𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍; g-game

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          "𝐌om, I'm telling you, that's not gonna work

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          "𝐌om, I'm telling you, that's not gonna work."

Liliane Greene provides her daughter with an unimpressed look, continuing to gently dab a thick layer of concealer upon her dark bruise. "Don't lose faith in me just yet, hun."

"Maybe I just shouldn't go," the girl lightly suggests.

"Oh, I bet you'd love that," her mother hums. "You'll have fun, honey. The Carreras will be there, and Heyward will be serving, so at least there will be some familiar faces for you."

The brunette winces as the sponge hits an overly sensitive nerve around her eye.

There'll be familiar faces, alright.

As usual, the last thing she wants is to attend a party filled with nothing less than the wealthy, rotten, upper-class society. Now, that want seems even less, after one had his hands locked around her throat merely days ago.

Additionally, the anxiety about her friend's situation hasn't eased with the hours either. Her stomach wrenches at the thought of his father's reaction.

"I told you not to go surfing right before Midsummers, especially after what you pulled last year," her mother reminds her. "Next time, I'll personally lock your board away."

The girl laughs through her nose, shaking her head. "I'd just steal dad's."

"That old thing?" she chuckles knowingly. "You wouldn't get it out of the shed even if you wanted to."

As her mother removes the sponge, Marlowe flickers both eyes open. Her attention travels to the mirror. Surprisingly enough, the bruise is covered up pretty well. It's still threatening to peak through the delicate makeup, yet it's a lot dimmer than before.

"Not bad," she shrugs.

"Told you," Liliane flashes a broad grin.

She proceeds to blend a lighter layer of concealer on other parts of her daughter's face, followed by a soft brush of blush on her cheeks. Both eyebrows are drawn into place by a clear gel, and her eyelashes are pained with a delicate layer of mascara.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃, jj maybankWhere stories live. Discover now