The Sterling ballroom glittered like a diamond mine built on bones. Crystal chandeliers spilled fractured light over satin gowns and starched tuxedos, the air thick with perfume, wealth, and the carefully choreographed laughter of people pretending to like each other.
But beneath the music and champagne lay the real pulse — rivalry, greed, ambition.This wasn't a celebration.It was a battlefield gilded in gold.
Diana spared no cost in putting this event together. The whole place smell of wealth, and today, Diana and Chloe were the centre of attention.
When I stepped into the dining hall, all eyes turned to me.
The gown Miriam had prepared shimmered faintly under the chandelier — another masterpiece of Madame Evangeline-silver threads woven into white silk that glowed with every step I took. It was elegant, restrained… yet commanding. My hair was swept back in a severe chignon, held by a diamond hairpin that had been my mother's. The only other jewelry was the simple, breathtaking diamond necklace Liam had given me—a trophy I wore not as a token of affection, but as a brand of ownership. I was the Sterling heiress, a monument to legacy and cold resolve.
In my previous life, I had worn clothes to please Liam. Tonight, I wore something I chose, and this feeling of being in control, it's refreshing.
From my vantage point, I watched the pieces move. Liam, handsome and strained in his tuxedo, was actively avoiding Chloe's clinging presence. Every time she drifted toward him, a vision in pastel green chiffon that begged for attention, he would find a reason to turn away—to adjust his cufflinks, to speak to an elderly aunt.
Chloe's frustration was a visible, simmering thing. Each rejection from Liam caused a tiny, almost imperceptible crack in her perfectly crafted mask of sweet innocence. Her smile would tighten, her eyes would flash with a spark of bewildered fury. Her beauty had always been her ultimate weapon, and its sudden, inexplicable failure against Liam, was consuming her from the inside out. I could almost smell the jealousy wafting off her, bitter and green.
He was speaking to a few guests when his gaze met mine. His words faltered. Just a fraction of a second, but enough.
I saw the way his pupils constricted, how is breath caught.
Near him, Chloe, who was walking towards him, noticed his gaze. Her smile froze.
It wasn't dramatic — just the subtle tightening of her jaw, the stiffening of her perfect posture. But it was enough to tell me what I already knew: she hated that I could still command a room without even trying.
Dinner began as it always did — polite laughter, the clinking of silverware, small talk that filled the air like perfume.
Sienna leaned close, whispering some witty remark about one of the guests, and I found myself smiling faintly. It was strange. In my past life, I would have been nervous, cautious — eager to please. Now, I was only observing.Watching.Listening.
Across the table, Liam tried to engage me in conversation — harmless, neutral, as if nothing had ever happened between us. A quiet attempt to be on my good side again.I let him speak. I even smiled once.
Each time, I could feel Chloe's tension growing like a live wire across the table. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her wine glass.
So that's what jealousy looks like when it's dressed in silk and pearls.
The dishes came and went — roasted duck, seared scallops, truffle risotto, all plated like small works of art. The orchestra's music swelled and faded in waves.
And then, David — ever the opportunist — cleared his throat."Charles," he said, addressing my father with a smile, "Anna and I were just discussing... Since both children are of age now, perhaps it's time to revisit the engagement between our families. Time to make it official don't you think?"
The word engagement dropped like a stone in a still pond.
Diana, who was seated next to my father, dressed in gold lamé that screamed new money, flinched as if struck. Her smile became a rictus of agony. She wanted that engagement for Chloe, ached for it, but to object would be social suicide. She was trapped, forced to nod along in feigned agreement, her eyes screaming with a helpless, venomous frustration. Chloe, hearing the exchange, looked as if she'd been physically slapped, her face pale beneath her artful makeup. Both were shackled by their own ambition, forced to smile while I was handed the very prize they coveted.
Just as my father was about to respond, I interrupted gently. "Daddy," my voice calm and steady. Enough to draw every eye at the table. "Let's leave that discussion for another time. Today is about Ms Diana and Chloe."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded with quiet understanding. "As you wish, Elara."
Across the table, Diana's expression didn't flicker, but I caught her relaxing the stiffness in her shoulders.
"Of course," she chimed in, her tone soft, maternal, false. "There's no need to rush these things. This announcement deserves its own place and time."
When the last course was served, I rose from my seat, lifting my glass."There's something I'd like to announce," I said, my voice clear above the music.
