A silver-edged envelope rested on Sara's desk the next morning, its wax seal stamped with her family crest.
Lina tilted her head curiously. "Looks… expensive. Who sent it?"
Sara's stomach twisted even before she touched it. The seal was unmistakable — her stepmother's.
She broke it open carefully. The message inside was written in Grace's elegant script:
"Sara, you and your friends are cordially invited to an intimate family dinner this weekend. Attendance is expected. – Grace"
Expected. Not requested. Sara's jaw clenched. Grace never did anything without reason, and a "family dinner" was never just about food.
That evening, Sara met Daniel in the garden, the letter clenched in her hand.
"She's moving," Sara said, passing it to him.
Daniel scanned it, his expression unreadable. "It's a summons."
"Yes. And you know what that means. She wants control. She wants to remind me where I belong."
Daniel's eyes flicked up to hers. "Then go. But don't go unprepared."
Sara frowned. "Prepared how?"
"Grace thrives on isolation. Break her game. Bring people she can't manipulate so easily."
Sara blinked. "You mean… bring my friends?"
"Exactly," Daniel said with a faint smile. "Turn her stage into yours."
When Sara shared the plan with Lina, Hannah, Adrian, and Ryan in the dorm lounge, reactions flared instantly.
"A dinner with your stepmother?" Adrian arched a brow. "Sounds like poison. Literally."
Ryan grinned, leaning back. "So we go in, eat all the food, and make sure we don't die. Easy."
"Ryan," Lina groaned, smacking his arm with a cushion.
Hannah hesitated, clutching her notebook. "Are you sure it's safe for us to go? What if she—"
Sara cut in gently. "That's exactly why I want you there. She can't corner me if I'm not alone. And if Grace tries to humiliate me, she'll have to do it in front of witnesses."
Adrian's smirk sharpened. "Witnesses who know how to fight back."
Lina nodded firmly. "Then we'll go. Together."
The night of the dinner arrived too quickly.
The family estate glittered with chandeliers and polished marble floors. Servants in crisp uniforms guided them through the grand hall, where portraits of Sara's ancestors loomed from gilded frames.
Grace awaited them at the dining table, a vision in emerald silk, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"Sara," she said smoothly. "And you've brought… company." Her eyes swept over Hannah, Lina, Adrian, and Ryan, lingering with faint disdain. "How delightful."
Sara forced a polite smile. "You said family. These people are my family."
For just a second, the corners of Grace's lips tightened. But she recovered swiftly, gesturing toward the table. "Sit. Let us eat."
The dinner was exquisite — silver platters of roasted lamb, delicate seafood, glasses filled with rich wine. But beneath the glittering surface, the air was tense.
Grace spoke little, her questions aimed like arrows.
"To Hannah — I hear you performed at the festival. Quite… daring. Not everyone can handle such attention."
Hannah stammered, cheeks pink. "I—I just did my best."
Grace's smile was cool. "Indeed. Sometimes one's best isn't enough, though."
Sara's hands curled under the table. Before she could speak, Lina cut in cheerfully. "Oh, but Hannah's best was enough to earn a standing ovation. You should've heard the crowd. They adored her."
Grace's eyes flickered — a brief crack — before she sipped her wine.
To Adrian, Grace asked, "You seem rather close to Sara. Do your parents know where you spend your evenings?"
Adrian's grin didn't waver. "They do. They also know I've made better company than the vipers at court."
Ryan laughed out loud, nearly spilling his drink. "Oh, that's rich. Did you see her face?"
Sara bit back a smile. Grace's mask remained intact, but the chill in her gaze deepened.
Finally, she turned to Sara herself. "And you, my dear. Still chasing childish dreams? I worry you're wasting the opportunities your father and I have given you."
Sara met her eyes, calm but unyielding. "The only thing I'm wasting is time in conversations that don't value who I am. I don't need opportunities crafted by others — I'll make my own."
For the first time all evening, Grace's smile faltered.
The room went silent. Even the servants paused.
After dinner, Grace escorted Sara alone to the grand staircase. The others lingered in the hall, tense but silent.
"You're becoming bold," Grace murmured, her tone deceptively gentle. "But remember this — no matter how loudly you sing, I control the stage."
Sara held her gaze, her heart hammering but steady. "Then I'll build a new stage. One you can't touch."
Grace's eyes darkened, her mask slipping just enough to reveal the steel beneath. "Careful, Sara. You're playing a dangerous game."
Sara turned away before Grace could see the tremor in her hands. "So are you."
As they left the estate, Hannah whispered nervously, "Was that… a victory?"
Adrian smirked. "Grace looked ready to choke on her wine. I'd call that a win."
But Sara didn't answer right away. She glanced back at the glowing mansion, shadows flickering in the windows.
A win, perhaps. But not the war. Grace wouldn't forgive the humiliation of tonight.
And Sara had just drawn a line in the sand.