Beth's glare burned into her sister, her pride clearly bruised. "Holding me back?" she hissed, eyes narrowing with indignation.
Della released her hand instantly...her gloved fingers falling softly to her side. "I'm sorry," she said, bowing her head in quiet apology, despite being the older of the two.
"You!" Beth snapped, turning on the seamstress. "I'll see to it you're jobless. I'll ruin your family's name."
The young woman flinched and fell to her knees. "I—I'm sorry, mi'lady," she stammered. She knew what it meant to offend a lady of standing.
The room fell silent, tense with fear and wounded pride—until the door opened.
"What's going on here?" came a calm, authoritative voice.
All eyes turned toward the doorway where Mr. Sailor, aged and silver-haired, stood with a second man beside him—taller, striking, and silent.
He wasn't just handsome. He was unnerving.
His hair was the color of wine-soaked cherries, soft and curled to his jaw. His skin was pale like marble, and his dark crimson eyes glinted with centuries of knowledge and restraint. Even in stillness, he radiated authority—and something far colder. His presence silenced the room.
Della's breath caught.
Beth's entire demeanor shifted. Her fury faded in an instant, replaced with a coy smile as she stepped forward with a delicate curtsy. "Good day, Mr. Sailor," she greeted sweetly, fluttering her lashes toward the stranger.
"Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth," the tailor replied, his gaze already scanning the room. His face—weathered by time and labor...was drawn in a deep frown.
"Good day, Mr. Sailor," Della said quietly. He nodded without warmth.
"You haven't answered my question," the man said, turning to Beth. His dark eyes were piercing, as though reading her thoughts before she could speak them.
Beth pouted slightly, then pointed at the kneeling girl. "Your worker was rude. She lacks grace when dealing with nobles. She's just... a peasant."
The girl didn't speak. She simply lowered her head, her silence a shield.
"Is that true, Layla?" Mr. Sailor asked, voice gentler now.
The girl nodded, still kneeling.
"Stand."
Layla rose at once, keeping her eyes lowered.
Beth watched with an expectant smirk, certain the girl was about to be scolded...or dismissed.
Instead, Mr. Sailor turned calmly to her. "I apologize for any trouble, Lady Elizabeth. What brings you here today?"
Beth hesitated, displeased by his lack of anger. "The upcoming soirée," she said with a forced smile. "I'll need a gown fitting of the occasion."
"And Lady Della?" he asked, shifting his attention.
Before Della could answer, Beth interjected quickly, "She isn't going."
A pause.
Mr. Sailor's eyes lingered on Della thoughtfully. "Even so, I have something set aside that may suit her...should she change her mind."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Della replied, polite but firm.
"When the time comes," he said with a knowing smile, "you'll know."
He turned to the crimson-haired man. "Sir Oliver, let me fetch the gowns."
Beth's ears perked at the name. Sir Oliver. She cast a sidelong glance at him. Was he married? What noble title did he carry?
Mr. Sailor returned moments later with two gowns in his arms—deep sapphire and violet velvet, trimmed with delicate silver embroidery. He handed them to Sir Oliver with quiet reverence.
"They're beautiful," Beth said breathlessly.
"They will fit the owner perfectly," Oliver replied, not even glancing at her.
He turned and walked out of the shop with fluid grace.
Beth stood frozen for a moment, then hurried after him. "Excuse me, sire!"
He stopped.
"I'm Lady Elizabeth," she said, curtsying. "Daughter of the Junior Head of Council."
She lifted her gaze, trying to meet his eyes, offering the kind of smile that had turned many noble sons to putty.
Sir Oliver looked at her with unreadable eyes.
Then he simply turned and walked away.
Beth's face flushed crimson. She glanced around and noticed a few nearby eyes watching her stumble. Embarrassed, she spun around and strode back into the shop with her head held high.
"How dare he?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
Della, unaware of the entire exchange, was still admiring the gowns with quiet awe.
"You shouldn't speak to strangers that way," Mr. Sailor said mildly, eyes on Beth.
Beth glared at him. "Who is he, anyway?"
"Sir Oliver is the personal advisor to the Lord of Westhill," Mr. Sailor replied.
Beth's mouth fell open slightly.
So he was close to the vampire lord...
She composed herself quickly, brushing off the rejection. "He's just an advisor. I want the lord."
Della remained quiet, uninterested in the game Beth was playing. Power and titles meant little to her.
"Your gowns are ready," Mr. Sailor announced, returning with three more dresses for Beth to choose from.
Her eyes sparkled. The gowns were breathtaking—each hand-stitched, shimmering in soft candlelight.
"I'll take the pink," she declared, holding it to her chest. "It's divine."
"An excellent choice, Lady Elizabeth," the tailor said.
The gown was wrapped neatly and handed over.
"The tab will be sent to our usual account," Beth said, lifting the bag with pride.
Della offered a small wave as they left. Mr. Sailor returned the gesture with a nod.
"I'm going to find the perfect jewelry for this dress," Beth said, already picturing herself at the soirée.
"We should head home soon," Della murmured. "We've been gone too long."
But Beth wasn't listening. Her eyes were already scanning the marketplace, lost in dreams of attention, titles...and dark-eyed lords.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the market. Beth purchased more than she needed. Della said little, watching the world quietly...ever aware of the hidden eyes, the layered dangers, and the heavy magic that still stirred somewhere deep within her.