The ball

The wooden wheels of the carriage gleamed under the soft lantern light, and the horses shifted restlessly, their breath curling into the cold night air. The Baron had spared no expense in securing the carriage for the occasion—though not extravagant, it was well-kept, a significant step above the usual modest transport the family could afford.

With no knight or male escort in the household, the Baron himself had chosen to accompany them on horseback, his presence lending them the dignity they otherwise lacked.

Jordan was there, too.

He stood beside the carriage, his posture straight, his crisp attire neatly pressed. It wasn't lavish, but polished enough to suit a footman accompanying noble ladies. His expression remained unreadable as he waited.

Sandra fussed over Gazel, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "My dear! My sunshine, oh, how beautiful you are," she crooned, as if admiring a prized possession.

Gazel barely reacted, her expression heavy with something unspoken. From the corner of her eye, she caught Jordan looking in her direction. Their gazes met—just for a second—before they both quickly looked away.

Sandra, oblivious to the exchange, grasped Gazel's hands, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "Make sure to catch the attention of a wealthy noble, do you understand?"

Gazel gave a small nod, pulling away from her mother.

Then, Silvia stepped out of the main doors.

The sight of her left everyone momentarily breathless. She was dazzling beneath the night sky, her beauty so striking that Sandra momentarily lost her words, choking on her own breath. Even Bill seemed to pause, eyes widening ever so slightly.

She was her mother's exact reflection.

A familiar sense of inferiority wrapped around Gazel like a suffocating shroud.

Jordan, who had been standing still and composed, visibly faltered. His gaze locked onto Silvia, and for a moment, he seemed not to recognize her. The effect was immediate—his jaw slackened, and he momentarily forgot his duty.

In that brief hesitation, he missed Gazel's outstretched hand—the one he was meant to take, to assist her into the carriage.

The slight was obvious.

Gazel's expression hardened, her fingers curling into a fist before she seized Jordan's hand, pulling him out of his daze with a sharp tug.

His face remained unreadable. Without so much as a glance, he simply extended his arm toward her, the ghost of that moment still lingering between them. Gazel didn't step in until she caught Jordan once again looking directly into her eyes and only then did she breath a sigh of relief and her lip slightly lifted on the side. 

Silvia followed behind, delayed just enough that by the time she emerged, she caught only a fleeting glimpse of something—a moment too quiet, too still between Gazel and Jordan.

Her chest tightened, a sensation she couldn't name curling around her ribs.

Then, Jordan turned.

And their eyes met.

For a second, she saw it—the flicker of surprise.

His lips parted slightly, as if caught off guard. The air between them stretched, tense and unreadable.

But before Silvia could say anything, before she could even decide what it was she wanted to say, Jordan dropped his gaze.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

"Jordan," she breathed, a desperate plea slipping past her lips.

The hand that had just helped her into the carriage let go almost instantly—cold, indifferent, as if her existence meant nothing. A shiver ran through her, not from the night's chill but from the hollow emptiness his touch left behind.

Frantic, she tightened her grip, silently begging him to stay, to acknowledge her. But Jordan merely cast her a brief, unreadable glance before pulling away completely.

And just like that, he was gone from her grasp.

The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of countless chandeliers, their golden light cascading over the polished marble floors. The air carried the soft scent of fresh roses and honeyed candles, blending with the gentle hum of laughter and conversation. Noble ladies, draped in the finest silks and adorned with delicate jewels, twirled gracefully across the room, their gowns billowing like waves of color in an ocean of elegance.

Tonight was a coming-of-age ball, a night of whispered promises and hopeful glances. Young ladies, stepping into the world of nobility, awaited their dance partners with nervous excitement, their hearts fluttering behind delicate fans. The sound of a string quartet wove through the air, setting a rhythm for the evening's unfolding stories.

From the second-floor balcony, Countess Darla watched over the scene, her golden eyes gleaming with quiet contemplation. She was a woman of undeniable grace—tall, with silver-blonde hair that cascaded like moonlight and skin as delicate as jasmine petals. Even at her age, she carried the beauty of her youth, enhanced only by the wisdom in her gaze.

Tonight was special for more than one reason. Her heart brimmed with excitement at the thought of seeing her dearest friend, Flora, after what felt like an eternity apart. It had been years, and now, at last, they would meet again.

Yet, something else lingered in her mind—a letter. It had arrived that morning, sealed with Flora's insignia, carrying a request that left her deep in thought.

"Dear Darla,

I have accepted your invitation and eagerly await the moment I will see you again. However, there is something I must ask of you—something only you can do for me.

If possible, at the ball, please find a suitable bride for my son, Aurilius. I wish for him to marry a woman who is humble and kind. Her background does not matter, only that her heart is made of gold. I must free myself of the responsibility of my child, for I do not know how much longer I will live to see his happiness.

Will you do this for me?"

Darla knew her friend was a sweetheart, and whether or not the son she spoke of was her biological child, the love she held for him had to be true. Otherwise, there would be no reason for her to arrange his marriage, knowing full well that doing so would strip her of her power as a duchess.

"A humble and kind lady?" Darla murmured to herself, lazily scanning the ballroom. Just as the thought lingered in her mind, something caught her attention, making her brows crease instantly.

A maid carrying a tray of drinks had collided with two young women—one with cascading brown curls and striking green eyes, and the other with sleek black braids, porcelain skin, and lips tinted like cherries. Her eyes were as deep as the night sky itself. Darla's own eyes widened. She had never seen this girl before. She was breathtaking.

But what happened next took her by even greater surprise.

The curly-haired girl's hand lashed out, striking the maid sharply across the cheek. A gasp rippled through the room as her enraged voice rang out.

"What the hell did you just do?! Do you wish to die?! You've ruined my expensive dress—"

All eyes turned in their direction. The maid fell to her knees, tears spilling down her cheeks as she pleaded, "Forgive me! I didn't see you! Please!" She lowered her head and banged it against the marble floor in desperation.

In that moment, the other girl knelt beside her, reaching out to stop her from hurting herself. "Please, get up. There's no need for this," she said, her voice soothing, like a soft melody in the midst of chaos.

"Huh?" The maid looked up in shock. So did everyone else. But the girl remained where she was, undeterred, her presence radiating calm.

"It's okay," she assured.

"How is it okay?! My dress is ruined because of her!"

"Gazel, this is not the place," the dark-haired girl—Silvia—said gently.

It was then that Gazel seemed to realize the spectacle she had made before all the potential suitors. Her anger dimmed into embarrassment, and she bit her lip, stepping back.

From above, Darla's lips curled in amusement as she rested her chin against her palm, her elbow propped on the railing. A knowing light flickered in her golden eyes.

"Flora, if you had asked for anything else, you would have received that too."

She nodded to herself before turning to her maid, who stood attentively behind her.

"Find out who that girl is."

The maid cast a glance at Silvia, who was now helping the shaken servant to her feet, dusting off her dress with a borrowed handkerchief.

"Yes, Your Grace," she said with a curtsy before slipping away into the crowd.