Chapter 26 — The Gala
The chandeliers burned like captured stars.
Music drifted through the grand ballroom — soft, expensive, and suffocating.
Every corner of the room sparkled with glass and ambition. The women wore smiles sharper than their diamonds; the men, power disguised as politeness.
Celia stood among them, dressed in silver silk that caught the light every time she moved. Her earrings — Dahlia's mother's earrings — felt like chains against her skin.
"Smile, Beverly," Dahlia whispered beside her, looping her arm through hers like they were still best friends. "People are watching."
"I noticed," Celia muttered through gritted teeth.
Dahlia's smile widened, perfect and false. "Good. Let's give them a show."
⸻
The night had barely begun, and Celia already wanted to escape. Her father's presence loomed from across the hall — tall, calm, and watching every move she made. Every time she caught his eye, he gave a small approving nod.
Not for her, though. For Dahlia.
Celia felt it deep in her gut.
He didn't see a daughter.
He saw an investment — one who finally learned obedience.
No, Beverly's faint voice whispered from somewhere inside her mind. He's always been like this. He just found a better puppet.
⸻
"Ah, Mr. Ward!" a man greeted, approaching Dahlia's father. "Your daughter is as stunning as ever."
Dahlia turned with practiced grace, laughter spilling effortlessly from her lips. "You flatter me, sir."
Celia watched her, mesmerized and unsettled. Dahlia's movements were flawless, her timing impeccable — every word tailored to please. But her eyes… her eyes were cold. Calculating.
It was almost robotic.
She leaned closer to Celia, voice a whisper only she could hear.
"Did you think I came back just to be your shadow again?"
Celia stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Dahlia's smile didn't waver. "You'll see."
⸻
The night blurred into slow torture — introductions, polite laughter, and champagne glasses clinking like distant bells.
Then came the moment that would change everything.
The host tapped the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a special announcement. A partnership between two of our most respected families — the Wards and the Kingsleys."
Applause rippled through the hall. Celia blinked in confusion — the Kingsleys? Her father's voice boomed next.
"My daughter Beverly has agreed to assist Mr. Ward's company in their new project. She and Miss Ward will co-manage the launch."
Celia's blood went cold.
She hadn't agreed to anything.
Dahlia turned to her, eyes glinting like glass. "Surprise."
The room spun. Her father looked at her with that same commanding smile.
"Don't look so shocked, dear. It's a wonderful opportunity."
Celia forced herself to nod, every muscle trembling. "Yes… wonderful."
You're trapped
⸻
"Excuse me."
Prince's voice sliced through the noise.
He approached, tall and composed, but his expression held something she hadn't seen before — worry.
"Beverly," he said softly. "You look… different."
"Different?" she asked, forcing a small smile.
"Less like someone enjoying herself. More like someone surviving."
Celia's breath hitched. He had always been too observant.
Dahlia appeared beside them, linking her arm through Celia's again. "Oh, Prince! How good to see you again."
Prince's jaw tightened. "Dahlia."
The air between them thickened instantly — familiarity, tension, and an undercurrent of dislike.
"You two know each other?" Celia asked, feigning curiosity.
"Of course," Dahlia replied smoothly. "We went to the same boarding school."
Celia's stomach dropped. Boarding school.
Prince's gaze flicked to her. "Be careful around her, Beverly."
Dahlia's laugh was light, almost musical. "Oh, Prince, always so dramatic. Don't worry, I take good care of my friends."
Her tone was sweet — too sweet.
Prince looked unconvinced.
⸻
Later that night, as the music softened, Celia slipped away from the crowd to the balcony.
The cool air brushed her skin like a quiet reprieve from the chaos.
She gripped the railing, staring out at the glowing city below.
The noise from the ballroom felt a world away.
Her reflection caught in the glass — the diamonds, the painted smile, the ghost of Beverly behind her eyes.
You can't let her win again.
"I know," she whispered. "But she's already three steps ahead."
The balcony door creaked open.
"I thought you might be out here," Prince said, stepping into the moonlight.
She didn't turn around. "I needed air."
He stood beside her, silent for a long moment. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
"Everything's fine."
"You're lying."
Her laugh was hollow. "You've always been good at noticing things that aren't your business."
Prince's expression softened. "I just want to help."
Celia turned to him finally — her eyes calm, her voice low. "Then don't."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because if you help me now… she'll destroy you too."
He opened his mouth to ask who, but before he could —
"Beverly!" Dahlia's voice rang from the doorway. "There you are. We're leaving."
Her tone left no room for argument.
Celia gave Prince a faint smile — one that hurt to make. "See? She already knows where to find me."
And just like that, she turned and walked away.
⸻
From the shadows of the ballroom, Beverly's father watched them both leave — his smile faint and chilling.
"Just as planned," he murmured.