The sleek black car gleamed in the Sterling driveway, a mirror of the sunlight shining upon us that day. From the upstairs window, I could feel Chloe's gaze burning down — pale face pressed to the glass, her expression a storm barely leashed.
Perfect. She was watching.
Liam walked up to me and offered his hand with a practiced smile, the picture of a perfect gentleman. "You look beautiful, Elara."
His voice was soft, honeyed. It used to melt me once. Now, it only reminded me how well he performed.
"Thank you," I murmured, placing my hand lightly on his arm — close enough for my hair to brush his shoulder, close enough to twist the knife in Chloe's chest. I smiled, the kind that promised warmth but delivered frost.
The performance had begun.
We made our way to the car, where Liam held the door open for me. His eyes swept over my silver satin dress-elegant, but tight enough to hug my figure. I placed my hand lightly on his extended hand, leaning in just enough for my hair to brush his shoulder, as I sat into the car.
"Thank you, Liam." I smiled at him, and stole a glance at the upstairs window as I let him close the limo door.
Le Cygne Noir was a cathedral of old money — polished marble, gold leaf, and conversations spoken in tones soft enough to conceal a thousand sins. The air smelled of lemon polish and restraint, Moonlight Sonata playing softly in the background.
We were shown to a private rom, with a table draped in white cloth, crystal glasses catching the low light.
When the sommelier approached, Liam smiled at me, pride glinting in his eyes. "My girlfriend has the better palate."
Of course I did. My mother had seen to that.
I ordered in perfect Parisian French, my voice calm and melodic. "Nous commencerons avec le tartare de thon rouge, et ensuite les filets de sole meunière. Pour le vin, une bouteille du Puligny-Montrachet, s'il vous plaît." (We will start with the bluefin tuna tartare, and then the sole meunière fillets. For the wine, a bottle of the Puligny-Montrachet, please.)
The sommelier bowed a little deeper than before. Liam's smile softened, pleased, possessive.
"I forget how elegant you sound in French," he said, reaching for my hand across the table.
I let him take it — briefly. "My mother believed refinement was non-negotiable," I replied, pulling my hand back to lift my glass. The sparkling water gleamed like liquid crystals under the chandelier.
For a moment, I let the silence stretch — just long enough for him to think I was lost in nostalgia. Then, I looked up through my lashes, as I sat my glass down. "Liam… may I ask you something?"
He leaned forward, eager, that same old indulgent warmth in his eyes. "Anything."
"It's just…" I let my voice tremble, soft and uncertain. "With Chloe living with us now… and the two of you getting along so well…" I slowly pulled my hand back, allowing his fingers to trail the back of my hand just so slightly. "Sometimes... I wonder where I fit now."
He smiled — his expression softening into that familiar, patronizing warmth that had once made my heart flutter. Something stirred at the bottom of my heart, but at the memory of the look he gave me as I was shoved off the balcony, my blood ran cold. "Elara," he began, as he reached for my hand again, but I subtly moved it to adjust my napkin. "You have nothing to worry about. You will always be my first priority. Chloe is just your sister. I only—"
I'd heard it all before. Word for word.
So I gave him the same scene he once gave me — a performance. My eyes shimmered with unshed tears I didn't feel. "Then prove it," I whispered.
His brows furrowed. "Prove it?"
"Let everyone see that it's still us. That our future is real." I leaned close, brushing my cheek against his temple, resting my hand lightly over his heart — the perfect frame. The lighting, the angle, the intimacy.
He hesitated. Just a flicker — a shadow in his eyes — before his smile returned, camera-ready.
"Say cheese," he murmured.
The shutter clicked.
A few minutes later, his post went live. My always. ❤️
I smiled, folding my phone into my clutch. Chloe's face flashed in my mind — pale, trembling, betrayed. The image was intoxicating.
"Elara," Liam began again, as the waiters entered the room with our orders. "The other night, we were talking about bringing the engagement forward..."
"Liam," I smiled at him, a smile that did not quite reach my eyes. "Daddy is planning a party to formally welcome Ms Diana and Chloe into the family. I'm afraid... I don't think it appropriate to steal their thunder at this juncture..."
Liam's face lit up, "So you agree? To bring forward the engagement? We could start planning now. It can wait until after the welcoming party."
I just gave him a smile as I sipped on my wine. The conversation that continued was light and casual, jumping from art galleries, to the new elite club downtown.
Later, I excused myself to the restroom. I needed a break from the suffocating charade.
The cool air inside bit at my skin. I splashed water on my wrists, watching droplets trail over the satin sheen of my dress. My reflection stared back — a woman sculpted in silver and vengeance. A woman pretending so well, she could barely tell where the mask ended.
When I turned, he was there.
Kaelen.
He stood in the dim corridor like a shadow that had taken human shape — still, silent, eyes unreadable. The scent of sandalwood and cold night air lingered between us.
"Congratulations," he said, voice low, smooth, and utterly unforgiving. "It seems your reconciliation is proceeding… smoothly."
The words were a blade wrapped in civility.
I straightened. "What do you mean?"
He arched a brow. "Why are you doing this?"
"I don't understand, Mr. Kaelen."
"Liam."
His tone hardened around the name.
I met his gaze without flinching. "One must do what needs to be done."
He took a step closer, and the corridor seemed to shrink. "Including pretending affection for a man you clearly despise?" His eyes were like frost — seeing through me, cutting straight to bone. "Isn't that a price too high?"
I let out a soft breath — not quite a laugh. "Perhaps. But some victories demand a sacrifice." I tilted my head slightly, voice lowering. "Even a permanent one."
The air between us tightened.
"How much hatred and anger must you have for Liam to have to do this? There is no victory in shackling yourself to the very thing that you hate," he said quietly. "You're sharpening a blade, not signing your own death warrant."
The concern in his tone caught me off guard — almost enough to shake me. Almost.
"Why do my basis and methods concern you, Mr. Kaelen?" My voice came out cooler than I intended. "This is my war."
He didn't answer. But the silence spoke volumes — something dark and uninvited flickering in his eyes.
I stepped past him, close enough that the silver hem of my dress brushed against his tailored trousers. The air between us crackled — heat and defiance, tightly coiled.
"Good night, Mr. Kaelen," I murmured, not looking back.
Each step away felt like a reclaiming. Of power. Of control. Of the woman he clearly didn't understand — and perhaps never would.