The Sterling mansion was bathed in warm amber light when I returned, the kind that made marble look softer and shadows longer. From the outside, it was perfection — symmetry and serenity, the kind of beauty that fooled people into thinking what lay inside was whole.
I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking on the marble steps. Miriam was waiting by the door, her posture as straight as a soldier's. She took my jacket in silence, but her eyes were sharper than usual — assessing, alert.
"Something wrong?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You could say that, Miss Elara. There's… something you should hear."
She followed me up to my room without another word. The house was quiet, but not peaceful — more like a stage after the curtain had fallen, the air still thick with the memory of applause and deceit.
When she closed the bedroom door behind us, the tension in her shoulders eased only slightly.
"Go on," I said, unfastening my earrings, my reflection in the vanity a picture of poise.
"The moment you left," she began softly, "Miss Chloe's act slipped. She thought no one was watching. The vase your father brought from Shanghai — the one in the drawing room — it's gone. Smashed to bits."
I turned, arching a brow. "Shattered?"
"Into dust," she confirmed. "She threw it. We heard the commotion but nobody dared to step in and stop her. And the language that followed… not fit for polite company." Her mouth tightened. "She called you a conniving snake. Said you made a fool of them both. She cried, screamed, then claimed you forced her hand."
My lips curved. "Of course she did. Have the mess cleaned. No need for daddy to know our guest dislikes porcelain."
Miriam nodded and continued, "She called Madam as well. She told her that she can't stand you any longer, and that this was not what was promised to her when they moved in. I could only hear this much as she slammed her room door shut after."
I nodded, "Thanks, Miriam. The house is quiet now. I suppose my dear sister has calmed down?"
Miriam hesitated. "She's calmer now. She stopped as soon as Mr. Liam's car rolled up our driveway. She is still in her room. And I believe she's on a call… with Mr. Liam."
A flicker of amusement passed through me. "Perfect," I murmured. "Thank you, Miriam. That'll be all."
When she left, I slipped out of my heels and padded silently down the corridor, my steps as quiet as a shadow's breath.
Chloe's door was slightly ajar — just enough. The glow of her bedside lamp spilled into the hallway, and her voice drifted through, soft and trembling, every note precisely placed.
"...can't believe she asked you to do that, Liam," she said, her tone laced with concern. "I'm so sorry," she let out a 'cute' chuckle, "but that is just… embarrassing, you know? For you. For her. For all of us even. That's so juvenile!"
A pause. Then, with fragile laughter: "If I have a boyfriend that is anywhere as good as you are, I'd trust him enough not to get jealous over something so silly. But I guess... Perhaps she saw something special between us," she chuckled again, "How do you always know when I'm joking! But jokes aside, Elara's different. She's… sensitive. You know how she is. Perhaps you should stay away from me, to protect her feelings."
My hand tightened on the doorframe. Her performance was flawless — tender concern wrapped around poison, each word calculated to sting without seeming cruel.
Silence, then a sigh that could have melted glass. "Anyway, I heard about this new place — Onyx. Everyone's talking about it. I'm gonna go now. I don't have any other plans tonight so I'm gonna go check it out. I guess I need some.... distraction. It's.. I don't know if I should be saying this but... the photo... It affected me more than it should… maybe that's stupid. You're always so friendly and patient towards me. I should feel lucky to have you as my... brother-in-law." There was a small pause as Chloe let out a small sniffle. "Wait, Liam... It's alright, you don't have to come just for me. I'll be alright. I have always been."
Another pause, and Chloe's voice rang out again, this time, honeyed and seductive, her next words made bile rise in my throat. "You're the best, Liam. It'll be our little secret."
A small, amused exhale escaped me before I could stop it. The irony was exquisite — our little secret. The same phrase he'd once whispered to me, a lifetime ago, before pushing me off that balcony.
I stepped back, leaving her in her perfect little web of whispers.
