The soft clink of crystal filled the dining room as silverware brushed against porcelain, a sound so delicate it belied the storm beneath the surface. Lottie slid into her seat, spine straight, fingers folded neatly in her lap as her father's sharp gaze flicked toward her. Across the table, Evelyn offered a smile so polished it gleamed like a blade, her lips curving with effortless grace, her fingers resting lightly against the stem of her wine glass.
"Ah, Lottie," Evelyn purred, voice honeyed, the faintest lift at the corners of her mouth betraying the razor hidden beneath. "We were starting to wonder if you'd decided to skip dinner."
Lottie's lips curved faintly, just enough to catch the flicker in Evelyn's eyes. "Of course not," she murmured, voice as smooth as poured glass, meeting Evelyn's gaze with a calm that belied the pulse thudding under her skin. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." Her heart tapped an uneven rhythm, but outwardly, she was the picture of composed serenity.
Her mother's laugh rang out, a shade too bright, too brittle. "Girls, let's not start the evening with teasing." Her slender fingers fluttered like restless birds as she reached for her glass, the diamonds at her wrist catching the chandelier's light in fractured, glittering shards. "We could all use a little peace tonight, couldn't we?"
Father said nothing. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes like dark flint as they swept from Evelyn to Lottie. His gaze lingered on Lottie for a beat too long, his brow pinching just slightly, a silent gauge of weight and measure. She felt the weight of it like cold water down her spine, but she lifted her chin, the corners of her mouth softening into a practiced, demure smile.
"I trust you've been focused on your studies," he said at last, voice clipped, each word honed to precision.
"Of course, Father," Lottie replied smoothly, keeping her voice steady even as her ribs tightened against her lungs. "I've been making steady progress. My tutors are pleased." She shifted her fingers subtly in her lap, the tips brushing over her palm, grounding herself in the quiet friction.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the flicker of Evelyn's lashes, the subtle tightening at the corners of her sister's mouth. A small triumph sparked deep in Lottie's chest, a fragile ember she guarded fiercely. She let the faintest shadow of a smile ghost her lips, then buried it under a mask of mild attentiveness.
The first course arrived in a quiet procession, uniformed staff gliding between chairs like shadows. Lottie let the rhythm of the meal steady her—the quiet scrape of knives, the delicate tap of crystal, the low murmur of conversation, a fragile choreography they all knew too well. Her mother chattered lightly, deflecting Father's sharper remarks with the deftness of long practice, her laughter a polished shield against tension.
But it was Evelyn who commanded the room tonight. She played the perfect daughter with effortless grace, every word dipped in honey, every gesture impeccable. She leaned in just slightly when Father spoke, her eyes alight with an attentive warmth that Lottie knew was as calculated as a chess move. Her voice rippled with sweet charm as she recounted her latest academic triumphs, the subtle flourishes in her speech designed to catch Father's ear.
Lottie matched her, breath for breath.
When Evelyn spoke of her leadership roles, Lottie countered with details of her own recent projects, carefully framed to sound ambitious yet modest. When Evelyn laughed, Lottie smiled—measured, composed, unshakable. Beneath the calm surface, her nerves twisted like wire, but outwardly, she was the picture of quiet precision.
"Lottie," Father murmured, his gaze pinning her like a specimen under glass, "it seems you've been… more focused lately."
"Yes, Father." The words slipped from her mouth as smooth as silk, but inside, her pulse surged, electric. She felt the shift, the small flicker of curiosity in his eyes, the faint narrowing as if reassessing a puzzle he'd long thought solved. Her fingers brushed the underside of the table, nails grazing the polished wood, a fleeting anchor to keep from floating too far into the tangle of tension.
Across the table, Evelyn's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her wine glass. The crystal caught the chandelier's glow, casting fractured beams onto the linen. Her smile didn't falter, but the sharp gleam in her gaze flared just a fraction too bright, her teeth pressing lightly into the inside of her cheek.
Mother's laugh peeled through the air again, brittle as spun sugar. "Well, we're certainly blessed with two brilliant girls." Her voice trembled at the edges, a thread of unease woven through the careful brightness. Her hands fluttered once more, the diamond bracelet clinking softly as she adjusted a napkin that needed no adjusting.
