Amelia noticed Princess Julia staring at her from across the hall.
For a second, she froze. Why is she looking at me like that? she thought. But instead of confronting the gaze, Amelia turned away and walked toward the refreshment table. She hadn't eaten all day, and the pastries looked tempting.
But as soon as she picked up a tart, the image of her ruined garden flashed in her mind—the dead rabbit, the trampled flowers.
Her stomach turned.
She dropped the tart back on the tray and stepped aside, her mood sinking again. Only one person could've done that. Selina.
"Trying to be the center of attention, huh?"
She looked up to see Catherine and Marine standing in front of her—Celina's loyal shadows.
"You think wearing a dress makes you someone?" Marine added, crossing her arms.
Amelia straightened her back. She wasn't in the mood, but she also wasn't going to let them walk over her.
"I'm not trying to be anything. I came here for the ceremony. That's all," she said quietly but firmly. "Now leave me alone."
Catherine scoffed. "So cold. You think you're better than everyone now?"
"I think you should mind your business," Amelia replied.
They sneered and walked off, whispering as they went.
Before Amelia could breathe, another figure approached—this time, more graceful, more poised.
"Lady Amelia of the Harrowwinds, is it?" the girl said with a smile. "I'm Princess Julia. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Amelia gave a curtsy. "The pleasure is mine, Your Highness."
"You're very beautiful," Julia said honestly.
"Thank you. So are you."
Julia's eyes narrowed slightly, curiously. "Have you ever met the Duke of Blackmoor?"
Amelia hesitated. Her heart skipped. Should I lie? Should I tell her he's my fiancé? She smiled calmly. "I'm not well acquainted with him."
"I see…" Julia said softly, still looking at her. "You seem like someone he would notice."
Amelia wasn't sure how to respond, so she simply bowed her head again.
Julia smiled, but something about her expression felt unreadable.
The conversation ended politely. Amelia turned and walked toward the balcony, needing air. Her mind was a storm of emotions. Frustration. Confusion. Rage. She clenched her fists. Selina. You went too far this time.
She stepped out onto the balcony. The evening breeze cooled her face.
She didn't notice she wasn't alone.
"I don't care how long it takes," Amelia muttered under her breath. "I'll make you pay, Selina."
Suddenly, she heard soft footsteps behind her.
She turned—but too late.
Two hands shoved her.
Her body fell forward, heart thudding. But before she hit the ground, strong arms caught her mid-air.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Silver hair. Sharp jawline. A stranger. Yet not a stranger.
Lord Edwin.
He held her firmly, his face unreadable. People around gasped as he lowered her gently.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I—I think someone pushed me," Amelia said, her voice trembling.
"You saw them?"
She nodded faintly, but her leg gave way beneath her.
"You're hurt," he said. "Don't move. I'll carry you."
She wanted to protest, but pain shot up her leg, and her pride didn't matter anymore. She let him lift her.
From the shadows of the hall, Theodore stood silently, his eyes fixed on the scene.
He saw everything.
Amelia sat quietly in the carriage, her ankle wrapped and throbbing. Lord Edwin rode beside her, silent but alert, glancing her way now and then. She still couldn't believe what happened.
"Thank you," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "If you hadn't caught me…"
"You'd have been badly hurt," Edwin said simply. "You need to be more careful. Especially at events like these."
She nodded faintly. "I wasn't expecting it."
"I know. That's why it's dangerous."
The carriage pulled up to the harrowwind estate.
"I can walk from here," she said, trying to push herself up.
Edwin raised an eyebrow. "No, you can't."
Without another word, he stepped down first, circled the carriage, and helped her out again. His hands were steady, careful, and respectful. Once she was standing, she held the edge of the carriage for balance.
"I'm grateful, truly," she said again, her tone more sincere this time.
Edwin gave a small nod. "Be cautious, Lady Amelia."
Then he turned and walked back to the carriage. The moment it drove off, her expression shifted.
No more smiles. No more playing along.
She limped inside.
Grace gasped the moment she saw her. "My lady! What happened?"
"I'll explain later," Amelia said through clenched teeth. "Prepare me a warm soak and bring something for this ankle."
As the maids rushed off, she sat in her chair in the corner of her room. The pain was there, but it was the rage that burned hotter.
Her mind replayed everything: Catherine's sneer. Marine's smug face. And that push.
"I swear…" she muttered under her breath, "those two useless rats—may their tongues rot and their knees give out from their own bitterness."
She stared hard at the mirror in front of her, jaw tight. "If I ever see either of them alone again…"
Her fist clenched the fabric of her dress.
Then her thoughts returned to the real problem.
Celina.
"I've let you play too long," she whispered. "You trample my garden. You kill what I love. And now, you try to push me to my death?"
A slow, bitter laugh escaped her lips.
"Wrong move."
Grace returned with the hot towel and herbs. Amelia didn't speak as she let her treat the ankle.
That night, after everyone had left, Amelia took out her writing kit and lit a single candle. Her hair was loose, her gown slightly rumpled, but her eyes were focused.
No more waiting.
She began scribbling down names.
Celina.
Catherine.
Marine.
One by one.
She underlined Selina's name twice.
From tomorrow, she would stop pretending.
The gloves were off.
And if they wanted war?
They were about to meet a version of Lady Amelia they weren't prepared for.
After Grace finished tending to her ankle, Amelia changed into her nightdress and lay in bed. The room was quiet, dim, and cool. The soft scent of lavender hung in the air, but even that couldn't calm the storm in her chest.
Her body ached, but her mind buzzed.
Still, exhaustion eventually won.
She drifted off to sleep.
And then the dream came.
At first, it was warm. Peaceful.
She saw herself running through the harrowwind garden — the real one, before everything changed. The roses were bright, blooming in every direction. The air was filled with the sweet scent of lilies. Rabbits hopped between her feet. Her laughter echoed through the field as she twirled in a simple white gown.
Then, she saw her mother — not the cold, distant woman she had grown up with, but one with soft eyes and a gentle voice.
"My sweet girl," her mother said, brushing a strand of hair from Amelia's face. "You'll bloom like these flowers one day."
Amelia smiled.
The memory warmed her chest.
But the scene shifted.
Dark clouds rolled in.
The vibrant garden turned to ash. Petals wilted in seconds. The once playful rabbits now lay still — unmoving. She ran forward, calling for her mother, but her voice made no sound.
Then she saw them—Celina. Catherine. Marine. Standing at the edge of the dying garden, laughing. Pointing.
"You don't belong here," Selina said in the dream, her voice cruel and distorted. "No matter how many flowers you plant, we'll always crush them."
Amelia turned to run, but the ground crumbled beneath her feet.
She fell—again.
But this time, no one caught her.
She landed hard, the sound of bones snapping echoing through the void.
Then, silence.
Until a hand reached out..
Lord Edwin?
No—he faded like smoke.
She stood alone in a vast, empty ballroom, with shattered mirrors reflecting every version of herself — the scared girl, the naive dreamer, the broken soul.
Then one reflection stepped forward.
This version of her wore black.
Her eyes were sharp, cold, but burning with purpose.
"You've suffered enough," the reflection said. "Now it's time to become what they fear."
Amelia gasped and woke up with a jolt.
Her sheets were damp with sweat.
Her breathing heavy.
She sat up, pushing the covers away.
The first rays of morning hadn't come yet, but she was done sleeping.