The mansion had never been so quiet. After Ethan's bold declaration, the visitors dispersed, some with downcast eyes, others whispering with new respect for him and Christiana. The air felt charged, as though something had shifted permanently.
In her chamber, Sophia tore the golden pins from her hair, flinging them across the room. Her reflection in the mirror mocked her painted lips trembling, her eyes were wide with rage. She pressed her hands against the polished surface, her breath ragged.
"How dare he choose her over me? Me, Sophia… the one who deserves everything!"
Her voice cracked, but there was no one to hear. No one but her own echo. For the first time, Sophia felt the weight of solitude, heavier than the richest gown she had ever worn.
Downstairs, Margaret sat with Ethan and Christiana. Her hands trembled as she poured them tea. "My children," she said softly, her voice weary but tender, "you stood brave today. But know this, Sophia will not let this rest. I fear she may turn desperate."
Ethan's hand closed around Christiana's. "Let her try. Whatever comes, we will face it together."
Christiana gave a faint smile, but her heart was heavy. Sophia was not one to accept defeat.
The following days revealed the ripple of Ethan's words. In the marketplace, the stares softened. A merchant's wife whispered, "He spoke so boldly for her. Perhaps she truly is more than we thought." The tide of opinion began to shift, slowly but unmistakably.
But Sophia watched this change with venom in her eyes. She began to withdraw from her parents' company, spending long hours locked in her room, in her own shell. Servants whispered that she was plotting, though none dared confront her.
One evening, as Christiana arranged flowers in the drawing room, Sophia entered silently. Her presence alone made the air grow cold.
"You think you've won, don't you?" Sophia's voice was low, almost gentle, but her eyes burned with hidden fire.
Christiana straightened, meeting her gaze with quiet strength. "There is no winning, Sophia. There is only truth. And Ethan and I have chosen to live in it."
Sophia's smile curved, sharp as a blade. "Truth? Do not fool yourself. Society bends not to truth, but to power. And I still have more than you could ever dream of."
Christiana's hand tightened around the vase, but her voice was steady. "Power fades. Hearts endure. That is what you'll never understand."
For a moment, Sophia's mask cracked. Jealousy and pain flickered across her face, and she turned sharply, leaving before her tears could betray her.
Later that night, Sophia sat alone by her window, staring at the darkened gardens below. A storm was brewing in the sky, thunder rolling in the distance. Her fingers clenched the sill until her knuckles whitened.
"If I cannot have the world," she whispered into the night, "then let no one have it peacefully."
Her reflection in the glass stared back, fractured by the lightning's flash, like a mirror breaking apart.
And in that silent vow, Sophia's descent truly began.