Chapter 81: The Only Gift I Wanted
Seraphina's Perspective
Langford Hall glittered.
Not in the charming way Seraphina's eyes did when she had a secret. No, this was calculated brilliance—gold filigree spun into garlands, chandeliers refitted with polished quartz, imported orchids coiled up white marble columns like serpents dressed for court. Everything shimmered. Everything was arranged.
And none of it mattered to me.
It was my birthday, apparently.
A celebration orchestrated by a mother who spent the morning arguing about wine pairings and a father who threatened to fire the florist over the rose tint. Langford parties were not about joy. They were about proving to the world that we still reigned. That the old blood still pulsed strongest. That wealth and elegance were more than power—they were heritage.
And so, they gathered. Lords, heiresses, political puppeteers wrapped in linen and polished smiles. My classmates came too, pushed forward by parents desperate to be seen.
But I kept scanning the entrance—not for them.
For her. For my moonlight.
And when I saw Evangeline "Eva" Claire Ainsley, tucked between her mama— Evelyn and mére— aunt Vivi, her hair curled at the ends like little waves of sunlight, I could finally breathe. She wore a ribbon around her wrist the same pale gold as my dress. Her smile lit a match in the dark of me.
"Happy birthday," she mouthed across the room, holding a tiny fist to her heart. "Forever."
I touched my necklace—her necklace. The one she had designed, commissioned, and gifted me in secret.
Gold and Changbai peridot. Stars and suns. A ring where the moon met the sun, and a bracelet with a black diamond that shimmered when I moved, like it was alive. The earrings she gave me were mismatched—sun on the left, moon on the right—just like how she saw the world. Everything had meaning.
No one else knew.
Not yet.
Earlier that week, the Ainsley family had asked me to keep her identity quiet. They didn't want too much attention drawn to Eva. "She's still a child," Aunt Evelyn had said gently. "And some eyes see children as tools."
I understood.
But it hurt, a little, not to say it out loud: She made this for me. My little moonbeam. My heart.
So I wore the set, proudly, and I waited.
The moment came too soon.
"Darling," said one of Mother's friends, eyes on the jewelry around my neck, "is that a Langford design? Did your mother have it commissioned?"
The others around her leaned in. Smiles froze like masks.
"No," I said softly but firmly. "It was a gift. From Eva. And her family."
"Oh," said someone too quickly. "That little girl? The one from the Ainsley estate?"
"The very one," I replied, my chin high.
"You mean the smart one," another corrected, laughing tightly. "She's precocious."
There was a pause. Then polite chuckles.
But beneath it, I heard the undertow.
"The Ainsley girl. Climbing. Buying favor. New money."
They wouldn't say it aloud, but I knew how to read silence. Especially when sharpened like a knife.
"Curious," one of the older women murmured. "I thought the Ainsleys were only just emerging… they're not exactly…" Her sentence trailed, but her smirk didn't.
"Not exactly what?" I asked.
The smile faltered. "Nothing, dear. Nothing."
I hated their mouths. How they spoke in riddles and poisons. How they smiled while calculating.
They didn't see Eva.
They didn't know her. They didn't care.
All they saw was the surname she was allowed to wear. Not the truth of her. Not her poems. Not her laughter. Not how she once kissed my cheek and asked if stars were softer than my skin.
"Gremlin maybe goblin, one classmate had sneered once. She's always trying to get attention."
But when I turned to her at that moment, the classmate who had called Eva that— the one dressed in silk bought with someone else's diamonds— she went quiet.
Because I hadn't left Eva's side all day.
Because Eva was seated beside me at the banquet table. Because she had helped me open every gift, murmuring jokes in my ear. Because I smiled more in her presence than I ever had under this roof.
Because I had made a choice. And I chose her.
*****
After cake and toast and three separate orchestral performances (yes, really), I found a moment alone with her in the side garden.
She was pacing near the moon lilies, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
"You did it," I whispered, stepping beside her.
She looked up, startled. "Did what?"
"Made me feel like this was mine."
She blinked. "It is yours."
I smiled, lowering my voice. "No, not the party. This. You. The necklace. The ring. The kiss you left in my hand."
Eva's ears turned red. "You weren't supposed to say anything."
"I didn't say you designed them. Just that you gave them. That it was from your family."
"Oh."
"You don't mind?"
She glanced down, kicking a pebble. "I just… don't want people to laugh at you. Because of me."
I knelt in the grass, lifting her chin. "Eva. They can laugh all they want. But I don't want their gifts. I don't want their names. I don't even want this house."
She stared.
I smiled. "I want the girl who makes me jewelry from the sun and moon. That's all."
Her lip trembled slightly.
"Don't cry," I said, brushing a thumb beneath her eye. "Or I'll have to kiss it away."
Eva brightened. "Really?"
"Don't push your luck."
"Too late."
Later that night, the adults sipped champagne and discussed hedge funds. Someone dropped a comment about "how modern" the Ainsleys were, voice steeped in condescension. Another joked that Reginald Ainsley had "the good sense to let his younger sister raise the child," and that it was "frugal, if nothing else."
"He doesn't even let the nanny care for her!" one said. "What's the point of paying help if you won't use them?"
"And Evelyn— she wears the pants in that house, doesn't she?"
There were chuckles.
I wanted to scream.
But instead, I found Eva's eyes across the ballroom, and she smiled—small, knowing, shy. Like she had stolen a star and hid it in her pocket.
And I remembered my vow:
That I would never judge her.
That when I inherited Langford or leave them behind, I would burn these snide legacies to ash.
That I would protect her, just as she'd promised to protect my smile with candy and kisses.
Let them mock. Let them sneer.
She was mine.
And I — fiercely, fiercely — was hers.