Chapter 173: Beneath the Velvet Curtain
The villa wasn't like anything Eva had seen before — not grand or showy like the Ainsley estate, but sleek, intentional, and almost too calm. Perched high on a hillside with clean lines and open glass walls, it looked out over the ocean, tucked away behind eucalyptus trees and dense flowering hedges. The soft rustle of leaves and the salt - sweet breeze filled the quiet, layered with the low hum of nature — birds, wind, the distant rhythm of waves. It was beautiful, yes. But beneath the calm, Eva felt something unsettled. This wasn't a vacation home. It felt curated. Strategic. Like a starting point, not a retreat.
Reginald barely spoke during the drive from the private runway. He was locked into a stream of calls, switching between Bluetooth and his earpiece, moving fluidly between G••••, F•••••, and sharp, clipped C•••••••• that sounded more like protocol than conversation. Eva understood every word.
He didn't look at her until his third call ended. No warmth. Just a glance and a cool, "You'll do well. Don't embarrass me."
"I won't," she replied evenly.
That was it. He turned back to his screen.
Eva sat with her spine straight, face calm, mind already sorting through everything she'd overheard — flight schedules rerouted through M••••••••, a change in security detail in A•••••, fallback contingencies in C•••••••• phrased like threats. He didn't check if she was listening. He just assumed she was.
And she was.
He didn't offer reassurance. Only expectations.
Inside the villa, their quarters were already prepared. Eva's room was minimalist but elegant, white linens, pale wooden floors, a desk with fresh stationery, and an armoire holding several pressed dresses. She noticed the Maxwell - Lioré family crest stitched into the hem of the clothing — an unmistakable mark of lineage. Her lineage.
"Two days," Reginald had said that evening. "The banquet begins in two days. Until then, you stay here. Study the briefing folder. And keep your poise."
Eva sat at the edge of the bed now, flipping through the folder he'd left for her. It wasn't schoolwork. It was a social map — names, faces, titles, affiliations. Men with medals. Women with ancestral estates. G•••• nobility. Old money from S••••••••. Industrial families from E•••••. Delegates from the Lioré military sector.
And a few underlined profiles labeled discreetly: "Privy to Identity."
There were only five.
Reginald's note was terse. "These are the only ones who may acknowledge you as Lioré. To the rest, you are Ainsley. Play both roles. Be silent unless spoken to. Be gracious. Observe everything."
That night, after dinner — a quiet affair, barely a word exchanged — Eva curled up on the couch beside the large bay window, legs tucked beneath her, the folder open in her lap. She studied it like a soldier memorizing a mission plan. But part of her heart remained thousands of miles away.
Her Ina, her Seraphina.
Eva touched the necklace Seraphina had given her, one of the small treasures from the carefully packed surprise. The scent of Seraphina's perfume still lingered on the satin ribbon.
She had kissed her so many times before leaving. Said I love you so much, Ina, I haven't even left and I miss you already. Eva had clung to her like she was afraid the sea would steal her away. She still felt the weight of Seraphina's fingers in her hair, the softness of her lips, the whispered promise: You don't have to tell me everything, little moonbeam. Just be careful. If it ever becomes too much — you tell your Maman or Aunt Vivienne. I'll be here when you return.
Eva buried her face in the sleeve of her robe. No tears came. She had wept enough the night before. But her chest ached with longing.
She had lied on the video call earlier that morning, just as Reginald instructed.
"We're just going to a party," she told Maman and Aunt Vivienne, who appeared together on the screen, both elegant and clearly suspicious. "Papa said it's for bonding."
Vivienne had narrowed her eyes. "Eva, is that all? He didn't mention anything else?"
Eva smiled softly, tilting her head. "I promise. That's all. Just us. Just the party."
It had worked. Vivienne didn't push. Evelyn had looked uncertain, but relieved.
Eva hated lying. But her father's warning echoed in her mind, Not even to your Yue. Or you'll be a disappointment.
Now, curled alone in the dark, she reached for her journal and began to write — not about the guests or the party, but about Seraphina. Her hair, her words, her eyes like twilight just before the stars appeared. She wrote a small poem, folding it between the pages:
Even in absence,
You are the thread
Binding my courage
To the beat of my name.
