Harriet stood rigidly, the cold bathroom tiles biting into her bare feet as she leaned against the door. Scott sat on the edge of the bathtub, hands clasped, gaze skimming the floor. He let out a short, nervous chuckle at her words, his expression twitching into something between guilt and discomfort.
Harriet's eyes didn't leave him. Her busted lip was split, a crimson trickle crawling down her chin. Her eyes, already bloodshot, brimmed with tears. Deep down, she knew the truth—but she needed to hear him say it. She hated when Harper was right. And Harper had been very clear.
"Harper told me... she was getting her nails done last week. Said some girl came in, talking about her new boyfriend. Then she said... you walked in. Kissed her. In front of everyone. Is that true?"
Scott froze.
The silence was crushing—thick, raw, and final.
Harriet blinked, swallowing hard as her breath grew shaky. She gave a weak, humorless laugh, tipping her head back against the door.
"I wanted to hear it from you because... God, I hate it when Harper's right. But she always is, isn't she? I needed you to say it wasn't true. Because if it is... then I've just done the worst thing I could possibly do to my little sister."
Her voice cracked. She clenched her fists, eyes glassy and wide, waiting—pleading—for something. Anything. But Scott said nothing.
Harriet's face crumpled. She let out a sob, quiet at first, then louder as she dropped her face into her hands. When she looked up again, her voice was sharp and trembling.
"Say something!"
Scott's voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry..."
Harriet snapped.
"I fucking let you into my house! Eat with my family! And you have the nerve to cheat on me with some random slut? What the fuck, Scott?!"
She shook with rage, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivers. Her lip throbbed. Her heart felt like it had shattered into tiny shards cutting her from the inside.
"Get out of my house. I never want to see you again."
Scott stood up quickly, palms open in protest. "Har—c'mon, don't do this. We can talk about it—"
"I stuck up for you. To Harper! I told her you wouldn't do that to me!"
She yanked the bathroom door open and stormed down the stairs, her footfalls echoing like thunder through the silent house. Scott hesitated before following, guilt etched into every inch of his posture. Harriet threw open the front door, stepping aside just long enough for him to shuffle out into the cold.
The door slammed with a shudder.
Back inside, Harriet walked calmly—eerily so—into the dining room, her family watching in confused and awkward silence. She took her seat, lifted her glass of water, and offered a tight, sarcastic smile.
"I owe someone an apology.." she muttered. "A big one."
After dinner, the house had fallen into an uneasy quiet. The sound of plates clinking in the sink was replaced by the soft hum of the dishwasher, and most of the family had retired to their rooms, pretending not to notice Harriet's swollen lip or the tension still radiating off her like static.
Cece sat in the dimly lit lounge, a half-full glass of sherry balanced in her hand. She didn't look up when Harriet walked in, only nodded once at the space beside her on the velvet sofa.
Harriet hesitated. She didn't want to talk. But something about the way her grandmother was staring into the fireplace made her feel like maybe, for once, she wouldn't have to defend herself.
"Look, Harriet." Cece said calmly, not unkindly.
Harriet sat. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"You were always the strong one." Cece began, swirling her glass. "Even as a little girl. You never cried when you scraped your knees. Never ran to your mother when things fell apart. You've always stitched yourself up. Quietly. Quickly."
Harriet said nothing. She stared at the rug.
Cece glanced at her. "That man wasn't worthy of you."
"I saw the look on his face the first time I met him. He looked at you like a man who wanted a trophy, not a partner. And I thought—well, better you learn now than later, when it costs you far more than your pride."
Harriet's jaw clenched. "It already cost me. I screamed at Harper. Told her she was just jealous. I made her feel like nothing."
"Harper will recover. She has fire in her." Cece took a long sip of her drink. "But you? You can't fall apart every time someone doesn't love you properly. You're a Baldwin. We are taught to carry ourselves with grace. Not grief."
Harriet turned to look at her grandmother, eyes wide. "Is that what you think this is? Grace?"
Cece gave a faint smile. "What I think is that you let him too close. And the moment a man believes he's allowed to betray you, he will. You gave him permission, Harriet. With your loyalty. Your softness. That's where you went wrong."
Harriet shook her head. "So I'm the reason he cheated?"
"No." Cece said sharply, leaning forward. "But you are the reason he thought he could get away with it."
The silence stretched.