When I reached my room again, I crossed to the window, pushing aside the curtain. The night beyond was vast and cold, glittering with distant stars.
They were already replaying the same script — Chloe with her tears, Liam with his alpha-male ego and dishonestly.
But this time, I wasn't the naive heiress stumbling through their performance. I was the director. And the next act had already begun.
I slowly walked back to my room, the taste of Chloe's performance still bitter on my tongue. The script was so predictable. It was time to rewrite it entirely.
I opened my closet, pushing past the elegant sheaths and demure blouses—the armor of the old Elara. My fingers brushed against cool, heavy silk. I pulled out the dress.
It was the color of a midnight sky, a slip of liquid obsidian that promised everything and revealed just enough. The neckline plunged, held up by the merest whisper of delicate straps. The fabric clung, slinky and unforgiving, from bust to hip before cascading into a slight flare. It was backless, a daring sweep of bare skin from shoulders to waist. This was not an outfit for hiding. It was an announcement.
I let the silver satin dress pool on the floor, a discarded skin. Stepping into the black dress was like stepping into a new identity. I fastened my diamond choker, the cold stones a stark contrast against my skin, and left my hair down, a sleek curtain. My makeup was smoldering—kohl-rimmed eyes and a slash of crimson lipstick.
Miriam was waiting by the service entrance, my long black coat already in her hands. Her eyes, usually so unreadable, widened for a single, telling second before she schooled her features. She helped me into the coat, its severe lines concealing the weapon beneath.
"The car is around back, Miss Elara," she murmured. "Miss Chloe has left a while ago."
The drive to Onyx was a silent procession through a city of electric dreams. The club was a fortress of black glass and throbbing light. I didn't wait in line. A flick of the platinum card and the velvet rope fell away, the bouncer's gaze averted as I swept past.
Inside, the bass was a primal heartbeat. This was the newest elite club in town. The air was hot, thick with perfume and desire. I shrugged off my coat at the cloakroom, ordered a glass of mocktail, and walked around, slowly swirling my drink as I look for my dear sister and boyfriend, ignoring the looks I got on the way.
I found them exactly where I knew I would: in a semi-private booth, bathed in the dim, seductive glow of a single overhead light.
I didn't approach. I claimed a seat at the long, polished onyx bar directly opposite their section, crossing my legs with a slow, deliberate grace that made the slit in my dress fall open. I set my mocktail down, the glass clicking softly on the counter, and watched the performance unfold.
Chloe had chosen her own armor for the night: a dress of black leather, so short and tight it looked painted on. The deep V-neck plunged recklessly, leaving little to the imagination. She was a stark, vibrant flame in the moody darkness, and she knew it.
And Liam, my 'boyfriend' who was just discussing engagement plans with me earlier that day, was mesmerized by the heat.
He was trying to look the part of the reluctant gentleman, but his body betrayed him. His initial stiffness had melted under the warmth of her attention and the potency of the scotch. A slow, captivated smile had replaced his nervousness. When Chloe leaned in, her hand on his forearm, her crimson lips close to his ear, he didn't pull away. He leaned in too, his eyes dropping to the revealing neckline of her dress before snapping back to her face, a flush of guilty pleasure coloring his neck.
He was enjoying this. He was savoring the attention of a beautiful, desperate woman, playing her against the stable, elegant future I represented. He wanted to have both.
Then, Chloe escalated.
She reached up and playfully, slowly, straightened his tie. It was an intimate, wifely gesture, completely out of place. Her eyes were locked on his, a challenge and an invitation.
I saw the moment of his surrender. His chest puffed out slightly, his posture relaxing into a hubristic confidence. He was the king of his little velvet-roped castle, with a beautiful girl hanging on his every word. The risk, the betrayal—it all seemed to fuel his ego.
That's when I made my move.
I didn't stand. I didn't wave. I simply picked up my glass, the movement catching the light and, inevitably, Liam's smug, wandering eye.