Chapter 172: The Villa in the Eucalypts
The jet's engines faded into the coastal wind as Eva stepped out into the warm, dry air of the A••••••••• morning. Her eyes squinted against the brilliant sun, the scent of eucalyptus sharp and foreign in her nose. Reginald stood beside her, his hand resting gently on her back, guiding her down the steps of the private aircraft and toward the sleek black SUV car waiting at the end of the tarmac.
Their journey had been long but quiet, stitched together by Eva's drifting thoughts and Reginald's characteristic silence. He'd spoken only when necessary — boarding instructions, passport checks, a clinical reminder to hydrate. She had obeyed without protest, her voice soft and polite, her eyes often elsewhere.
Somewhere over the equator, she had pressed her forehead to the cabin window and watched as the stars unfolded above the wing, cold and sharp and impossibly still. The plane hummed steadily beneath her. Reginald read reports on his tablet with the same intensity he brought to everything else. Eva, meanwhile, filmed a short clip of the night sky, holding her phone steady with both hands. The quiet shiver of starlight, the engine's low murmur, her own small breath behind the lens — she saved it all in an album she'd titled For Them.
They'd arrived just after midday, stepping into a sun that felt entirely different from N•••••'•. The light here was flatter, hotter, more aggressive. The landscape blurred past as their black SUV rolled along a narrow stretch of highway framed by eucalyptus trees and tall, dry grasses.
Outside her window, a kangaroo bounded through the brush, startling a flock of white cockatoos into the air. Eva lifted her phone again, this time snapping several quick photos and a video — her voice low as she narrated with a smile she knew how to fake.
"Look who's here to say hello, Yue. Maman, Auntie Vivienne — guess what? There are cockatoos everywhere. I think they yell more than Briony when she's losing at cards."
She reviewed the video, trimmed the silence at the beginning, and tucked it neatly into her growing collection. Each picture, each clip, was evidence of a carefree trip — one she knew her maman would expect to see, one that Vivienne and Seraphina might believe, if only just.
She even took a photo of the snacks in the SUV: dried mango, a too - perfect bottle of electrolyte water, and a neat little tin labeled Emergency Salt Tabs. She made a mental note to text Briony later.
Tell me this doesn't scream "fun vacation."
Reginald hadn't commented on her filming. He rarely did. As long as she followed instructions, he didn't question how she filled the silence.
But Eva knew exactly what she was doing. She would send the videos later, maybe in bits and pieces, just enough to reassure them. Just enough to keep the real story buried under sunlight and curated smiles.
In the passenger seat, Reginald finally spoke, eyes still forward.
"Keep your energy steady. The heat will make you soft if you let it."
Eva didn't look up from her phone.
"I won't," she said.
She pressed record again, this time panning the landscape — blistered red earth, a blue that wasn't sky so much as distance, and a far - off storm that curled along the horizon like a bruise.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"This is for you."
The villa they arrived at an hour later was secluded, nestled in the hills beyond the coastline — modern, minimalist, and built of pale wood and concrete. It was surrounded by the quiet rustle of eucalyptus trees and the faint hum of wind brushing through dry leaves.
"Come," Reginald said as they stepped inside. The interior was elegant, impersonal, curated down to the polished stone floors and linen furniture. "We won't be here long before the banquet. Just a few days. I expect you to prepare yourself."
Eva nodded, eyes scanning the high ceiling and sun - drenched windows, before following him toward the suite he had chosen for her.
"The guest list is elite," Reginald continued. "You will be introduced to diplomats, military delegates — some directly from the Lioré family — and aristocrats from old bloodlines. One in particular, from G•••••, will be watching closely. She is young, brilliant, and… from an allied house. Make no mistakes."
Eva's mouth went dry. She nodded again, her hands clenched lightly at her sides. "Yes, Papa."
He turned to face her in the hall, lowering his voice. "You're to behave as a Maxwell - Lioré. That name will open doors, but only to a chosen few. Most of the guests will think you're simply Evangeline Claire Ainsley. Only those I introduce you to personally will hear your true name. You must not offer it yourself unless prompted. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa," she whispered.
He reached out and smoothed a hand over her head, pride flickering in his eyes like the briefest spark. "In a couple of days, we'll attend the banquet. Until then, rest, review your etiquette, and rehearse your lines. And remember…" His voice dipped. "This isn't play. These are people who can change your life — or ruin it. So be excellent."
Eva swallowed her fear. "I will, Papa."
The moment he left her to settle into her room, she let out a long, quiet breath — one she hadn't realized she'd been holding since they landed. The room was cool and still, but not comforting. The walls were smooth, pale, and bare — no paintings, no shelves, no softness. Just minimalism that felt sterile, as if the space had been designed to hold function, not feeling. It was the opposite of the Ainsley estate, where even the silence had warmth, where every corner told a story.
Here, everything was flat. Clean. Intentional.
The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and lime - scented disinfectant. There were no curtains, just sleek automated shades. No books. No music. No trace of her.
Eva walked over to the bed — crisp white linens, tucked so tightly they barely creased under her fingers — and placed her bag on the bench at the end. She hesitated for a moment, then unzipped it carefully, as if trying not to disturb the calm.
Inside were her essentials, packed by her Maman. Her skincare pouch, two cotton dresses, a silk pajama set, her notebook. Hidden beneath them, nestled between a pair of ballet flats, was her phone and a portable charger — items she'd promised not to use too often, but couldn't bear to leave behind.
She pulled them out and sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling. With a flick of her thumb, she opened her photo album: Seraphina's smirk on the boat dock. Briony making a ridiculous face mid - laugh. Aunt Vivienne holding up a glittery headband like it was crown - worthy.
She didn't play the videos. Not yet.
She just looked.
Then she set the phone aside, walked to the window, and stared out at the unfamiliar hills beyond the villa. Dry, sunburned earth stretched toward the horizon, dotted with low brush and trees shaped by wind.
It was beautiful. It was brutal.
And it was only the beginning.
Inside, tucked between layers of folded linen and silk, was a hidden treasure, the surprise gifts Seraphina had given her before they parted. Just seeing the soft wrapping and the faint scent of Seraphina's perfume made Eva's chest ache.
She pulled them out gently — delicate sketches wrapped in ribbon, a vial of perfume labeled "Moonbeam," a pale lavender scarf embroidered with stars and her name in fine thread, and a letter sealed with a kiss.
Eva pressed the scarf to her face and sobbed silently. She hadn't left for long, but already she missed her.
I love you so much, Ina. I can't wait to go back.
The villa faded away for a moment as Eva curled on the bed, whispering to the scarf, "I miss you already," and kissed it just as she had kissed Seraphina the night before.
She clung to the memory of Seraphina's arms around her, of that fierce, steady love that seemed to encircle her always, even now across continents.
But soon, Eva sat up and wiped her eyes. She couldn't fall apart now. Her father would expect her to be perfect. And she would be. For him.
And when she returned, she would run back into Seraphina's arms and tell her everything. Or at least… almost everything.