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Lilith woke up already knowing today was going to be hell.

The kind of day that settled into her bones before she even opened her eyes, heavy and bitter.

Her body felt sore, like she had been carrying something invisible all night.

Yesterday had drained her, and she knew tomorrow wouldn't be any better.

Oscar had picked up on it—of course he had.

He always did. She had snapped at him over something small, sharp words thrown like knives without warning.

But he didn't flinch. When they used to live together, he had seen it all before.

He had watched her collapse into herself over the most ridiculous things.

Like the time she wanted an apple and there were none left.

She had cried for almost an hour. Not because of the apple, obviously, but because the world felt like it hated her that day and the missing apple was just the proof.

She dragged herself to the kitchen, trying to do something normal, something grounding. Tea. Tea would help.

But the moment a bit of it spilled onto the counter, her hands shook. Her chest tightened, and she cried. Just like that. Over spilled tea. She hated days like this. Despised them with every fiber of her being.

Back when she lived at home, days like this turned the entire house into a war zone.

Her father's voice would echo in her head: "Everyone has to walk on eggshells around you.

" It stuck with her. It haunted her. It was one of the things that hurt the most. Because it was true. She was a nightmare to be around.

She had gone from throwing things to sobbing in corners more times than she could count.

Once, she remembered chopping vegetables in the kitchen when her dad said something that ticked her off—and for a split second, she had genuinely considered stabbing herself out of pure, desperate annoyance.

Not sadness. Just a violent need to make the chaos stop.

It was always like that—helplessness wrapped in fury.

Nothing ever worked when she felt that way; no solution made sense.

The day just had to pass, minute by minute, until everything could go back to normal, or at least seem like it.

Sometimes, she thought she should be locked somewhere—put away until the storm in her mind quieted down.

Today felt like that.

The tea mug went flying. Crashed against the counter, shattered, hot liquid splattering and burning her skin. She didn't even flinch. She just stared at the mess. It stung, but not enough to matter. She would cry about the mug later—it was one of her favorites.

She left the mess behind and crawled back into bed, the blanket cool against her burning skin. She wasn't going to lectures today. No way. The thought alone made her want to scream.

Gabrielle texted her a casual "Are you coming today?"—Lilith stared at the screen like it had insulted her. The text was harmless. Sweet, even. But Lilith's first instinct was to send back a death threat. She loved Gabrielle, adored her more than anything-but today, she hated her.

Everyone felt far. Every word anyone said made her feel wrong, unwanted, misunderstood. She hated them all. Not really, not truly—but in the moment, it roared through her blood like poison.

And yet, even when she felt like this, she could never be mean to Gabrielle. Her father? Her brother? Absolutely. But Gabrielle? Never. She could never bring herself to say something cruel to her. She'd rather bite her own tongue off.

And the worst part?

A sick, cruel part of her liked it. Liked arguing.

Liked the sharpness of her tongue. Liked that she could say something that would make someone upset.

99% of the time, Lilith couldn't stand drama, couldn't handle conflict—she'd cry over a simple disagreement.

But on days like this, something else took over.

A version of herself she barely recognized, but couldn't deny.

She didn't feel like Lilith. She felt like her mother.

And what was even worse?

She didn't even care.

Because the hate she felt-the twisted satisfaction of it—made her feel like she was finally taking revenge. Revenge for the years she spent being small and scared and treated like nothing.

?

At the company, everything moved with quiet efficiency. Meetings flowed one after another, decisions were made, orders given. But amidst it all, Valentina found herself pausing in the hallway, her thoughts elsewhere.

She needed a recommendation-a business therapist for a friend.

Someone sharp, grounded, someone who understood the pressure of running things and the weight of responsibility.

Her friend, a fellow executive from another firm, had hinted at burnout.

Not that they'd ever say the word, but she knew the signs.

And despite her detached nature, Valentina believed in practical help.

A small blonde girl came to mind. Lilith. She studied psychology, didn't she? She probably knew some therapists—or at the very least, she'd know where to lead her towards the right direction, towards someone who could help.

She turned down the hall and made her way to Oscar's office.

