The Cross estate was alive that evening, humming with the kind of elegance that never looked effortful but was sharpened to a blade's edge. The chandeliers glittered like fractured stars, the gold rims of champagne flutes caught the light in glimmers, and the laughter that threaded through the grand hall was light and practiced. It wasn't warmth -- it was performance. Every guest knew their role, and every word was currency.
Maya -- wearing Isla's name like a second skin -- sat at the fringe of a carefully curated alcove. She could feel eyes on her, weighing her presence. But the most piercing stare came from directly across: Evelyn Cross.
Evelyn didn't need volume to command. She sat with a stillness that was louder than any noise, her poise absolute, her gaze so sharp it might have stripped the polish off the marble floor. She looked at Maya not as one looks at a guest, but as one studies a specimen under glass.
"You carry yourself well, Isla," Evelyn began, voice low, smooth, threaded with the faintest hum of challenge. "Grace like that doesn't come naturally. It's taught. Nurtured. Perfected." Her glass shifted slightly in her hand, and light caught the wine's surface like a red blade. "So tell me -- who taught you?"
Maya held her smile, though her pulse jumped against her throat. "My mother believed refinement is second nature when it's expected of you."
The reply was careful, steady, but Evelyn's brow arched -- an almost imperceptible lift that made Maya's stomach clench.
"Belief and practice," Evelyn said slowly, "are not the same thing. What I hear in your voice, Isla… is a script. And I've heard enough of those in this house to know when someone is reciting one."
The words landed like ice water on Maya's skin. She steadied her hands in her lap, fighting the instinct to fold inward.
But she didn't need to answer. Brielle leaned forward with predatory swiftness, eyes bright with malicious delight. "Oh, I thought it too," Brielle said, her lips curling into a smirk sharp enough to cut. "She does sound rehearsed. That smile? That tone? It's all too polished. Like she's rehearsed every line in a mirror."
Maya turned to her, forcing calm into her voice. "It seems you spend more energy studying me than enjoying the evening."
Brielle's grin widened. "Or maybe I just can't stand liars waltzing into our circle pretending to belong."
The jab was so precise, so public -- even if whispered low enough that nearby guests couldn't catch it -- that it sank into the air like a blade left humming in the skin. Maya refused to let her mask falter. "Accusations without proof usually say more about the accuser."
Brielle's eyes glittered, satisfaction unfurling across her face. "Keep pretending. Masks slip, sweetheart. And when yours does, I'll be standing right here to watch."
The venom was thick, palpable. It wasn't curiosity; it was domination. A game Brielle wanted to win by cornering her prey until it had nowhere left to hide.
The silence stretched, taut, until Damien's voice cut through.
"Enough."
It wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be. The weight in his tone snapped the tension instantly.
All eyes shifted as Damien rose from his seat. His hand came down on Maya's arm -- light, not a grip, but protective in its simplicity -- and his gaze flicked to Evelyn.
"A word," he said quietly, firmly. "Privately."
For a moment, Evelyn didn't move. She held her brother's gaze, her face unreadable, until finally she stood with the slow grace of someone who yielded nothing. Together, the two slipped from the alcove into the glowing corridors, their absence leaving a vacuum behind.
Brielle wasted no time. She leaned in close, her perfume sharp, her smirk almost giddy.
"You see? He's running interference for you. He knows you can't withstand pressure. That's why he pulled her away. He knows you'd crumble."
Maya's jaw tightened. "If you were so certain of that, you wouldn't have to keep circling."
"Oh, I'll circle all night," Brielle said, voice low and sweet as venom. "Because I can smell it. That desperation to hold your story together. And I promise you -- when it unravels, you'll wish you never stepped foot here."
Her words hung heavy, a private execution delivered in whispers.
But then -- footsteps. Returning.
Damien reappeared, Evelyn by his side. Yet Evelyn was… different. The razor edge of her suspicion was gone. Her presence was no less commanding, but the hostility had been pulled back, veiled beneath something smoother, harder to place.
"Is there a problem?" Evelyn asked, her tone deceptively light, her eyes flicking between Brielle and Maya.
Brielle froze, her smirk faltering. "Not at all," she replied too quickly, smoothing her hair in a nervous gesture that betrayed her earlier confidence.
Maya said nothing. Her heart raced, confusion pressing against her chest. This Evelyn wasn't the same woman who had pinned her down with icy questions minutes ago. The shift was so sharp, so calculated, that it unsettled her more than the interrogation had.
Damien's hand lingered briefly on Maya's shoulder. His voice was calm, steady. "I explained everything to her," he said softly, his gaze touching Evelyn's before returning to Maya. "She isn't as hard to get along with as she seems."
Explained what? The question screamed inside Maya's mind, but her lips stayed sealed.
And then Evelyn stepped forward. Her presence filled the alcove with a cool, unnerving weight. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes… her eyes pierced straight through Maya, as if every layer of her skin was transparent.
Her voice dropped low, silk draped over steel. "I like you…"
The pause was deliberate, and the way Evelyn's gaze refused to waver made Maya's throat tighten.
"…Maya."
The name fell like glass shattering on marble.
Maya's heart slammed once, hard. Evelyn knew. Or at least, she wanted Maya to believe she did. And yet her tone hadn't been cruel -- not a weapon, but something worse. A test. An invitation.
Maya sat frozen, a faint chill sliding through her bones as Evelyn's faint smile lingered, poised like a dagger just above the skin, waiting.