The atelier of Madame Evangeline was less a shop and more a sanctuary for the sartorial souls of the city's elite. The air was a delicate cocktail of chilled champagne, fine French perfume, and the crisp scent of untouched silk. Sunlight streamed through towering windows, illuminating bolts of fabric worthy of royalty—emerald duchess satin, sapphire chiffon that seemed woven from the night sky, and laces so intricate they looked like frozen cobwebs.
This is a go-to place for many socialites, in preparation for events as big as the Pemberton Gala. Off-the-rack is just too uncomplicated, too simple, frowned upon even, in such events.
Diana, enthroned on a plush velvet settee with a flute of champagne, was the picture of maternal benevolence. "For you, Elara, darling," she said, gesturing to a gown a silent assistant held aloft. It was a vision of ethereal peach silk, with delicate cap sleeves and a skirt of layered, floating georgette. It was exquisitely beautiful, profoundly expensive, and designed to make me look like a fragile, untouchable ornament. "I thought it captured your gentle spirit perfectly."
Chloe, who was being fitted for a daring, backless gown of silver lamé, clapped her hands. "Oh, Elara, it's perfect! You'll look like a spring blossom!"
I let my eyes widen with admiration, then let them dart to Chloe's silver dress, allowing a carefully crafted look of concern to cross my face. "It's breathtaking, Ms. Diana. Truly," I began, my voice soft and thoughtful. I paused, biting my lip. "But... that's the problem. It's so beautiful. In this peach, I'd be a blossom, but Chloe..." I gestured toward her, my expression one of generous, sisterly awe. "Chloe in that silver is a shooting star. I wouldn't want to distract from her. This is her debut, in a way. Perhaps... something for me in a more muted tone? So she can truly shine."
Diana's eyes gleamed with triumph at the flattery, seeing not defiance, but my willing submission to her daughter's ascendancy. Chloe preened, puffing up at the description.
"Such a thoughtful sister you are, Elara," Diana purred, her victory sweet and absolute. "Of course. We want the focus to be on family harmony. Madame Evangeline, let's see something more... subdued for Elara. A slate grey, perhaps? Or a deep burgundy?"
I walked to a bolt of velvet crimson red fabric, and held it up for Diana and Chloe to see. "How about this, Ms Diana?" She demurely agreed, suggesting that the colour would be "lovely on you." As I was led to a room to take measurements, I passed the changing area where Chloe was preening before a three-way mirror.
"...so much more sophisticated, don't you think, Mother?" Chloe's voice carried, a stage whisper. "Isabelle Laurent said my energy is 'captivating.' Elara's choice is just so... serious. But I suppose it suits her quieter nature."
I didn't need to see Diana's face to picture her smug smile. Let them think me quiet and serious. Let them believe I was receding into the background. It is always easier to plan and strike from the dark than from under the spotlight.
In the measuring room, as Madame Evangeline was taking my measurements, she asked "Mademoiselle Sterling, this is different from what you usually wear. Do you have any thoughts?" "Perhaps just a simple, sleeveless column. Cowl back, maybe. Unadorned." Madame Evangeline's eyes gleamed with approval as she made a rough sketch on her pad. "A bold choice, Mademoiselle Sterling. It requires… conviction to wear. I will have it ready in the next few days."
The final result showed that Madame Evangeline understood and executed the idea perfectly. The gown was a masterpiece of understated power. The crimson-red velvet was cut into a deceptively simple, sleeveless column that draped my body with elegant severity, making my pale complexion stand out even more. It needed no adornment as the aura of the wearer should shine instead, so I chose only a single, flawless teardrop diamond on a platinum chain. My chestnut hair was styled in soft, romantic waves, a deliberate maintenance of my "gentle" facade.
When I looked in the mirror, I did not see a girl fading into the background. I saw a deep, still pool—calm on the surface, hiding unfathomable depths.
The Pemberton Gala was a sea of white tie and timeless jewels, held under the watchful eyes of painted muses on the ballroom's vaulted ceiling. The murmur of conversation was a low, powerful hum. I stood near a grand piano, a flute of champagne in my hand, a placid smile on my face.