"Hawthorne." she called, her voice firm and composed.

Oscar turned in his chair, half-standing. "Yeah?"

"Does Lilith have any recommendations for therapists? Business ones, specifically?" she asked, casually, like it wasn't a strange question coming from someone who usually didn't ask anything personal.

Oscar straightened, blinking. "Definitely, I could ask her-"

Lilith wasn't just a psychology student; she knew people.

She had friends who had already graduated and were now working in clinics across the city, some in private practice, others still trying to find their footing.

But more than that, she had gone through many therapies herself—she could reach out to her old therapists for help.

"I'll ask her myself." Valentina said, already pulling her phone from her pocket, her tone final.

Oscar moved quickly, almost stepping forward. "Maybe... maybe tomorrow," he said, a little too fast. He tried to sound neutral, but there was tension behind his words—like he was shielding something. It would've been better to ask Lilith tomorrow.

He was trying to save Lilith, save himself, and maybe—if possible—save Valentina from whatever chaos she was walking straight into.

But maybe the girl was alright? Maybe it wasn't that serious. Even though, deep down, he knew. She wasn't. It had been a while since Lilith had spiraled like that.

But Valentina wasn't the type to wait. She barely acknowledged Oscar's suggestion before turning on her heel and heading back to her office, settling behind her desk.

Lilith's number was already saved. Convenient. She composed the message swiftly. It was professional. Straightforward.

Maybe, if she was lucky, some teasing in return. Something soft and sarcastic. Something clever. Something that made her smirk.

She sighed and hit send.

?

Lilith sat curled in her apartment, wrapped in a towel that clung too tightly to her burning skin. The bath had been too hot—scalding, almost. On purpose. Her hands and wrists, already red from the tea incident, stung even more now, and the ache twisted deeper than just her skin.

She didn't care.

Steam still drifted from the bathroom, but the rest of the apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't soothe her—just made her feel more alone. Her chest felt heavy, and the weight behind her eyes warned of another wave of tears. She didn't have the energy to fight it.

Her phone buzzed beside her on the couch. Unsaved number.

She picked it up, thumb sluggish as she unlocked the screen. No greeting. Just a clean, clipped message:

"I'm looking for a business therapist. If you have any recommendations, send me them shortly. Thanks."

Lilith stared at it. She laughed-a bitter, breathy sound.

Of course, it was Valentina.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart pounding—not with excitement like a few days ago, but frustration.

Exhaustion. If Valentina had texted her earlier this week, she might have screamed into her pillow in joy, clutched her phone to her chest like a teenager.

She would've texted Gabrielle in all caps.

But now?

Now, her hands were shaking from too much crying, her mug was in pieces on the kitchen floor, and her skin was red and raw.

She typed fast, not even stopping to breathe:

"Sounds important but unfortunately not my problem."

Her thumb hovered again, and then she fastly added:

"There's Google for that."

She hit send without thinking.

?

Valentina sat in the soft hush of her penthouse living room, the city lights glowing faintly behind the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She picked up her phone from the armrest, not expecting anything urgent. It was the first time she'd checked it since sending that message earlier. Her thumb brushed the screen casually, but as soon as she saw Lilith's reply, her posture shifted.

Her brows furrowed.

Valentina stared at the screen, silent.

She wasn't easily thrown off, but the bluntness caught her off guard. The tone felt sharp, unusually cold—especially coming from Lilith.

Did she sound too cold? Too demanding?

She had added thanks at the end though.

It was easy for Valentina to analyze people. It came naturally, like a quiet calculation always happening in the background. Lilith, from what she'd seen, seemed soft-spoken. Sweet. A girl with big eyes who tried to be kind even when she was uncomfortable.

This—this was confusing.

Valentina's jaw clenched slightly. Her first instinct was to write it off. Maybe Lilith was rude all along, maybe she was immature.

But then her thumb hovered over the screen again. She reread the messages.

Something was clearly wrong.

She leaned back into the couch, eyes still on the screen. For once, her sharp, composed mind didn't jump to strategy.

Just one quiet question echoed in her head:

Is the blonde girl okay?