The mansion's dining hall had been polished to perfection.
Candles in tall gold holders flickered softly. Crystal glasses sparkled. The chandelier overhead glowed like captured stars. Zelda smoothed her dress for the third time, even though not a thread was out of place. Tonight's dinner wasn't just a family affair — it was a performance.
Guests filled the long table — business partners, family acquaintances, one or two distant cousins. Faces Zelda barely knew, yet was expected to charm. Marie, ever the gracious hostess, floated between conversations with practiced ease. Ryan, seated with Berrett beside him, looked healthier, though pale. He gave Zelda a tired smile when she caught his eye.
Marcella was already in full bloom, sitting beside Lucien.
"Darling," she called across the table to Zelda, "come sit over here. There's a spot next to me."
Zelda smiled stiffly. "I'm fine here."
Marcella pouted. "Don't be shy."
Zelda remained in her seat.
She'd chosen a spot farther down, where she could observe without being in the spotlight. But Marcella, as usual, needed an audience.
Lucien, silent and severe at the far end, didn't react to the exchange — but Zelda didn't miss the flicker of his eyes toward her.
---
Dinner began.
Conversations turned light — travels, market shares, marriage prospects.
Zelda picked at her food. She could feel Marcella watching her, the same way one watches a pawn before knocking it off the board.
"So, Zelda," Marcella called sweetly again, just loud enough to draw attention. "Have you thought about what you want to do after university?"
The room hushed a little.
Zelda looked up slowly. "I'm still deciding."
"Oh, how lovely," Marcella said with a smile. "It must be so freeing — not having to worry about… expectations."
Zelda's smile was razor-thin. "I'm lucky to have a family that supports me."
"Of course." Marcella's lashes fluttered. "Though I suppose not all of them do. Some prefer distance, don't they?"
There it was.
Lucien's wine glass paused midair.
Berrett cleared his throat.
Zelda's tone was cool. "You mean like your father avoiding your mother in every public event since last spring?"
A ripple of restrained laughter moved through the table.
Marcella's smile cracked for half a second — then returned, shinier than before.
"Touché," she said, lifting her glass in mock toast.
---
The courses came and went.
Zelda felt Lucien's gaze before she saw it.
When she finally looked up, he was watching her. Not coldly. Not angrily. Just… watching. Studying.
A waiter refilled her glass, breaking the moment.
Zelda turned her attention to Marie, who was deep in conversation with a woman in pearls.
Then came dessert.
And with it, more games.
Marcella leaned toward Zelda again, her voice lower this time.
"You wear that dress well," she said. "It's almost like it was made for you… though I could've sworn I saw Elara wear something similar two years ago in Milan."
Zelda didn't bite. "Maybe she saw me first."
Marcella's smile thinned. "You're bolder these days."
"I've had practice."
Marcella's eyes flicked toward Lucien. "Practice makes perfect… in all the wrong places, sometimes."
Zelda's heart skipped.
Before she could reply, Lucien spoke.
"Marcella."
Everyone turned.
Lucien's voice was calm, but it held weight.
Marcella tilted her head innocently. "Yes?"
"Leave her alone."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Marcella's cheeks flushed a faint pink, but she laughed. "Oh, Lucien. I was only teasing."
Lucien didn't blink. "You're not very good at it."
Zelda stared at her plate, the burn in her chest a mix of fury and something she didn't want to name.
---
When dinner ended, Zelda slipped away.
She didn't want to linger in the post-performance smiles and shallow goodbyes. She climbed the back staircase quietly and headed for the balcony that overlooked the garden — her one place to breathe.
The air was cool, the stars half-hidden behind thin clouds. She leaned on the railing, closing her eyes.
Footsteps.
She didn't turn around.
"You didn't have to step in," she said.
Lucien's voice came low. "She was pushing."
"She always does. I've handled worse."
Lucien stood beside her, not touching, not crowding — just… near.
"You shouldn't have to handle anything," he said. "Not here."
Zelda looked at him. "You've never said anything like that before."
He looked down at the garden. "Doesn't mean I haven't thought about it."
She exhaled slowly. "Why now?"
He didn't answer.
But when she turned to look at him — really look — she saw the storm behind his stillness.
And for one breathless second, the world stilled.
Lucien's eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. Barely. Briefly. But enough.
He turned abruptly. "Goodnight, Zelda."
And then he was gone.
Zelda's heart pounded.
The stars overhead had vanished completely — swallowed by clouds.
But below her ribs, something else was starting to burn.