Chapter 4: The Morning After Confrontation
The suite smelled of strong coffee and expensive pastries, a feeble defense against the lingering ghost of sweat and champagne that seemed woven into the very air. Sunlight, harsh and clarifying, streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting sharp geometric shapes on the plush cream carpet. It felt like an interrogation.
Weiss sat curled in the corner of the vast velvet sofa, a silk robe pulled tight around her. She cradled a mug of black coffee as if it were a lifeline. Every muscle ached with a pleasant, deep-seated throb—a constant, physical reminder.
“I can’t believe you ate the entire fruit tart,” Coco said, her voice still a little gravelly. She lounged opposite, wearing one of the hotel’s fluffy white bathrobes, her sunglasses already in place despite the indoor gloom she’d insisted on maintaining. A half-eaten croissant sat abandoned on her plate.
Ruby, glowing with unnatural vitality, beamed from the breakfast cart. “Hey, I earned it! That was a workout!” She stuffed another bite of tart into her mouth. “My thighs are actually sore. Who knew?”
Winter, impeccably dressed in a crisp linen shirt and tailored trousers, her hair in its usual severe bun, sipped her tea with glacial precision. “I believe the technical term is ‘duck walk,’” she said dryly. “A known consequence of certain… overexertions.”
Ruby choked, giggling. “Winter!”
Coco’s smirk was audible. “Speak for yourself. I feel fantastic.” She stretched, the robe gaping slightly. “Cleared the sinuses right out.”
Weiss kept her eyes on her coffee, watching the dark liquid tremble. Her mind was a single, looping reel: the feel of leather under her palms, the slap of skin, the monogram on cotton. The secret, warm and heavy, sat in her stomach alongside the coffee.
The room was a minefield of unspoken things. Coco’s smug satisfaction. Winter’s silent, complicit approval. Ruby’s blissful, naive delight. And her own, roaring quiet.
Her phone, facedown on the glass coffee table, vibrated with a sound like an angry hornet.
Everyone flinched.
The screen lit up, visible through the glass. The caller ID picture—Jaune, smiling, his blond hair messy in the wind—glowed up at them all.
Weiss froze. The warmth of the mug bled into her hands, but a cold spike drove straight into her chest. Jaune’s face, open and trusting, was a splash of reality in this bubble of debauchery. And all she could see superimposed over it was Ren’s masked face, his hands tightening on her hips.
No one breathed.
It vibrated again, skittering a half-inch across the table.
Coco moved. In one fluid motion, she leaned forward and snatched the phone. Her thumb swiped across the screen before Weiss could even gasp.
“Hello, Jaune-y boy!” Coco sang, her voice dripping with false cheer. She winked at Weiss, whose mouth had fallen open. “Oh, she’s right here. Just terribly, terribly indisposed. Let’s call it… a liquid breakfast. Yeah.”
She listened for a second, her smirk widening. “Mhm. Yeah, we’ll take good care of her. Don’t you worry about a thing. Bye-bye!”
She ended the call and tossed the phone back onto the table. It landed with a thud.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of the city.
Then Ruby snorted. It was a tiny, helpless sound that erupted into full-bellied laughter. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god, Coco! ‘Indisposed’! He’s gonna think she’s puking in a toilet!”
“Isn’t she?” Winter murmured, raising one elegant eyebrow.
Coco leaned back, folding her arms. “He bought it. Sounded concerned. It was sweet, really.”
Weiss finally found her voice, though it came out thin. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?” Coco’s head tilted. “Were you going to answer? Give him a detailed report on your gastrointestinal health?” Her tone softened, just a fraction. “He doesn’t need to know you’re recovering from a different kind of pounding, princess.”
“Coco!” Ruby wheezed, tears in her eyes.
Weiss set her mug down carefully, the click of ceramic on glass unnaturally loud. The laughter felt like insects crawling on her skin. She stood up, the robe swaying around her. “I need a minute.”
She didn’t wait for a response, walking on slightly unsteady legs toward the master bathroom. She closed the door behind her, the solid thunk a relief. The bathroom was all cool marble and chrome, silent but for the faint drip of the gold faucet.
She braced her hands on the sink, staring at her reflection. Her silver hair was a tangled mess, her blue eyes shadowed. A faint purple bruise, a souvenir from a mouth she now knew belonged to her fiancé’s best friend, marked the join of her neck and shoulder. She touched it lightly. It didn’t hurt.
Her phone, which she’d unconsciously snatched from the table, buzzed in her robe pocket.
Not a call. A text.
Her heart did a slow, heavy roll. She pulled the phone out. The screen showed a notification from an unknown number. The preview text was visible.
Unknown: Same time tonight? —R
The air left her lungs. The message was stark, devoid of preamble or pressure. A simple question. It held the same quiet certainty he’d had in the lounge.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. The memory wasn’t just visual now; it was sensory. The ache in her muscles, the phantom weight of his body, the shocking intimacy of that final touch to her hair. The handkerchief with its damning ‘R’ was tucked in her suitcase, a hidden relic.
This was the threshold. Answering was an admission. It was a choice made in cold, sober light, not champagne haze.
From the other room, she heard Ruby’s laughter subside into a contented sigh, and Coco saying something about mimosas. A normal brunch. A normal bride-to-be’s morning.
Weiss Schnee looked at the stranger in the mirror—the one with the bruise and the knowing eyes—and made her choice.
Her fingers moved, typing a swift, sure reply. She didn’t overthink it. She didn’t hesitate. The words were as simple as his.
Weiss: Send the room number.
She hit send. The message whooshed away, a point of no return silently passed.
She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and adjusted the collar of her robe to cover the mark on her skin. She unlocked the door and walked back into the sunlit living room, where her friends and sister waited.
“Everything alright?” Winter asked, her gray eyes missing nothing.
“Fine,” Weiss said, her voice clear and composed, the perfect picture of regained poise. She reclaimed her seat, picking up her cooling coffee. “Just a headache. Nothing a little hair of the dog won’t fix.” She looked at Coco. “You were saying about mimosas?”
Coco studied her for a long moment, then her trademark smirk returned, wider and more genuine than before. “I knew you had it in you, Schnee,” she said, reaching for the champagne bottle.