Every head turned.
"Friends. Family," I began, my voice a clear, carrying bell. "We are here to welcome Diana and Chloe, who have brought such… vibrant energy into our lives." I offered them a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Their arrival has reminded me that family is our greatest strength. And it has reinforced my duty to honor the legacy I was born into."
I paused, giving everyone a smile.
"That is why," I continued, my voice swelling with conviction, "tonight marks a new beginning. I am establishing the 'Liliana Sterling Foundation for Women in Crisis,' in my mother's memory."
A wave of appreciative murmurs swept the room. My father's eyes glistened with sentimental pride.
I turned, my gaze a laser targeting Diana. "And I can think of no one more fitting to serve as its inaugural patron than Diana herself." The air left her lungs in a nearly audible gasp. "She understands the unique challenges women face and possesses the remarkable resilience to overcome a… complicated past. She has graciously agreed to champion this cause, ensuring my mother's compassionate spirit guides us forward."
The applause was thunderous, a cage of adoration built just for her. Diana had to rise. She had to smile, to accept the applause for a role she despised, a charity forever tying her to the ghost of the woman she sought to erase. Her smile was a grimace of pure, undiluted hatred, her eyes promising a future reckoning. Chloe looked down at her hands, her shoulders trembling with the effort of containing her rage.
I raised my glass higher. "To my mother — who taught me that kindness without strength is weakness."
As the toast ended and the crowd's attention began to dissolve back into a hundred separate conversations, I slipped away from the ballroom. I needed a moment of quiet, a breath of air untainted by ambition and perfume. I pushed open the heavy glass door to the terrace, stepping into the cool, silent embrace of the night.
The cool night air hit me like absolution.
The chatter from the ballroom bled faintly through the open doors — laughter, glasses clinking, Diana's forced grace still echoing somewhere behind me. From out here, the world felt still, sharp, honest.
I exhaled slowly, letting the mask slip.
The door clicked shut behind me.
"Elara."
I didn't need to turn. Liam's voice was strained, tight with a confusion that bordered on panic.
"Why?" he asked, coming to stand beside me at the balustrade. He didn't look at me, instead staring out at the view as if it held answers. "Why did you stop my father? I thought… I thought this was what you wanted. Us. The engagement."
I kept my gaze fixed on the distant city lights, trying to find my composure. His insistence on the engagement, it would have made me so happy. But- "What's the matter, sweetheart?" I could feel his eyes on me now.
I shook my head slightly, a gesture of confusion laced with profound sadness. "It's just that with Chloe... I think..." I let the sentence hang, fragile and unfinished.
"Elara, we've been through this!" he insisted, his voice rising with frustration. He moved suddenly, his hands gripping my shoulders, turning me to face him. His grip was too tight, a possessive, biting pressure on my bare arms. "Don't you trust me?"
And then, I let it happen. I didn't just remember the betrayal—I let myself feel it. The shove from the balcony in my past life, the wind whipping past, the crushing impact, the ultimate, chilling truth of his choice. It wasn't a memory; it was a ghost, and it rose up and swallowed me whole.
My breath hitched. The tears that welled in my eyes weren't fabricated. They were born from a well of agony that spanned two lifetimes.
"I need time, Liam!" The words tore from me, my voice cracking with a raw, desperate edge that was terrifyingly real. "I don't know what to feel! You're my boyfriend, and she's my sister!"
I stared at him, my vision blurring, the tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down my cheeks. The pain was a living thing, clawing at my throat. It was the pain of the woman he had murdered, given voice by the woman who had survived to haunt him.
The effect was instantaneous and devastating. His angry frustration evaporated, replaced by sheer, panicked alarm. He released my shoulders as if burned. "Elara… God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" He was flustered, completely disarmed. The sight of my genuine, uncontrollable tears—something he had never seen from the composed, eager-to-please Elara he thought he knew—shattered his script.
"I just… I need you to be sure," I whispered, my voice trembling, using my real anguish as the ultimate lie. "I need to be sure that when we stand in front of everyone, it's forever. That there's no one else in the room for you. Can you give me that? Can you give me that time to be sure?"
He was defeated. All his arguments, his impatience, his ego—they crumbled before the spectacle of my "broken" heart. "Of course," he murmured, his voice soft, placating. "Of course, we can wait. As long as you need. I'm sorry, Elara. I didn't realize…"