In the morning, Reginald summoned her to the dining room, already seated at the head of the table with a tablet in one hand and a steaming cup of black coffee in the other. A tray had been set for her — fruit, plain yogurt, soft - boiled eggs, two slices of dark rye toast. Everything arranged with clinical precision.
He didn't look up. "You're late."
Eva checked the time. She wasn't.
She sat silently and began to eat, slow and precise. He turned a page in the dossier in front of him, flipping through photos and annotated notes without acknowledging her presence.
"After breakfast," he said, eyes still on the screen, "we review etiquette. Then security. Then your cover story. You're not a child here. You represent a family most of them don't even know exists."
She nodded once. "Will they like me?"
"They don't need to like you." He finally looked up, and his eyes were cold. "They need to respect you. Charm them if it's efficient. But never be soft. Never be emotional. You are my daughter. That must be enough."
Eva swallowed a bite of toast. "Understood."
He leaned back slightly, studying her. "That tone. Don't use it when you speak to them."
"What tone?"
"The one that sounds like you're still deciding whether to agree with me. You don't have the luxury of doubt."
Eva straightened her spine. "Yes, sir."
"You'll address me as 'Father' in front of others. You'll smile, but only if it's calculated. You'll walk three paces behind me until I say otherwise. No fidgeting. No questions. No errors."
"I understand."
He stood. "You think you do. But understanding means nothing without discipline. Let's see if you can follow through."
She watched him go, his footsteps measured, absolute. Her stomach twisted — but she didn't show it. Instead, she folded her napkin neatly and reached for her glass of water.
She had already memorized the dossier while he slept. She already knew the layout of the villa, the names of the guests, the alliances forming behind the scenes.
He didn't ask if she was ready.
Because failure wasn't a possibility.
Only disobedience.
They spent the afternoon walking through social scenarios. Reginald drilled her on diplomatic titles, military ranks, points of etiquette. She practiced introductions, rehearsed greetings in G••••, F•••••, and formal M•••••••. By the third hour, her head throbbed.
By the fifth, she excused herself to the veranda, where she sat under the shade, breathing in the ocean air.
She thought about what it would mean to meet the girl from G••••• — Aristea Arethusa Celestine Artemis Kallistráti Rousseau – Parnassos, her name was. The file said she was from a long - standing noble house, recently reentering diplomatic society after years in quiet seclusion. She would be the only guest close to Eva's age.
Maybe she'll be kind. Maybe not.
Eva wasn't here to make friends. She was here to perform.
That night, she called the villa's landline number — prearranged with Seraphina, just once, no repeats. It was an old code they had come up with: she would ring three times and hang up.
Seraphina answered on the fourth ring, voice low and sweet. "Moonbeam?"
Eva whispered, "I only have a minute. I just — wanted to hear your voice."
"Oh, Eva," Seraphina exhaled, gentle like rain. "You sound tired. But I'm proud of you. Keep your heart safe, alright?"
"I will. I promise."
"Everything is prepared for you here," she said softly. "Your room is just as you left it. I even left your favorite tea by the window."
"I miss you."
"I know. But you're not alone, even there. You carry me with you."
Eva bit her lip. "When I come back, will you still be…"
"I'll be waiting. With open arms."
The line crackled. They had to end the call quickly, before anyone noticed. But the brief exchange stayed with Eva the rest of the night.
She curled up in bed beneath the soft linens, one hand clutching her ribbon necklace, the other beneath her pillow where Seraphina's surprise journal now lay. She read through the first page Seraphina had written for her:
For my little moonbeam,
No matter where you go,
Let the light within you shine.
You are stronger than any storm.
Eva traced the handwriting with her fingertips.
Outside, waves broke gently on the shore, and the stars glimmered above the villa like distant sentinels. The world was vast, powerful, watching.
And Eva, dressed in silk and secrecy, waited for her moment.
Tomorrow, she would step into the ballroom. But tonight, she slept in the hush of knowing that love — real, quiet, infinite — had not been left behind. It was woven into her very breath.