The black sedan stopped smoothly at the entrance. Her grandmother's mansion stretched ahead.
A red carpet ran straight to the doors.
Several sleek, expensive cars were already lined up along the driveway.
"Holy mother of… Liv, are we lost," Emily breathed, eyes wide. She leaned closer to the tinted window, her nose almost pressed against the glass. "Are those… cameras? Actual cameras?"
Lyvana's jaw tightened. "I don't know who set this up, Emy."
But she did.
Clarisse Davenport.
This was a calculated set-up. In her past life. The sudden press invite, the lavish decorations, and worst of all, that gown. The off-the-rack, shapeless disaster that had made her look like a lost bridesmaid instead of the bride-to-be.
Clarisse had wanted her to look ridiculous. And she'd succeeded.
The tabloids hadn't spared her, either:
Heiress or Hand-Me-Down?
Vaughn's Mousy Fiancée
Aurora's CEO Fails to Impress
Each headline had cut like glass.
"Seriously, what's with the press? I thought this was just family and a few close friends."
"It always is, until it isn't."
Lyvana pushed the door open. The cool autumn air brushed against her warm skin, calming her.
"My mother believes every significant life event deserves a public spectacle," Lyvana said. "Am sure she will be delighted by this. She's always adored Mark."
"Well, he is quite the catch, isn't he?" Emily teased. "Future senator, charming, loaded."
Lyvana shot her a look. "Seriously, Emy. Whose side are you on?"
"Yours." Emily said hopping out, her gaze sweeping across the manicured lawns where valets in crisp uniforms scurried like ants.
"You look gorgeous by the way," Emily whispered, just as the flash of cameras and the hum of people surrounded her.
Lyvana's stomach twisted with nerves, and her hands trembled slightly as security guided her inside. Every click of the cameras made her heart race, but she forced herself to stand tall.
Lyvana's dark hair cascaded down her back, catching the soft glow of the lights. Her dress, though white was a stunning, floor-length gown, and it fit her like it had been made just for her. The one-shoulder design showed just enough skin, while the high slit along one side revealed a hint of her leg as she moved. Gold embellishments traced the slit and circled her waist, catching every glint of light and adding a touch of luxury.
She had never dressed this way before, and she knew Mark would be shocked. This wasn't the modest "tent" he and his... Clarisse, had sent her.
The scent of lilies and expensive champagne washed over them as they entered the big hall.
A massive chandelier glittered above the grand foyer, casting light across the room. The soft sound of conversation and polite laughter filled the air. Guests in lavish outfits moved in small groups.
Near the sweeping staircase, a cluster of reporters jostled for position, their cameras flashing light all over the hall.
"Everyone who's anyone is here," Emily whispered, her eyes wide as she scanned the room. "Look, isn't that Meghan Trainor? And over there, the editor from Vogue Italia. Liv, this is insane!"
Lyvana tried to stay calm, but inside she was freaking out. Who was she fooling? She didn't belong here. All the lights, cameras, and fancy people made her feel small. She would rather be in her room, wrapped in a blanket, far away from all this.
But a lot was at stake here. This was her opportunity to sell her fashion house. In her past life she didn't have any confidence. Now she had the perfect opportunity. When life gives you lemons...
She took a deep breath, hearing her father's voice in her head.
You've got this, bluebell.
So she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and forced a smile. Tonight, she would prove she belonged here, no matter how much her hands trembled. Her life depends on it.
"Lyvana, darling, there you are." A smooth voice, cut through the chatter. Lyvana's mother, Isabel who was looking radiant in a sapphire gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, glided toward them with her arms open. Her smile was perfect as always.
But her eyes, cold and assessing, scanned Lyvana from head to toe.
Lyvana braced herself.
"My, my," Isabel murmured. "You've… changed your look."
There it was, the faintest flicker of disapproval, wrapped in false praise.
"And Emily, so lovely you could make it." She barely paused before her gaze drifted past them toward the entrance. "The Mayor just arrived and he is with your grandmother and Mark waiting for you by the terrace."
Lyvana's stomach churned. "Of course he is."
"Don't look so glum, dear. This is your night." Her mother's fingers found her elbow, guiding her deeper into the hall "Everyone is here and it's perfect."
Lyvana merely smiled and followed her.
I hope I don't puke, she thought.
Mark stood by the arched terrace entrance with a practiced smile as he charmed her grandmother and a small group of dignitaries including the Mayor. He looked every bit the perfect fiance, the ideal partner for a life of power and influence.
But she knew the truth.
Two years from now, he would put a knife in her heart.
He didn't really want her. She was just a business decision, a signed contract.
Behind him, Clarisse stood giggling a little too loudly, drawing his attention and making Lyvana's stomach twist the more.
She hated the way it all still got to her. The way he still got to her.
Fine, she thought. Let them have their show. She'd play along, for now. But this time, she'd find a way around it.
"Lyvana… Is that you?" Mark's smooth voice echoed behind her as he stepped closer, surprise all over his face. His dark suit impeccable as always. He didn't wait for an answer before brushing a hand against her waist. Every part of her screamed to push him away, to tell him exactly what she thought of him.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Lyvana froze, caught off guard, but as his touch grew bolder, revulsion boiled inside her. She shoved him back just enough to create space, being mindful of the cameras.