Ivy's probably about to lose her place. A decade or not, men are men in the end."

Each line was a blade, slicing a heart that was already bleeding.

When Ivy stepped out of the restroom, she barely had time to focus before a hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her into a corner.

Caesar's face was dark, impatience and anger set deep in his eyes. "Where did you go? Didn't I tell you to watch after Florence?"

His grip hurt. But before Ivy could say anything, he was already dragging her back toward the center of the hall.

The air was tight with tension.

The burly Mr. Smith had a damp patch spread across his chest. He stank of alcohol as he pointed at Florence, who stood there trembling with red eyes while he yelled angrily at her.

"Are you blind?! Do you think you can afford to pay for this suit?"

Florence shrank behind Caesar immediately, crying like a frightened child. "Caesar, I didn't mean it. He… He touched me first, so I just..."

Caesar's expression sank. He pulled her closer and faced Mr. Smith, saying, "It's just an accident, Mr. Smith. There's no need to make a scene. I'll pay ten times the cost of the suit. I'll apologize on her behalf."

"Apologize?" Mr. Smith sneered.

He was clearly drunk and in no mood to simply let things ease.

"That isn't how you show favor for someone, Mr. Shepherd! Apologies should be sincere! Have her..." He pointed at Florence. "Drink all this wine! Every last drop of it! Otherwise, we're not finished unless that happens!"

He was holding a full bottle of hard liquor.

Florence let out a strangled scream and held Caesar's arm. "I don't want to! I can't drink that. I'll die!"

Caesar's brows turned into a furrow.

Mr. Smith chuckled, his filthy gaze sliding between Ivy and Florence. "How about this, Caesar? You choose. One of them drinks."

"Either her…" He first pointed at Florence. Then, he pointed at Ivy. "Or her."

Every eye in the room locked on Caesar. His jaw tightened. His gaze flicked between them.

He hesitated for less than three seconds before pointing at Ivy. He didn't even look at her as he said in a low and cold voice, "She can drink it."

Ivy thought her ears were ringing.

The doctor's warning was echoing in her head.

The unhealed wound on her leg still throbbed.

But he had forgotten.

Or… He simply didn't care anymore.

Ivy looked at Caesar. All of his attention was on the shaking Florence in his arms. He patted Florence's back, murmuring to her, and never glanced Ivy's way.

So… This was what it felt like when a heart finally died.

Ivy's lips formed a smile, but no one was sure if it was really a smile out of joy or something else.

She did not speak. She did not look at anyone. She stepped forward and grabbed the bottle.

The first quaff tore down her throat like burning fire.

Her stomach lurched.

One quaff.

Two quaffs.

Three quaffs...

The sneers around her blurred into noise. All she could see was Caesar's back as he shielded Florence.

Ten quaffs. Not a drop left in the bottle.

Ivy set the empty bottle down hard on the table. Her throat burned so badly she could barely force any words out. Her chest felt hollow, like someone had dug straight through it and left a void in its place.

"Is that enough?" Ivy asked, her voice hoarse.

Mr. Smith froze, clearly not expecting her to finish it so thoroughly.

He simply snorted and waved it off.

Only then did Caesar seem to notice Ivy was done drinking from the bottle. His brows tightened for a moment, but Florence sobbed again, and his attention snapped right back to her.

Ivy turned and stumbled away, heading straight for the restroom.

She shoved the door shut, braced both hands on the cold sink, and retched hard, but nothing came out.

She was in so much pain that cold sweat broke. Her fingers shook as she lifted her skirt to check the wound, searching for fresh blood, for any sign it had split open.

She leaned toward the spot that hurt most. Without thinking, she blew on it softly, the way she used to when she was a child and had no one to comfort her but herself.

Suddenly, the adjacent stall was filled with the labored breaths of a man and a woman.

Caesar's voice, thick and hungry, came first. "You little witch… You really know how to get to me."

Florence's laugh was soft, teasing, broken by gasps. "What about Ivy?"

"What about her?" Caesar's voice dropped, then turned muffled, followed by the sound of kissing and the rustle of fabric. "Right now, you're the only one that matters."

The sounds grew louder.

They didn't even care where they were.

Ivy froze even as she bent over, the pain hit her so sharply she could barely breathe.