The chandelier above the ballroom glittered like frozen stars, casting a golden glow over people who smiled too widely and whispered too sharply. Every corner of the Hall of Varenne screamed wealth — marble floors polished enough to reflect your soul, walls trimmed with gold leaf, violinists playing melodies that sounded like expensive secrets.
But none of that felt comforting to her.
Not tonight.
Serena Vale adjusted the thin straps of her silver dress as she stood near the balcony, watching the crowd instead of joining them. She looked perfect — flawless makeup, hair styled in soft waves, a dress that flowed like liquid moonlight — but inside, her heartbeat was unsettled, almost warning her.
She had turned eighteen today.
She should have felt happy.
But something was wrong.
Her father's political allies kept glancing at her with strange, unreadable eyes. Her stepmother's smile was too sharp, too victorious. And her stepsister, Alina, had been circling the room like a smug shark all evening.
Serena's fingers tightened around her champagne glass.
She had been raised in this world of polite lies, flashing cameras, and backhanded compliments. But tonight, the air felt different — heavy, expectant, dangerous.
And she didn't know why.
---
"Serena!" Alina's voice chirped from behind. "Come to the center! Mother wants you to stand beside me for the press photos."
Of course she did.
Serena forced a small smile and walked toward the center of the ballroom.
Her fiancé, Damien Hart, waited there — cold, handsome, always distant. The kind of man who smiled without warmth and loved without ever giving anything real.
But Serena had accepted it.
Their engagement was arranged.
Breaking the rules wasn't allowed.
Tonight was supposed to be their official public announcement.
As she approached, Alina's fingers slipped around Damien's arm.
Serena froze.
The room seemed to tilt.
Her stepsister pressed herself closer to him, giggling at something he whispered. His hand — the hand that always stayed proper, reserved, emotionless — slid behind Alina's waist.
Serena blinked slowly.
Once.
Twice.
They moved away before she reached them.
Her chest tightened, but she kept walking, face calm. Cameras flashed. A reporter shouted her name. Someone called for a group photo. The room buzzed around her like she wasn't even standing there.
And then—
A loud notification sound echoed through the ballroom's speakers.
A giant screen behind the stage lit up.
Every head turned.
Serena's heart dropped.
A video started playing.
Damien…
and Alina…
in a hotel room.
His shirt on the floor.
Her laughter.
Their lips against each other.
His voice whispering,
"I made a mistake choosing Serena. You're the one I want."
The ballroom exploded with gasps.
Serena's vision blurred. For a moment, all she saw was white — like her whole world was wiped away.
Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
Whispers erupted.
"Is that Damien?"
"They're engaged, aren't they?"
"How humiliating."
"The poor girl…"
"No wonder the stepmother looks so pleased."
Serena looked at her father.
He didn't move.
He didn't even react.
Then she looked at Damien.
He wasn't horrified.
He wasn't apologizing.
He wasn't even surprised.
He simply stepped away from Alina, straightened his suit, and said coldly,
"This is not what it looks like."
But the universe was cruel.
Because the video continued—
"…Serena will understand. She always listens. She's too soft to fight back."
Serena felt something inside her snap.
Alina smirked.
Her stepmother pretended to faint for attention.
Damien reached toward Serena like he expected her to accept his excuses.
But she stepped back.
Every eye was on her — waiting for tears, heartbreak, weakness.
Instead, she straightened her back.
Lifted her chin.
And said softly,
"Thank you for the reminder."
The crowd murmured.
Damien frowned. "Serena—"
"For showing me the truth," she continued, voice steady enough to silence the room. "I don't fight for what doesn't want me."
Gasps.
Even Alina blinked, shocked.
Serena turned around and walked toward the exit in graceful, steady steps.
Behind her, Damien called her name.
Behind her, her stepmother hissed at the security to stop her.
Behind her, people whispered stories that would spread like wildfire online.
But Serena didn't look back.
Not once.
---
Outside, she exhaled shakily and leaned against a marble pillar. Her eyes finally burned, but she didn't cry. Not yet.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
Until she saw the message:
"Get out of the house tonight.
You're in danger.
Trust me — and only trust yourself."
Serena's breath caught.
Before she could respond, another text came.
"If you stay, you lose everything."
Her pulse quickened.
Who was this?
How did they know?
She typed quickly:
Who are you?
No answer.
Instead, she received one more message —
a photo.
She stared at it, her stomach twisting.
It was a picture of her stepmother.
Holding a folder.
With Serena's name on it.
And a signature line… already forged.
Serena felt cold all over.
Her fiancé had humiliated her.
Her stepsister had betrayed her.
Her family had acted like she was disposable.
But this—
this was something deeper.
Something planned.
Something dangerous.
She looked back at the grand ballroom doors and whispered to herself,
"This is just the beginning, isn't it?"
The night breeze answered with silence.
But somewhere in the shadows, someone was watching her.
A tall figure.
Dressed in black.
Eyes following her with silent intensity.
She didn't notice him.
Not yet.
But he noticed her.
Every step she took.
Every breath she held back.
The mysterious man's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he disappeared behind a passing car.
As if he knew—
Tonight was the night the good girl died.
And the heiress who broke every rule
was born.