Chapter 89: Wolves in Velvet
The morning before the Langford gala was crisp with coastal wind and jasmine sun. In the private solarium off the Langford's east wing, light spilled through the curved glass roof like golden syrup, pooling across the marble breakfast table where Eva sat swinging her legs, barefoot and flushed with excitement.
"I told you," she said, nearly trembling with pride, "it would look perfect."
Seraphina, half-awake in an oversized cardigan and silk shorts, blinked down at the mirror Eva shoved into her hands. Her hair was still tousled from sleep, but atop her head, gently clipped just above her temple, the ornament glowed like something fallen out of a fairy tale.
Wings of fine gold filigree fanned backward — sculpted swan feathers delicately brushed with pearl dust. A ruby sun burned at the center, encircled by two inky black diamonds shaped like moons, while tiny star-stones dangled from invisible wire, swaying with every breath she took.
Seraphina didn't speak. She just touched the side of the piece like she wasn't sure it was real.
"It's not too much?" she murmured finally.
Eva nearly choked on her orange juice. "Too much? Ina, it's you. You're the too much. You're my everything - much."
Seraphina lowered the mirror. "It's exquisite."
"I knew it," Eva beamed. "Mére — Aunt Vivi cried when she saw it."
As if on cue, Vivienne breezed into the solarium wearing tailored linen slacks and her ever - present green - tinted sunglasses. She kissed both girls on the head and declared, "Still not over it. Seraphina, you look like royalty. No, better — you look like Eva's idea of royalty. Which is more dangerous."
Evelyn trailed in behind her, coffee in hand. "I thought the ring was my favorite part, but no. This one's the showstopper."
Eva puffed up, proud as a lion cub. "Monsieur Albin said so too," she added, trying to sound casual. "He wanted to buy the design."
Vivienne raised a brow. "He offered again?"
Eva nodded solemnly, recalling the private call last week. The Milanese moonsmith had stared through the screen, breathless with reverence. "I have never seen such proportions. You are a child, yes? But this… this is not child's work."
"Name your price," he had said.
Eva had only smiled and replied, "You can't buy my moon."
Now, at breakfast, Seraphina leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."
Eva froze. Her ears turned pink. "Why are you thanking me? I should be bowing."
"Don't be silly," Seraphina whispered. "You made me look like a legend."
Eva's voice dropped to a whisper. "You are a legend. I just gave you the crown."
That night, the Langford estate was no longer a house but a performance — crystal chandeliers cascading from the ballroom ceiling, drone cameras purring softly above, broadcasting the scene to elite circles in N•• Y•••, T••••, B•••••, P••••. Celebrities filtered in under velvet canopies. Fashion moguls from S•••• whispered to tech billionaires from P•••• A•••. The Langfords had invited the future, and the future had RSVP'd in gold.
Seraphina stood by the central fountain, her reflection fractured in the shallow ripple of water. Her sage silk gown whispered around her legs, the embroidery at the hem tracing sunbursts and vines. But no one looked at the dress.
They looked at the ornament.
Gasps followed her, soft and sudden, like the hush of a cathedral.
A crown of wings. A ruby sun. Twin black moons. Stardust that trembled when she moved.
She had warned Eva, "They'll stare."
Eva had replied, "Let them. Let them try to reach what only I can touch."
"Seraphina," murmured a girl from the Belmere family, sidling up with the grace of someone raised around ambition, "your hairpiece — where did you get that?"
Seraphina's expression was cool. "It was a gift."
The girl blinked. "From your mother?"
"No," she replied, her tone velvet. "From a friend."
Another girl pressed closer. "Who made it?"
Seraphina touched the ornament lightly, recalling the way Eva had wrapped it in midnight - blue silk. The handwritten note had read, "For your mirror, for your sky. Not for sale. Not for anyone else."
She met their eyes. "Monsieur Albin. From M••••."
There was a beat. And then the silence changed.
"Wait," gasped one girl, "the Monsieur Albin? The one who crafts for actual royalty?"
"Didn't he make the Winter Halo tiara for the Duchess of Lorraine?" another whispered.
A boy in a fitted suit narrowed his eyes. "But Albin hasn't made a public piece in years — only the Maxwells and the Lioré's."
"Exactly," said another sharply. "The Ainsleys aren't even old money. How could they afford — wait, is this even real?"
"Oh, darling," someone stage - whispered behind a flute of champagne, "her little Ainsley friend isn't even here."
Laughter — soft, sharp, painted in glass smiles.
"She wasn't invited?"
Seraphina didn't blink. "She didn't need to be."
"And what family is she from again?" one asked, feigning innocence.
Seraphina's voice was clear, deliberate. "Ainsley."
A murmur.
"She must be brilliant to commission Albin."
"She is."
"Still, it's not like they have real influence."
Seraphina turned to face them fully, moonlight catching in the rubies. "You keep speaking as though you know power. But all I see are children hiding behind names they didn't earn."
A silence fell.
"I'd rather sit with Eva," she added, "than with anyone who thinks cruelty is currency."
And with that, she walked away.
Later, her parents stood radiant beneath the chandelier, nodding graciously to donors, letting the myth unfold around them. They said nothing as guests murmured about Albin, about legacy, about forgotten ties between M•••• and old F••••• courts.
Lady Langford leaned in, her diamond collar catching the light. "They think we commissioned it."
"Let them," her husband murmured. "It benefits us."
But Seraphina knew better.
She stood alone by the marble veranda, cold air brushing her bare shoulders. In the glass, her reflection shimmered — but it was not the ornament that mattered.
It was the girl who made it. The little storm who sketched moons on napkins and said, "No one will touch this sky but you."
And the wolves in velvet could circle all they wanted.
They didn't know the stars already had a name.
*****
After the gala, well past midnight, Seraphina sat in her bedroom wrapped in a robe, sipping chamomile tea and staring at the ornament on her vanity.
She texted Eva.
It looked perfect. They all stared.
The typing dots appeared instantly.
Of course they did. You're the only sun that matters.
Did anyone say anything rude?
She hesitated. Then replied:
I handled it.
A pause. Then:
I bet you looked like a queen.
I looked like your queen.
Stop 😳
But good
Seraphina smiled into her cup.
Then Eva sent one final message:
Next time, I'm coming with you.
And Seraphina replied:
I'll save you a throne.