Chapter 23

The chandeliers of The Grand Hyatt blazed with blinding brilliance.

Evelyn Laurent stood in the corner of the ballroom, her fingertips absently tracing the rim of her champagne flute. The fractured light from the crystal overhead scattered into tiny sparks in her eyes, yet failed to pierce the darkness within.

"Little Seven, are you tired?"

Victoria Langley appeared beside her without warning, gently adjusting the shawl draped over her daughter's shoulders. Evelyn realized with a start how rigid her own posture had become.

"Mother, I'd like to return home."

Her voice was feather-light, brushing against Victoria's heart. The matriarch's eyes softened with concern as she summoned the chauffeur. "Take Miss Evelyn back to the manor to rest."

As Evelyn wove through the glittering crowd, countless heated stares clung to her back. The pitying smirks and scornful glances she'd endured in Cloudhaven had transformed overnight into sycophantic admiration.

Three days ago, she'd been the discarded daughter mocked across high society. Now, she was the Langley family's treasured jewel.

The bathroom mirror reflected Isabella Valentine's contorted expression.

"How dare she?" The diamond-encrusted clutch slammed onto the marble countertop, making her two lackeys flinch. "That backwater peasant has no right standing beside Ethan!"

The faucet screeched as she twisted it violently, the gushing water failing to drown her shrill voice. Perfectly manicured nails dug crescent moons into her palms.

"Don't upset yourself, Bella," cooed the girl in pink tulle. "I heard she dropped out of high school and ran with street gangs."

"Exactly," the other chimed in. "Mr. Sullivan's only tolerating her because of their engagement contract. After he sees your piano recital—"

Isabella silenced them with a raised hand.

The reflection showed a girl whose lips now curved into a serene smile, all traces of fury erased. She reapplied her lipstick with deliberate strokes. "Next month's charity gala will show everyone what a true socialite looks like."

Water droplets fell from the gold-plated faucet, splashing against the marble like the first whispers of a spreading conspiracy.

At the corridor's end, Ethan Sullivan leaned against a fluted column, moonlight through stained glass dappling his sharp profile like an aristocrat stepped from a Renaissance painting.

Isabella's footsteps instinctively softened. Watching him check his watch, her heartbeat stuttered. A man of his caliber deserved a refined heiress like her—not some uncouth...wildling.

The bathroom lights glared harshly.

Evelyn Laurent touched up her lipstick in the mirror while her two lackeys fussed over her hair.