A few steps ahead, framed by the golden glow of the chandeliers, stood Olivia.
White off-shoulder dress? Check. Hourglass figure accentuated to maximum effect? Naturally. Makeup soft enough to scream innocence but sharp enough to draw blood? Flawless.
She looked like an angel freshly imported from a luxury skincare ad. Ethereal. Graceful. Possibly Photoshopped.
Her chestnut waves tumbled down her back in practiced disarray, and her ocean-tinted eyes sparkled with just the right amount of calculated vulnerability.
And then she opened her mouth.
"Sis!" Her voice floated across the room like perfume—sweet and cloying. "You look beautiful today."
Melisa blinked. That wasn't the script she expected.
Usually, Olivia saved the compliments for when they could double as insults.
"But you used to hate when I wore things like that," Olivia continued, eyes trailing down the sleek black dress hugging Melisa's figure. "Did your preferences change? It really does look beautiful on you."
There it was—the sting behind the smile.
The unspoken, "So, you're dressing like me now? Copying already, are we?"
Melisa smiled gently, the kind people reserved for toddlers trying to sound clever.
"You always had a unique way of remembering things, Olivia," she said, voice sugarcoated and polite. "I don't recall ever saying that. But be careful—people might think you're addicted to making things up."
A silence rippled through Olivia's circle. Her friends, previously absorbed in judging Melisa like she was an uninvited pest at a designer party, exchanged glances.
Olivia's smile twitched—just slightly. It almost broke. But she recovered, like a good actress in the final act.
"Sister, you're misunderstanding me," she said sweetly. That voice. Like honey left out in the sun too long. "I was just happy to see you stepping out of your usual… simplicity."
Melisa swirled the wine in her glass, eyes calm but distant.
"People tend to adapt," she said lightly. "Otherwise, they get eaten alive."
A quiet hush followed. Even the air seemed to realize it should probably sit down.
Olivia's friends looked unsure whether to giggle or pretend this was just another polite exchange. Olivia, of course, took the high road—bit her lip, looked tragic.
"Sister… what do you mean by that?" Her voice dropped an octave, trembling like a leaf caught in a dramatic wind. "I was just trying to talk to you. Mom and Dad... they've been so worried. You haven't called them even once…"
Oh no. Not the concerned family card. Classic Olivia.
Melisa raised an eyebrow. "Really? I must've missed their concern when they swapped me into your marriage slot like I was an old bridesmaid dress that didn't fit."
Olivia faltered. Barely a second. But enough.
Still, she tried again—because if Olivia was anything, she was relentless.
"They had no other choice..." she said, voice low, eyes shimmering.
Melisa pulled her hand back when Olivia reached for it. Not yanked—just enough to say, try again, and I'll charge you rent.
Olivia stumbled, landing with just the right amount of flair.
Ah. There it was. The dramatic fall. Stage left: dignity. Exit: nonexistent.
For a moment, she stayed on the ground, lip trembling. Then her eyes shifted—past Melisa, searching.
Melisa turned.
And there he was.
Leonard.
Of course. Olivia's favorite audience.
Melisa almost rolled her eyes.
'So that's why she fell. To get a reaction out of him.'
Except Leonard didn't react.
No sharp intake of breath. No dramatic rush forward. Not even a flicker of surprise.
Instead, his voice cut through the tension like it didn't exist.
"Melisa, there's someone who wants to meet you."
No glance at Olivia. No concern. Just… her.
Before she could ask, he reached for her hand and started walking—like it was the most natural thing in the world to lead his wife away from a minefield she didn't set.
Melisa blinked, staring at their hands. His grip was steady. Firm.
Strangely warm.
"Not going to ask why I pushed her?" she asked softly, mostly to herself.
Leonard spared her a glance. "Did you?"
She opened her mouth, but he cut in, "If you did, she must've deserved it."
Oh.
That was… unexpected.
Melisa's footsteps faltered for a beat.
It wasn't the blind loyalty that caught her off guard—it was the quiet trust. The way he didn't need an explanation. As if the very idea of her doing something cruel without cause was laughable.
Behind them, someone gasped. Probably Olivia regaining her stage presence.
Melisa glanced over her shoulder. Olivia was being hoisted up like a fallen princess, her expression twisted in disbelief. That wounded-lamb look didn't land quite as well when the supposed villain was walking away hand-in-hand with the male lead.
Melisa looked forward again. Leonard's back was broad, steady, and—annoyingly—comforting.
She should've felt smug. Maybe even victorious.
Instead, her chest felt lighter.
Warm.
Dangerous.
She cleared her throat. "So… who exactly am I meeting? Hopefully not another ghost from my prophetic nightmares?"
Leonard didn't answer right away. Just glanced down at her hand in his, then forward again.
His silence said enough.
Whoever it was—it mattered.
Melisa braced herself. The evening wasn't over. Not yet.
But at least—for now—she wasn't walking into it alone.