The Amster estate's gardens were transformed into a pastel dream the next afternoon. Silk-draped tables were arranged beneath white canopies, delicate china glittered under the sunlight, and the air was heavy with perfume and money.
Lyn wanted to run.
How did I get myself into this? she thought, tugging at the lace sleeves of her gown. Oh right—because Rosa "helpfully" scheduled me into this nightmare. Should've seen that trap coming.
She stood at the edge of the garden, trying to breathe. The dress felt suffocating, the shoes pinched, and the smile she attempted in the mirror earlier had looked more like a grimace.
"Don't slouch."
The voice, cool and commanding, sent shivers down her spine. Michael appeared at her side like a shadow that had learned how to wear a suit.
"I'm not slouching," she muttered. "I'm… folding for survival."
His eyes swept over her, intense as always. "You look—" He paused. "…different."
"That's not exactly reassuring."
"Different, in a good way." His gaze softened for a fleeting second, and Lyn had to look away before her knees forgot how to function.
Stop staring like that, storm-in-a-suit. You're going to make me combust in front of the cucumber sandwiches.
The guests arrived in swarms of lace and jewels, their voices lilting with laughter that carried undertones of judgment. Lyn could feel the stares—curious, skeptical, some openly hostile.
Whispers floated on the breeze.
"Isn't that the Amster girl?"
"She was supposed to be sickly, wasn't she?"
"She looks… different."
"Too different."
Lyn's palms grew clammy.
Okay, breathe. Just breathe. If I survived being a barista during morning rush hour, I can survive this. Probably.
The clink of teacups signaled the start of the gathering. Lyn found herself seated at a round table with Rosa on her right and three noblewomen she didn't know on her left. Rosa looked impeccable as always, her smile sharp as glass.
The noblewomen introduced themselves with elaborate titles and lineage that went straight over Lyn's head. She nodded and smiled, hoping she looked appropriately impressed instead of like someone trying not to sneeze.
The tea was poured. Pastries were served. Conversation began.
"So, Miss Fionlyn," one woman asked sweetly, "what are your hobbies these days?"
Lyn froze. Hobbies? What did the original Fionlyn even do? Embroidery? Collect antique hairpins?
"I, uh…" Her brain scrambled. "…code."
The women blinked. "Code?"
"Yes. Um. Secret codes. For… puzzles. And… ciphers. Very aristocratic," she added weakly.
Rosa's smile widened in amusement, though her eyes were daggers. "She means she's very… clever with patterns. A unique talent."
"Unique, indeed," one woman murmured, clearly unconvinced.
The moment of awkward silence was shattered by the arrival of Lady Seraphine.
She glided into the garden with the confidence of someone who thought the earth itself had been laid at her feet. Her gown sparkled with crystals, her hair cascaded in perfect waves, and her perfume announced her five seconds before she spoke.
"Michael!" she sang, eyes immediately finding him. Then her gaze landed on Lyn. The sweetness in her smile curdled instantly.
"And here you are," Seraphine said, lips pursing as she settled gracefully into the empty seat opposite Lyn. "The infamous Fionlyn."
"Infamous?" Lyn repeated. "Did I run over someone's cat and not know about it?"
A few women tittered nervously. Seraphine's eyes narrowed.
"You've changed," she said pointedly. "When you were younger, you were quiet. Weak. Easy to overlook."
"Well, good thing I had a glow-up then," Lyn said brightly.
Seraphine's nails tapped against her teacup. "Not all changes are improvements."
Michael's hand landed on the back of Lyn's chair, heavy and possessive. "Lyn doesn't need your approval," he said flatly.
The table went silent. Even Rosa's carefully arranged smile flickered.
Trying to break the tension, Lyn reached for a pastry. She picked what looked like a simple tart, only to discover it was filled with something gooey and unidentifiable. The moment she bit in, the filling squirted out—straight onto Seraphine's pristine dress.
"Oh no." Lyn's heart stopped.
Seraphine stared down at the stain, her face pale with outrage. "You—"
"I'm so sorry!" Lyn grabbed a napkin, leaning over the table in panic. In her haste, she knocked over her teacup.
The tea cascaded across the tablecloth and right into Rosa's lap.
Rosa gasped, leaping to her feet, tea dripping down her skirt.
The entire table erupted in chaos.
"Oh my God, I'm cursed," Lyn groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Michael's shoulders shook—just slightly. He was laughing. Actually laughing.
Kai, watching from the distance, leaned toward Daren. "She is a natural disaster."
Daren grinned. "Best disaster I've ever seen."
The tea party eventually calmed, though Seraphine looked like she wanted to strangle Lyn with a lace ribbon and Rosa excused herself with icy politeness.
When the guests dispersed, Lyn escaped to the balcony for fresh air, gripping the railing like it was her lifeline.
"I should not be allowed near food or rich people," she muttered.
"You were fine," Michael said, appearing beside her as though he'd materialized from thin air.
"I just ruined Seraphine's dress and gave Rosa third-degree tea burns."
He tilted his head. "That was the best part."
She stared at him. "You're impossible."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "And you're mine."
Her heart stuttered. She forced a laugh to hide it. "You keep saying that. Like I'm a piece of property."
"Not property," he murmured. "Promise."
Something about the way he said it—low, certain, aching—made her chest tighten.
That night, as Lyn changed into her nightgown, her phone buzzed.
YOU CAN'T TRUST THEM. THE SAME MISTAKES WILL HAPPEN AGAIN.
She sat on the bed, fingers trembling.
What mistakes? she typed.
A long pause. Then: THE PROMISE YOU FORGOT. HE BROKE IT ONCE. HE'LL BREAK IT AGAIN.
Her vision blurred with fear and confusion. A promise? Michael?
She clenched the phone, whispering to herself. "Who are you? Why me?"
Outside, faintly, the off-key wind chime sounded again.