Then, quietly, Cece added."Don't cry over men like him. Burn the memory of them to ash. And then walk into every room like you own it."
After retreating to her bedroom, Harriet curled up on the edge of her bed, knees tucked under her chin. Her makeup was smudged, but she hadn't bothered fixing it. There didn't seem to be a point. The house was too quiet. The air too thick. She stared at her phone screen for a long time before finally tapping the contact and pressing it to her ear.
"Hello?" Finola's voice came through almost immediately, light with surprise and a trace of concern. "Harriet? You okay?"
Harriet's voice cracked before she even meant for it to. "No."
There was silence, then the rustle of fabric as Finola probably sat up straighter. "What happened?"
"I—I broke up with Scott." Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out. "He cheated on me. Harper warned me and I didn't believe her, Fin. I defended him. I screamed at her. I was so sure he wouldn't do that to me."
"Oh my God. Harriet, I'm so sorry."
"I feel like such a fucking idiot." Harriet bit her lip hard. "I told her she was jealous.."
Finola's voice was gentle. "Because you loved him. That's not weakness, H. That's being human. You trusted someone who didn't deserve it. That's on him, not you."
Harriet wiped at her face, her voice barely above a whisper. "My grandmother told me I gave him permission to cheat. That I was too soft."
"That woman is emotionally bankrupt. Don't listen to her."
"She said I shouldn't cry. That I should burn his memory to ash and walk into every room like I own it."
"Well, maybe eventually, sure!" Finola said with a soft laugh. "But not tonight. Tonight, you cry. You let it hurt. And tomorrow, we start setting the whole memory on fire together."
A beat of silence passed between them.
"Thanks for answering." Harriet said softly.
"Always."
Downstairs, the clinking of glass and firelight created an eerie calm in the drawing room. Cece sat in her usual high-backed chair, legs crossed, posture pristine. Camila stood by the sideboard, pouring herself a second glass of red wine.
"Well." Cece said lightly, as if commenting on the weather. "At least she cut him loose before it became too scandalous. Imagine if this happened after an engagement."
Camila didn't respond immediately. She stared into her glass. "She really liked him, you know."
"Don't be dramatic, Camila. She loved the idea of him. That boy had nothing to offer her — no real connections, no family history worth mentioning, his father is corrupt and his poor mother, well-.. Frankly, I never approved."
Camila sighed. "I know you didn't, mother."
"Which is why it's time we start thinking about more appropriate options." Cece continued. "There's that Buchanan boy — what's his name? Henry? His family has summer homes in Montauk and Milan."
"He's twenty-nine and just got out of rehab."
"Minor details." Cece tutted, waving a dismissing hand. "He comes from money. Old money. That matters more."
Camila glanced at her mother, brow furrowed. "Maybe she doesn't want to be married off like it's the 1800s."
Cece's eyes sharpened. "Don't be naive, Camila. We don't marry for love. We marry to secure our lives. Love is fleeting. Power, status — those are what keep you safe."
Camila looked away. "And what did it cost you to believe that?"
Cece didn't answer. She simply sipped her sherry, the firelight flickering in her eyes.
"Start thinking about introductions." she said at last. "Before the world starts whispering about your daughter's judgment."
Camila turned slightly, studying her mother. "And Harper?"
Cece's eyes barely flickered. "What about her?"
"You really want to act like that didn't just happen too? Harriet didn't just break up with Scott — she threw Harper under the bus doing it."
Cece sighed, a theatrical sort of patience. "Yes, well. That girl has always had a flair for dramatics."
"She outed her." Camila snapped, suddenly emotional. "At the dinner table. To the entire family. You were there. You saw how quiet she got. You saw the look on her face."
Cece leaned forward, setting her sherry down with a quiet but deliberate clink. "What I saw was a girl who's been acting out for months, and now wants everyone to pretend this little rebellion of hers is noble. It isn't. It's reckless. Dangerous, even."
"Dangerous?" Camila echoed, horrified. "She likes girls, Mother. She's not smuggling drugs across the border."
Cece's expression didn't change. "You know perfectly well what I mean. People talk. People watch. This family has an important legacy. She should try being normal for once." Cece snapped. "Before she ruins more than just her reputation. She's already shattered Harriet's. The poor girl."
Camila's lips trembled, but she said nothing. She looked down at her glass of wine, then away. She hated that her mother always said these things so calmly, so confidently — as if there was no room for argument. As if being different was inherently shameful.