Soft music by the orchestra filled the ballroom. Violins trilled out a melodic celebration and elegance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over the hotel's opulent decor. Their golden glow danced across mirrors and marble. The guests toasted with champagne glasses in hand, laughter mingled with polite conversation.
I was on the edge of the dance floor. My Dior dress rustled against my thighs like liquid moonlight. The diamonds at my throat—a Cartier set Mother had chosen—sparkled with every movement, demanding the envy of a few eyes. Father and my older brother talked with some influential business associates, while Mother threaded through the society matrons, displaying her usual poise.
Everything was fine with the scene until it wasn't.
The lights overhead flickered, so subtly that most of the guests kept talking. But I did see it, and I felt it. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
"Easy," Jiahao murmured against my ear, his fingers tracing over my hand as he cinched his cufflinks.
Maybe, but I couldn't shake the feeling of increasing unease in my chest.
The music for the first dance began, partners moving smoothly across the floor. I was swept up in my own dance with Father in an instant. He led confidently, his hand holding firm at my waist. But even as I smiled, I found myself glancing over toward the high balconies looming above the ballroom. Shadows there seemed deeper than they ought, like someone—or something—huddled just out of reach of the chandelier's light.
"Eyes ahead, honey," Father smiled to himself, oblivious to my distraction. "Tonight is for family. For legacy. Don't get lost in thought."
Legacy. The term clung to me like pungent perfume.
Halfway through our dance, the orchestra's music stumbled—and only momentarily. A violin let out a jarring, piercing note, and every hair on my arms bristled. There was a hushed conversation of whispers, eyes flicking towards each other, but the music rode the interruption away as if it had never happened.
And the waiter.
I watched him elbowing his way through the crowd, his silver platter trembling in his grasp. He was moving too quickly, too close. As he swept by me, the platter teetered on its edge—champagne glasses tilted, golden liquid spilling onto the gleaming floor at my feet. There were gasps of dismay in the air as he dropped to his knees, fumbling over apologies.
"It's fine," I said quickly, holding up the tray. But when I passed it over, something touched my palm—smooth, deliberate.
A crumpled note.
My inhale. I hadn't made it up. Someone had slipped it into my palm when no one was close enough to do that.
Jiahao saw my stunned expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I replied too quickly, folding the note into my palm and concealing it among the folds of my dress.
The rest of the evening was a blur. There were polite chit-chat, toasts, too loud and too forced laughter. I could only wonder about that note. When at last I could make my excuses, I slipped into a more subdued corridor just behind the ballroom's golden doors. The silence was keen, almost artificial after the cacophony of voices.
I shook with fingers that I could barely control, opening the paper.
You don't belong here.
That was all it wrote. Four words, bold, leaning letters that crept somewhat into the page.
My heart thudding in my ears. Whoever this was, they knew me—or at least knew something.
Behind me, a body moved on the back wall. A brief echo of footsteps lingered for a moment before vanishing.
I turned back, but there was no one. Just the marble floors, empty and gleaming in the dim lights.
A cold fear crawled through me, infusing my bones. I clutched the note, the words burning my mind.
Inside the ballroom, the laughter and music continued like nothing had happened. But I was smarter.
Someone had waited. Someone had watched.
And they were not ready to enter the light yet.