Chapter 6

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~Picture Above: Lucifer/Luna (again)~

(A/N: Long(ish) chapter for you! Thanks for reading this far!
('•ω•') )

I anxiously look at the small clock in the chilly bathroom corner. It reads around 7:25.

I haven't really done anything since I talked to Luna. At most, I just rolled around on the bed, inspected things in our room, and listened to the conversations of people in the hallway. One of those conversations I was a subject in, which I found amusing. Beyond the door, I could hear them chat gleefully.

"You've seen the bride, yes?" One lady exclaims.

"Certainly have. She is a striking beauty, but her manners might be repulsive for all we know," another says.

"Just pity the poor lady, she will soon face the tiring life of an upper-class wife. I would want to kill myself," A strangely familiar voice rings.

The first lady responds, "Pity her?! She is, in fact, the one who is to be famously known as a billionaire's wife! She has always been used to this life of false glamour."

The now recognized man quickly replies, "Before she marries, her family has an average amount of one to two million dollars. Additionally, the fact that a young Montague existed was well hidden to the public. She is a novice to extreme wealth."

Thank you, Enrico! I think to myself.

The woman, whom which her voice had grown sharp, inquired, "And how do you know this information, beg your pardon?"

To be honest, half of me is wondering the same thing.

He smoothly dodges the question by asking, "Aside from that, I am much more curious in finding out why a huge billionaire with a running company is marrying his only... son to a small family with less than three million dollars in value."

"That is a good question," the second lady quietly agrees.

After that, the subject was changed and words became quite inaudible.

8:00.

The janitor again scurries into my room and mentions, "I want you up at quarter past seven tomorrow morning, understand?"

I groan. I am definitely a night owl. No kidding, I have sometimes stayed up until three in the morning doing things like reading books on some tacky website.

"Why?" I ask with heaviness.

"Because you need a good sleeping schedule and your daily tasks start tomorrow. You'll see, Ms. Montague," She says with a concealed smirk on her face.

These "daily tasks" already seem annoying as six restaurant workers off-key singing "Happy Birthday" to you while you're PMS-ing.

(If you're a guy, think of PMS-ing as getting kicked in the crotch and having to pee at the same time while taking final exams.)

I groan and flop back down onto the bed. I wait silently until she leaves.

Lights grow dim as my eyes lower a bit.

Though the air is freezing around me, this feels so nice...

...

9:00.

...

"Are you ready for sleep?" A soft voice utters.
I snuggle into the covers. "Mmm..."
A hand is placed on my shoulder. "Sunshine."

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