The clothes were arranged like a drama set—elegant, expensive. Lily didn't react. She knew this world. She just didn't belong to it anymore.
Her mother didn't raise her voice.
She only glanced once, then looked away.
The dress landed on Lily's arms without warning ,soft fabric, expensive weight, unfamiliar texture slipping through her fingers.The dress shimmered faintly, white like polished pearls, the kind chosen to be admired under warm lights, the kind meant to say we belong here.
"Change into this before your father sees you," her mother said, already turning away.
"Today is important for our family. Someone important is coming. Behave, Lily."
Whatever followed, it didn't include her.
Lily nodded instinctively, the movement small, practiced. Her throat tightened, but she swallowed it down the way she always did.
In her room, she stood quietly with the dress draped over her hands.
It was beautiful.
And it wasn't hers.
The fabric hugged her differently than her own clothes, too perfect, too deliberate. When she changed, her reflection felt unfamiliar, like she was borrowing someone else's life for the evening. She styled her long hair the way her mother had long ago, before time and distance changed everything. Her fingers moving with focus, as if precision could protect her from being seen too clearly.
When she stepped back out, her mother looked at her.
This time, her eyes lingered.
Her response was a single motion, then silence.
Then she left, heels clicking away, taking the air with her.
Lily stood there alone, the silence returning heavier than before.
So this is how loneliness sounds, she thought.
Not loud. Just empty.
She moved through the house and found her old room, exactly where it had always been.
She wandered back to her room. It was neat, untouched, like a hotel space someone stayed in but never lived inside. No warmth clung to the walls. No memories were invited to stay. She had moved out as soon as she could, saving quietly, stubbornly, refusing to take money from a family she never felt part of.
This place was not home.
It never had been.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
When the door opened, Julian Grimshaw, her older stepbrother, stood there tall and composed, a quiet presence amid the rest of the house. At twenty-five, he moved with a confidence Lily had never known. His dark hair fell slightly messy, and his blue eyes held a gentle kindness that felt effortless.
"How are you doing, Lily?" he asked, a small, genuine smile on his face.
She hesitated before answering.
"I'm… fine."
Her voice sounded polite. Distant. Like she was speaking to someone through glass.
Julian nodded, as if he understood that fine meant nothing at all.
"Dinner's ready."
They walked together down the hall. Lily kept her hands folded in front of her, steps quiet. Julian slowed his pace slightly, matching hers without saying anything. It was a small kindness, but she felt it.
The dining room glowed.
Crystal lights reflected off polished surfaces. The table was long, decorated carefully—linen smooth, silverware aligned, glasses waiting like silent witnesses. Everything was prepared for importance.
Theo Grimshaw was already there, my second stepbrother, only two years older than me. He looked enough like Julian that strangers might think they were the same. But where Julian felt calm, Theo felt closed. His eyes passed over me without pause, without recognition, like I was part of a book no one opened rather than family.
Ethan, my real brother, had our mother's deep blue eyes and the same blond hair, as if he'd carried her with him untouched.
He approached next, her brother's smile practiced, his voice warm but hollow.
"Hey, Lily."
She nodded back.
"Hi."
It felt like a performance. Like siblings playing roles they never rehearsed.
Then the guest arrived.
An older man—sharp suit, confident posture, wealth worn effortlessly. He entered with Victor Grimshaw, Lily's stepfather, whose presence filled the room without warmth. The man's eyes paused on Lily.
"Good evening," he said, offering a polite smile.
She returned it instinctively.
"Good evening, sir."
The contrast stung.
A stranger noticed her more than her own mother ever did.
Introductions followed. Names. Titles. Achievements. Voices layered over each other like noise she couldn't escape. Lily took her seat, smoothing the dress over her knees, shoulders straight, expression composed.
The conversation moved easily—business deals, investments, future plans. Words like growth, profit, expansion floated across the table. Laughter followed at the right moments.
Lily barely touched her food.
Each bite felt too heavy. The flavors blurred together, meaningless. She chewed slowly, staring at her plate, nodding when she thought she was supposed to.
She wanted to leave.
She wanted her small place.
Max waiting at the door.
Silence that felt kind.
No one noticed her slipping inward. No one asked if she was tired. No one cared that her hands trembled slightly as she set her fork down.
She focused on breathing.
In.
Out.
Don't cry.
And suddenly,
Aiden arrived in her thoughts like a breath she hadn't taken.
The way she hadn't met his eyes properly when she left. The way his voice had softened when he spoke about Mira. Something shifted in her chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
Maybe he likes Mira.
The thought landed gently but stayed.
She didn't understand it. Didn't want to. It wasn't jealousy—she told herself that quickly.
It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
I'm just curious, she thought.
That's all.
She blinked, pushing the feeling away, forcing her attention back to the table where everyone spoke over her presence like a flower reaching for rain that never came, she was quietly ignored.
Her chest ached quietly.
She pressed her lips together, holding the tears in, not because anyone would care, but because crying here felt like giving this house something it didn't deserve.
Lily sat there, beautifully dressed, perfectly behaved.
And utterly unseen.
End of the Chapter 16