Father lifted his glass, the crystal catching the light in a pale flicker. "To continued excellence," he said softly, the words a blade sheathed in velvet.
Lottie raised her own glass, the cool rim pressing briefly against her lip as she caught Evelyn's gaze over the rim. For an instant, the air between them crackled, tension coiling like a wire drawn tight. She felt the tremor in Evelyn's posture, the careful stretch of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
The crystal rang out, a faint, fragile chime as glasses met.
As the meal wound on, Lottie kept her movements graceful, her answers measured. Evelyn's barbs came wrapped in silk, little pricks of commentary dressed as jokes, but Lottie parried each one with calm precision.
"So, Lottie," Evelyn purred, slicing delicately into her fish, "how's that debate club project going? I heard the last round didn't go quite as you'd hoped."
Lottie's fingers flexed briefly under the table, nails whispering over the linen, but her smile remained steady. "Actually, it went better than expected," she murmured, letting just the faintest note of amusement color her tone. "You know how unpredictable these things can be." Her gaze flicked briefly to Father, catching the faintest quirk of his brow, the suggestion of interest. "But the next stage should be the real challenge."
Across the table, Evelyn's eyes gleamed, the angle of her smile sharpening like the edge of a knife. "Oh, I'm sure you'll rise to the occasion," she said lightly, the words landing like a silk-wrapped needle. "After all, you've always been… determined."
The beat of silence was delicate, but it thrummed under the tablecloth like a drum.
"Thank you, Evelyn," Lottie said softly, her voice smooth as glass, "that means a lot coming from you." Her fingers brushed the base of her glass, cool crystal against warmer skin, and her gaze held Evelyn's just a moment longer than necessary. She saw the faint flicker in Evelyn's expression, the ripple of tension that tightened her shoulders before she laughed softly and reached for her wine.
Their mother's laughter rose again, this time just a shade too loud. "See how well they support each other, darling?" she said to Father, her voice lilting, desperate to glue the cracks in place.
Father hummed, a noncommittal sound as his gaze flicked between his daughters, weighing, measuring. Lottie felt the weight of it press along her spine, the slow drag of calculation, the faintest tick of something shifting beneath the surface. She could feel Evelyn's attention sharpen, a delicate but relentless pressure curling through the air.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket—an almost imperceptible pulse. As she drew it into her palm beneath the table, the screen flickered to life.
Leo:You're playing it perfectly.
A breath slipped from Lottie, barely a sigh, but it loosened the tight band around her chest. She let the glow of the message warm her for half a heartbeat before tucking the phone away, fingers brushing against the cool silk of her dress. A quiet strength pulsed in her veins, an ember of resolve flaring just bright enough to hold her steady.
As the plates were cleared and the last course arrived—a delicate sweep of pastry and cream—Lottie folded her hands neatly on the table, the picture of composed grace. Evelyn leaned forward, laughter dancing in her voice as she recounted a charming anecdote about school, but there was a new sharpness to her glances, a quicksilver flicker that Lottie met with calm, quiet poise.
You see me now, Lottie thought, her pulse a soft roar in her ears. And you know I'm not stepping back.
The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of roses from the table arrangement, the low hum of conversation, the faint rustle of linen. Lottie's skin prickled with awareness, every movement around her ringing with heightened clarity—the soft click of a glass set down, the scrape of a chair leg, the faint shift in Father's posture as his gaze lingered, speculative, on her profile.
The meal ended on a delicate, teetering note, a fragile truce sealed in the faint clink of glasses.
Lottie's phone buzzed again.
Amy: Incoming call.
Her breath hitched, fingers tightening slightly around the folded napkin in her lap. The conversation at the table blurred to a low hum, Evelyn's laughter curling like smoke around the edges of her thoughts.
Lottie rose smoothly, chair legs whispering against polished wood, and stepped back from the table as if carried by the soft tide of voices. Her fingers brushed lightly against the back of her chair, her shoulders square, the quiet click of her heels a steady counterpoint to the tremble threading through her chest.
Her phone pulsed in her hand, Amy's name flashing bright.
The war was waiting on the other side of the line.