I saw Liam cutting through the crowd, his eyes locking onto me with a flicker of surprise. He looked relieved, as if finding a familiar landmark.
"Elara," he said, his smile easy. "There you are." His gaze swept over my dress, a hint of confusion in his eyes—it was not what he expected, but he couldn't pinpoint why. "You look... beautiful." He reached out, his hand finding the small of my back in a familiar, possessive gesture.
The moment his fingers made contact, a jolt of pure, undiluted revulsion shot through me. My blood seemed to scream in my veins, a silent, internal shriek of remembered betrayal. My smile never wavered, but every muscle in my body went rigid. A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch, a recoil my conscious mind was too slow to stop.
Liam felt it. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Are you alright? You're tense."
I forced a light, airy laugh, layering it over the boiling hatred. "Just a little cold, I think. This room is vast." I subtly shifted my weight, causing his hand to fall away naturally. "It's good to see you, Liam. Chloe looks stunning tonight, doesn't she? All eyes are on her."
"I didn't notice," he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre that once would have made my heart flutter. Now, it felt like spiders crawling on my skin. "Elara," he said, his hand finding its way back onto my lower back, this time pulling me firmly against him. "You know I only have eyes for you." His breath was hot against my ear, a mockery of intimacy. "You look… different tonight. Truly beautiful. It makes a man think about the future. Our future."
His words were a poison-tipped arrow, aimed at the heart of the girl I used to be. I tried to pull back, a slight, polite pressure, but his grip tightened. "Liam, please—"
"Don't be shy," he whispered, his other hand coming up to brush a stray curl from my shoulder, his knuckles deliberately grazing my bare skin. "There is no need for you to be jealous at Chloe... We both know where this is headed. Our marriage will cement everything. And I have to say… I'm rather looking forward to it." The suggestion in his voice was as thick and cloying as syrup.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to pierce through my controlled rage. I was trapped in his hold, the placid smile on my face feeling like it was about to crack. I prepared to shove him away, consequences be damned, when a voice, cold and clear as a shard of ice, cut through the heated space between us.
"Am I interrupting?"
We both turned. Kaelen Vancourt stood there, a fresh glass of whisky in his hand, his expression unreadable. His gaze wasn't on Liam; it was fixed on me, on the strained line of my shoulders, on Liam's possessive hand still splayed against the crimson velvet on my back. His presence was like a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure, silencing the noise around us.
Liam's grip loosened in surprise. "Uncle Kaelen. I didn't know you were attending."
"Evidently," Kaelen replied, his tone flat. His gunmetal eyes finally slid to his nephew. "Your father is looking for you, Liam. Something about the Hamilton report. He seems to think you have the figures."
It was a dismissal, clear and absolute. A lie, delivered with such effortless authority that Liam couldn't question it. The spell was broken. Liam's face flushed with a mixture of frustration and deference. He had no choice.
"Of course," Liam said, his voice tight. He shot me a final look, one of a boy who had his toy taken away. "We'll continue this later, Elara."
He walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart hammering, the ghost of his touch burning like a brand. I smoothed my dress, willing my composure to return.
Kaelen watched him go before turning his dispassionate gaze back to me. He didn't offer sympathy. He didn't ask if I was alright.
He took a slow sip of his whisky, his eyes lingering on the spot where Liam's hand had been. "Why did you tense up?"
"No...Nothing. It was cold.."
Kaelen chuckled, his voice deep and magnetic, "Not after two flutes of champagne no. Now tell me, what is it that made you dislike Liam so? You were all over him before this."
He had been watching me since I entered. But why? What is it that interest him? Was it for the favour? "He doesn't sound sincere." I shrugged gently.
"I didn't know you could tell sincerity from simple conversations," he swirled his drink mindlessly, the ice cubes making a soft clinking sound.
"I didn't know the great Mr Kaelen takes interest in the life of a eighteen year old." I held up my flute of champagne to his whisky, "but thank you anyway, for helping me out of the fix." I downed whatever's left of my champagne and walked away, leaving behind a smiling Kaelen.